My girlfriends and other animals

       Fiddler’s party began as most parties began. Not that I knew how most parties began as I’d never been to one before. Anonymous spotty teenagers were lolloping in the kitchen mixing two litre plastic bottles of woodpecker cider with the entire contents of Fiddler’s parents’ drinks cabinet. Now  Fiddler’s parents were not the most adventurous drinkers. It had been rumoured that Mike Huxley’s parents had been to Spain three years running and once to a Greek island before the rest of Essex discovered it. The Huxley parties saw big bulbous plastic bottles of woodpecker smooching and canoodling with sleek and slender bottles of Malibu, Cinzano and Tia Maria; names so wet and exciting they made you want to dress up in grass skirts and wear a hat full of fruit. Fiddler’s caravanning parents were nowhere near as moist and slippery. My swollen litre of cider rubbing itself against a half open bottle of Harveys Bristol cream. There was talk of an almost full bottle of Warnicks advocaat floating around, but I think it was just idle gossip.

       The music was in full flow with Fiddler cranking up ‘Do They Owe Us A Fucking Living’ by the Crass which sounded nothing like Shalamar or the Kids from Fame. Several youths in mohair jumpers and pretend safety pins in their ears (talk about unoriginal) were all doing the pogo and knocking into unsuspecting females who had foolishly ventured away from the comparative safety of the kitchen.

       ‘This is smashing all this pogoing’

       Why did I have to say ‘Smashing?’

       'Did you say smashing?’

       ‘Yep, gonna smash this place up with some smashing’

       ‘knob!’

       They were of course quite correct. Knob was pretty much spot on. I really needed to get out more. I skulked my way back towards the sliding door of the kitchen resigned to spending the rest of the evening with Gavin Robinson who only grunted and said 'Fanny' at the top of his voice whenever he felt threatened which was always.

       ‘Will, what are you doing?  I’ve been waiting for you upstairs’

       ‘I beg your pardon?’

       ‘Fanny’

       ‘Hi Gavin’

       ‘Gillian. How are you? I was just talking to Gavin about…’

       ‘Fanny’

       ‘That’s not what we were talking about. Where have you been?’

       ‘Why don’t you pop upstairs? See you in two minutes?’

       This was it. This was bloody well it.

       ‘Gavin I have to leave now to see…’

       ‘Fanny’

       ‘No not Fanny, to see Gillian. Wish me luck. It’s been nice talking with you Gavin’

       ‘And you my friend. I’ve got chills, they’re multiplying and I’m losing control’