I was going to do this fucking massive post with all the pictures that were taken, but our photo guy discarded all the shots of people doing retarded things that I could make fun of and instead focused on trying to make people look really attractive and nice. Check out his pictures here, but chances are you’re not in them if you’re ugly or badly dressed – so that’s about thirty of you not in them.
What I will do, however, is make some minor observations and note some key learnings, as they always say at work:
One. If you have an open wound after getting run over by a taxi, it is best not to jump into a canal in Hackney. Holy shit do you need to see how grim Mr Morose’s arm is looking. Likewise, if you do jump into the canal with your tiny little penis flapping about in the weeds, STAY AWAY FROM THE BOTTOM. I’m serious. Do you have any idea how many old jonnies and syringes I had to pluck from my body when I got out? I'm now basically Swamp Thing with advanced stage HIV.
Two. When hosting a party on one of the hottest days of the summer, don’t ask people to dress in tweed. I personally lost two kilograms just from sweating, and that fungal infection has reappeared in my bathing suit area. It's like cottage cheese mixed with vinegar down there.
Four. Is there anything lamer than a bunch of skinny twenty-nine year olds that got drunk and covered themselves in drawings of cocks and swear words because they’re too pussy to actually get them tattooed on forever? Well, if that means I only have to have a giant monocle, the name “Maddie” and the news that “I’ve got cancer” on my precious skin for a few hours then I reckon I can live with that.
Five. When you organise a party, numbers will always start low. Don’t fret about that. I got panicky because by 2:08pm it was just me and this guy, who said he wasn’t in a mood for talking and told me to stop flapping my noise-hole about as it was making him “annoyed.”
Seven. When cropping pictures, make it look like there were more people at the party then there really was.