8/01/2005 11:29:00 AM|||James O'Malley|||

It's been an interesting couple of days- this in itself is rather surprising, as I have had work. My family have abandoned me and gone off on holiday to France, on a ferry, as opposed to an aeroplane, and my good friend Scot had a party, because his family are on holiday.

Incidentally, I'm currently living with four women. They're guinea pigs and I've got to look after them. My sister, Lucy, has left me some instructions. I wish my mother had done the same with regard to locating my socks.

But anyway, I'm sure you don't want to hear tales of me managing to change the bin liner in the bin, you want to hear about the drunken antics of Scot's party.

Now, I've been to a fair few parties now- I don't drink, I go because I crave friends. Scot's party was probably the most drunken and what I could call "wild", that I've been to yet.

Aside from what I'd call the "usual gang", for some reason, a delegation of Harborough's chav elite had erm... graced us with their presence. Having not spent much time with chavs since the end of further education, and having actively avoided them socially, it was certainly an interesting reminder of the finer points of their species.

"I ain't no townie", one said, completely sincerely, whilst wearing an Ellesse tracksuit, and large jewellery.

"I said like yeah that my mum died like three years ago yeah and then then she said her mum had died recently and my aunt yeah said yeah that she killed her shes a bitch and I no longer associate with her for disrespecting my family yeah like I don't want nothing to do with her yeah". (Paraphrasing).

For some reason they were both shouting this at me. It was really quite surreal.

I'd like to blame this on their drunkeness, but I think they're actually a lost cause for society. They were drunk though- and this was brilliant. It meant that me, being fully sober and full of razor sharp wit could insult them, right in front of them, and they didn't understand me or give a damn- much to the amusement of the other erm... straight edge people, and those who remained coherent whilst intoxicated.

Turns out that the chavs were only 15, and were apparently "going out" with people there who were a few years their senior. "I can't find $person", cried one, "at least you're not being groomed", I called back. It was funnier at the time.

Also, in an effort to perhaps conform with every teenage "house party" stereotype, rather than having Mr Blobby and gunge tank, the neighbours rang up to complain about the noise, people were doing lewd things, and "no" class C drugs were being taken by others. The keyword here is "others"- as you may have deduced from earlier blog entries, I'm not a risk taking, exciting person- I don't drink, take drugs and so on. My "alcohol" is CocaCola, and my drugs are social adventures.

Finally, the walk home was slightly hair raising- as I passed the roundabout near Lidl, there was a police car on the otherside, with a police woman standing by it- I heard screams and swearing coming from near them. When the police car started drive off, I decided to run home, or more specifically, light jog.

It was an immensely enjoyable party, all in all- with the chav-baiting providing an unexpected bonus. Thanks for inviting me, Scot. Thanks for entertaining me, chavs.

|||112289363154638104|||Home Alone (Again) and Scot's Party