Pot Noodle in your hand
Last night there was a party in London hosted by Pot Noodle. Yes the snack. I’ve never been a huge fan of them, but I think I’m always going to have one around from now on to remind me of what happened.
I had assessment day thing at work so I wasn’t sure if I’d have the energy to go to a bash in London and since I’m single I don’t really have anywhere to stay. About half way through the day I grew some balls and decided to go. This was the right thing to do.
The party started off at about 7ish. I was even a bit early and got papped going in by some photographers and a load of tourists. I think this was more to do with the fact I was wearing stupid shades (as part of a costume) than the following of The Wed or Dead Wager.
Pretty much the entire London crowd was there, being lovely. Tate had just broke up with her chap and was feeling a bit fragile so she needed gin and hugs. Scalene was looking slightly nervous because the girl who he started the blog about was going to appear and meet us for the first time. It was terribly thrilling.
It was also bloody hot. The bar was far, far too warm. The place was rammed with journalists, very minor celebrities (Cheeky Girls, Bradley from S Club, and some others I can’t remember) and various frowning PR people with great hair.
I caught up with an old chum who is a bit of a London gay icon. We chatted for five minutes, he went to the bar and I realised he didn’t recognise me. About twenty minutes later he came back and apologised and said my radical haircut and fitness regime had caught him off guard. He was very sweet about it.
I did my usual London thing of talking to random girls in the room about nonsense. There was a girl in a smashing frock who was being very flirty and then mentioned she had a French boyfriend. Zut alors!
The editor of a well-known gossip magazine turned up with someone I recognised. It was a the really, really pretty girl from the company awards a few months ago. We spoke then to but I couldn’t remember her name. I said hello and we chatted some more. I even introduced her to some chums but I still don’t know her name. Bums.
Also I promised her editor a ride on a motorbike and I think I spent a lot of the night accidentally coming on to gay men. I really shouldn’t complement other men on their shoes, even if they are great.
Carole Decker turned up to judge something and then ended up singing China in your hand on karaoke. It was a very special moment. A tiny sweaty touch of magic.
The party got a bit more wild after that. One of the karaoke stars (and eventual winner) took his shirt off and then fell off the stage. Someone else made a Pot Noodle with lager and there was even some dancing.
The pretty girl, let’s call her Mia because she has a haircut like that character from Pulp Fiction, and I were dancing away to something. She pointed to a man in a hat. He was really dancing, not just jiggling away to music but actual proper dancing.
She said she was the choreographer from Glee. Yes GLEE. I was so excited I marched over to him and told him how much I loved Glee. There was quite a long bit about how I thought the return of musical theatre was a great thing and how even though I’m not really the target audience, Glee really spoke to me.
It was more than slightly gushing, but it was Glee.
He smiled at me and said that actually he did the choreography for High School Musical.
I winced. We had an awkward conversation where I said ‘Well yes, that’s terribly impressive too’
There was more wincing and I slunk off.
Some time later it was time to go home, so I went back to my friend’s office to pick up some things before I set off, and caught another friend doing something NAUGHTY with a man in the office. This was so shocking we walked out, realised we hadn’t actually got the things we needed to pick up and so went back and CAUGHT THEM AGAIN.
I went home, reminded of what a brilliant town London is and with vague plans to try to find out what Mia’s name actually is.