Happy New Year, your house is ruined

Faced with the carnage of the party's aftermath, we retired to the pub, and drank there all day. When we got home, it was just as messy. Bleugh!

Break on through to the other side

Bleugh! After our heavy, heavy night in Chorlton, I had a spectacular hangover. Kate did too. Unfortunately, Kate had to go to work at 8am, and then go dancing to celebrate her own birthday that evening. I was able, thankfully, to stay in bed.

Lucian called, explaining that he was in town, and asking if I fancied joining him for a pint. Yes, I thought, why not? Because you feel rough as arses, and very dehydrated? Not good enough! We met in the Northern, and enjoyed a few pints in the company of Jamie. Jamie, a teacher, had raised two butterflies in his class at school. The kids had named one of them Michael Jackson. Pun king Lucian was soon riffing away - "It don't matter if you're Cabbage White." Jamie pointed out that these puns were amongst the least transferrable of all gags because they were so specifically tied to the concept of a butterfly named Michael Jackson. Four pints and many laughs later, we said farewell and I shot back to Stretford.

I don't know how Kate managed to push through her tiredness, but after some booze in the house, we were out again. In the Sand Bar, we ended up divided into two groups: Chaw's friends and Kate's friends. Danesh Ali, Miriam, the Padmores and several others showed up at once, which furthered the wedge between the two halves of the party. So it goes, I guess. When it came to moving to a dancing place, Chaw and her friends elected to drink at the Deaf Institute, while we trooped to the Tiger Lounge. Robbie was there, and Champ too. We danced and drank and danced some more. It was - I think - a brilliant occasion. I think, because my drunken memories are vague... Karaoke at 3am... Chips... Another hangover approaching...?

Furious Five and Kurtis Blow, in conversation

Dunk gave me a heads up that the Furious Five and Kurtis Blow were doing an In Conversation at Contact Theatre last week, and I snapped up a couple of tickets for me and Lucian, and let Bronco and Steve know it was on too.

Steve and Bronco with Kurtis Blow

The show started with the Furious Five rapping, dancing, getting the crowd to wave their hands. It felt like a party. Lu was straight up on his feet, waving his hands around and dancing. He's been off booze for nearly seven weeks, but his party shoes still fit, it seems, and he was wearing them. Kurtis Blow came out, and the party kept on coming. The In Conversation section saw Kid Creole and Melle Mel talking about the early days of hip hop, about life in the Bronx in the 70s, about Afrika Bambatta's breaks. Then they finished off with The Breaks. Ninety minutes of fun and fascination.

Afterwards Lucian said two things. I agreed with one, and partly with the other.

"I thought that the host was a bit of a wiener."

Partly true, he was dorky. But in that earnest, American way where he'd underline the obvious to make sure that everybody got it, where a Brit would assume that to be the case. Highlighting the double meaning of The Breaks in The Breaks is unnecessary, sure, but harmless with it. Case thrown out for extenuating circumstances, I'd say.

"That was a perfect gig. They played all three of their songs that I knew, with no filler, and I didn't have to pay fifteen quid to get in, or queue at a bar, or stay out all night. Exactly how I'd want to see those artists."

For real Lu. Word.