“You’re so money baby.”
Which happened the other week and, as the above sounds utterly brilliant, I promptly RSVP’ed to the affirmative secure in the belief that the organisers should have first checked if I were actually important before offering me ‘free shit’.
I inform them that myself, Uncannily Similar and ‘others’ shall be attending.
Amazingly, no-one at the P.R. susses that I am, in fact, ‘No-one At All’ and accept.
Uncannily Similar: Right. Got a few more ‘on board’. Be about half a dozen now.
Me: Erm. Ok. Who?
He reels off a set of names and –
Me: ‘Janice and Paul’?
U.S: Aaah. Yeeah.
Me: No offence. Janice looks like a homeless. WHEN SHE MAKES AN EFFORT. And – not being funny – Paul is a fucking DWARF. An – no, hang on – an ACTUAL dwarf. His eyes don’t even point in the same direction – no, shut up, he’s got the little hands and everything – there is NO WAY anyone will think that we are ‘high-rollers’ worthy of ‘free shit’ when the CIRCUS IS IN TOWN. Never.
Three hours later.
We’re all wasted on free booze and acting like over-excited children. We’ve gone back for ‘seconds’ at the buffet (some of us ‘thirds’), loudly demanded why the champagne appears to have dried up and have also asked where the free cocktails have gone.
I decide to leave, aware of the fact that I’m not getting on to any more P.R. mailing lists in the near future.
And get home to find a troubling letter from a hospital on my doormat.