Two birthdays in one evening

Beave is a certified April fool, born on a sunny 1st April in the early 80s. So Saturday evening was reserved for partyage. Saturday afternoon had already gone pretty well, what with (well come on, I had to mention it) Reading sealing the Championship title with a 5-0 dismissal of Derby County. I have so far resisted sending Sarah the Derby supporter a message about this, but it is difficult. When I first met her she remarked that she wasn't aware Reading even had a football team. Perhaps I will direct her to many joyous Reading videos I found archived here.

It was also time for another birthday on Saturday, with a further member of my Sarah collection, Chief Leaf, holding a swish cocktail party in the XVIe. This was kicking off at 9pm and I had promised to drop in before my coach turned back into a pumpkin. Slightly worrying then - what with Beave's capacity for pre-meal alcohol, Ruth's decision to crack open the champagne, and Georgie's sudden uncontrollable desire to become a nibbles waitress - that we didn't even get to the Indian restaurant (reservation: 8pm) until half nine.

Being the suave and sophisticated man of the world that you know and love*, I elected against rushing my almondy chicken thing, but time was ticking away and spurning the Chief would result in certain death. I have seen first-hand what happens if you cross her and my word it's scary.

* Product may differ slightly from illustration. Again.

Unfortunately I had already made a fatal error. While it was just about feasible to catch a line 6 train at half eleven, knock on the door of the party at midnight, politely leave two minutes later, and still be back at the hotel for half midnight, I had left my bag at Beave's flat before the restaurant. Now Beave's flat is on the 7th floor. In the wrong direction. And this is after much beer, champagne, wine, and a shot of what some of us identified as whisky, apart from the two girls who appeared to have received shots of peach juice in its place. (Perhaps they'd run out of whisky and hoped we wouldn't notice.)

I gave up at Châtelet and went home. I have subsequently received a smoke signal from Chief Leaf ominously informing me "You are very bad. If there's one thing I do distinctly remember about my party, it was your absence."

Oops.