Can’t think of a better word to describe the party we had on Friday. Ken’s ingenious idea of bribing the neighbours with chocolate bars worked perfectly, about a hundred guests during the night and no police intervention. Another good idea was to only invite girls, the guys would show up anyway. And it must have been the first Dundonian party with close to 1:1 ratio of the two sexes.
The preparations for the party began weeks before when we made leaflets with the Rainbow Toiletman and handed them out to all prettier-than-average girls in the library. Quite a few of them actually ended up coming, though most thought we were just creepy. One of the girls infested with creepiness suspicions turned out to be my flatmate’s ex-girlfriend, which we found out when we went to get our invitation back from her as we thought she didn’t appreciate it enough; “Isn’t this Chris and Martti’s party?!” No sight of her on Friday. Bitch.
On the eve I prepared my first punch ever and it turned out perfect. Here’s the recipe I used:
4 l of lemonade
2 dl of blackcurrant juice concentrate
2 l of cranberry juice
lemon juice
1 l of vodka
+ big ice cubes made using plastic cups
At 10pm Gong Fei played an amazing live set. I have added a video below but the quality is shite thanks to my useless Nikon. Here’s the band's myspace link , I strongly recommend listening to Mason Dixon, a great lo-fi tune that reminds me of the best Times New Viking songs.
Most of what happened after the gig is not recorded on my hard drive. I vaguely remember, though, being very surprised when I saw five black men in my room. I’ve never had any dark skinned friends. Foreigners aren’t really allowed in Finland, you know. I heard we also had a vertically challenged person at the party. She must have been tiny as none of us remembers having seen her. Arrogant and racist, this blog is.
At some point I was also wrapped in toilet paper, a photo I saw today revealed. Apparently I had saved the day by crawling into the wardrobe, into which we had stocked all our valuables, and discovered the missing ass wipes. I was told I shouted loudly when this victorious moment took place.
Furthermore, German Erasmus students took over the music in my room with their iPhones. At first I was a little annoyed, but then I realised someone had put on a Modeselektor song which was played repeatedly for eight times. Can’t really blame them, can I...even for playing Tiësto.
The next morning I woke up and was gutted to find out my hangover orange was gone! As were my peach slices. Luckily I wasn’t hangover yet.. I was still PUUHKERA, which is Finnish for the state when you wake up after a night of alcohol consuming and realise you must act quickly and take care of everything that needs to be done before the ill feeling strikes. Hence, I ran to Somerfield faster than a lightning, or the Phantom, only to find out that it was the only shop in the world to ever run out of oranges. Two honeydew melons for £3 were to be my saviour.
The funniest discovery of the morning was this; a guitar covered with blood after heavy Lily Allen covering.
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