Party time

I am not a party goer, the thought of drunken people dancing is more than enough to put me off, and the fact during my childhood I can only remember one party clearly is probably another reason that I avoid them now.

That party was the usual children’s tea party, an assortment of savouries stabbed on to a cocktail stick and plastic bags full of, well stuff. It was Matthew Diggines birthday, age not sure now, at a guess we’d of been about 6? The thing I remember louder than the Showaddy records is the games, having to sit and pass something wrapped inside last week’s Dagenham Post newspaper shouldn’t have been as exciting as it was. I never won that or the game of musical chairs, running around like a twit and then jumping on a kitchen chair that looked out of place on the carpet in the front room, I’m sure we played other games, but my mind filed these memories in the recycling bin. Parties generate lots of rubbish and left over e numbers; whenever my birthday came around we never ended up with another bag of rubbish to squeeze in our bin. This is something I now see as a total positive, my parents were ahead of the curve in avoiding the aggro of choosing who got invited and having to feed and water them, my mum probably wouldn’t of minded but my dad himself not much a party animal would of disapproved from behind his Daily Express if the question ever was raised?

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