It’s true what they say. There Aint No Party Like A Morayfield Party.
Ross has owned his house for far too long without it being tainted with the unmistakable air of shame, guilt and reckless abandon that only we as a group can create. I seek to rectify this.
Pack your party pants and your rape whistles, because we’re having a belated housewarming/just because we can celebration at Ross’s!
They’re Scott’s words but I think they’re apt enough, and when facing that little man’s wit and intellect, any inappropriate puns I can devise are lost in an aura of quite possibly even better ones.
It was a good party though. I rocked up late because through a series of mishaps and stupidity I managed to leave behind almost everything I had intended to take, and spent a good half hour running up and down the stairs, locking and re-locking the door, and collecting things I’d forgotten. It was this that made me late for the train.
I took the bike to Virginia station instead of catching a train to Northgate and then a connection north, because it’s only a really short trip on wheels, and I didn’t want to have to wait around forever. Turns out it would have taken just as long (with less effort) to catch a connecting train because I arrived just as the one I intended to catch was leaving the station. A half hour wait and a wrestle with the ticket machines later (I swear, they’re not designed by humans,) I was on the train and heading north.
I arrived at Ross’ place a couple of hours late, and almost everyone was already there so I grabbed a drink, got introduced, and sat down on a chair. The mood was tense, because Steve was trying to organise (dictate, tyranise) a game of p-shoes on the back lawn. Scott and Karl won the game (in fact, all of the games because nobody could beat them,) so when it got dark, the piping was packed away and everybody shuffled onto under the car-port for sausages and a break from the cold air.
It was a freezing cold night, and even through my jacket and jeans I was chilled. Some of us organised an exodus inside, and were dismayed to find all of the doors and windows open, and breezes blowing through all of them. With some tricky rearranging of the speakers, and a little creative shutting everyone outside, we ended up with a pretty warm and snug germ-filled environment.
The living room was filled with mattresses, pillows and cushions, so the hours after midnight saw stacks-on, and lung crushing, and creative foos-wrestling, and interesting arrangements of people you’d never usually see sandwiched together. Scott managed to lose the contents of his bottle of beer all up the couch and living room wall. He also lost the contents of his stomach in a similar manner, and shortly afterwards everyone thought it best to get some sleep.
I rode back to the station early in the morning and bought myself a ticket and a bottle of coke. Apparently it’s not possible to add credit to a Go Card with coins, so I ended up wasting an awful lot of money that weekend. I got home and spent most of the day laying on the floor watching television. It was an awesome weekend, but I had a suspicious sniffle and was still somewhat hungover in spirit.
The next morning I didn’t wake up.
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