That’s right. Boy wonder, debonaire fashion styliste, over-acheiver, and too fucking young. Martin turned 27 today, so naturally I had to kill someone for him.
Also had to eat alot of birthday cake. burp…
So in a wildly veering moment of dance madness, with everyone feeling a little brain-dead and spastically quoting War of the Worlds, Nigel decided today we should choreograph dance. And not just any dance. High-energy, full of the joy of life, not ironic, and in my case to Shirley Bassey singing Diamonds are Forever, or something. The dancers entered a world of pain, and I am terribly sorry.
While everyone else created three minute masterpieces of Musical joy, I decided in my slightly retarded state to give them a horribly fast and difficult phrase then make three duets, one trio, a quartet and innumerable other rubbish. Any remaining coherence was lost once Camillia, Eugene, Tim, and Maria were loaded with yet another all-you-can-eat Swiss buffet. Mostly the kind of food likely to induce cholesterol poisoning in the quantities dancers can eat. We all entered a post-lunch food-digesting coma.
Despite that, they had some moments which were fucking glorious to watch. Tim and Camillia partnering each other in a frenzy of chaotic mess, barely holding it together and constantly destroying any semblance of serenity and control. Camillia dancing alone, looking like someone who could tear the air apart, Eugene pulling balance and eerie stillness out of hysterical momentum.
Then to drink and celebrate Martin’s special day. All six of us lounged beside the river drinking, smoking, talking, laughing until stomach cramps set in, and finally staggering home, not too late, but certainly trashed.
