A further tale of Estrojam...
For those who were amused by my previous post and its tale of bathroom derring-do, I thought that I would share with you a further tidbit.
First you have to know, there were a lot of people who were supposed to be at Estrojam who cancelled for various reasons, some good, some lame. The party went from "where the hell are we going to put everyone?" to just the four of us. It has, however, gone down in history with that group of friends and there are still women kicking themselves for missing it.
Now bear in mind that I was actually the only sober one in the lot, so I really have no excuse for any of this. Sometime past when late had turned to early I was hit by hyperactivity induced inspiration. Poor Cam was once again abused as I snuck downstairs and borrowed his computer to get an exact text to crib from.
Pam had the top floor of the house and there were stairs that led from her up to the flat top of the roof, where there were benches and chairs and a planter garden in full bloom.
I emerged from my mysterious quest to great huggings and "what were you doing"s and made them all sit down. The sun had just reached the point where it hadn't quite risen but was casting light that was like apple wine over Fairfield, the most beautiful part of a gorgeous city; the Lieutenant-Governor's mansion gazing out from its hill, immediately to our South.
I told them that I didn't know why I had to write this, but I just did and they could laugh at me all they liked, but I just couldn't not do it because it wouldn't leave my head and they had to hear it.
Old women forget, but when all else is forgot
We will remember, with proud guffaws
What feats we did tonight. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words-
Pammy the host, Kerry, Caro and Beth
Will with their gin and tonics be enviously discussed.
This story shall the good woman teach her friend
And this August night shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world
But we here shall be remembered.
We few, we happy few, we band of sisters
For she tonight that flails with me
Shall be my sister; be she ne’er so gonzo’d
This night shall gentle her hangover
And lame asses in Victoria now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their womanhoods cheap while any speaks
That partied with us at Estrojam
The metre's shot to hell, but what can you do?
Only one of them really got the source, but I was hugely lauded and cuddled and it became part of the legend of the night.
Hope it amuses:-)
First you have to know, there were a lot of people who were supposed to be at Estrojam who cancelled for various reasons, some good, some lame. The party went from "where the hell are we going to put everyone?" to just the four of us. It has, however, gone down in history with that group of friends and there are still women kicking themselves for missing it.
Now bear in mind that I was actually the only sober one in the lot, so I really have no excuse for any of this. Sometime past when late had turned to early I was hit by hyperactivity induced inspiration. Poor Cam was once again abused as I snuck downstairs and borrowed his computer to get an exact text to crib from.
Pam had the top floor of the house and there were stairs that led from her up to the flat top of the roof, where there were benches and chairs and a planter garden in full bloom.
I emerged from my mysterious quest to great huggings and "what were you doing"s and made them all sit down. The sun had just reached the point where it hadn't quite risen but was casting light that was like apple wine over Fairfield, the most beautiful part of a gorgeous city; the Lieutenant-Governor's mansion gazing out from its hill, immediately to our South.
I told them that I didn't know why I had to write this, but I just did and they could laugh at me all they liked, but I just couldn't not do it because it wouldn't leave my head and they had to hear it.
Old women forget, but when all else is forgot
We will remember, with proud guffaws
What feats we did tonight. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words-
Pammy the host, Kerry, Caro and Beth
Will with their gin and tonics be enviously discussed.
This story shall the good woman teach her friend
And this August night shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world
But we here shall be remembered.
We few, we happy few, we band of sisters
For she tonight that flails with me
Shall be my sister; be she ne’er so gonzo’d
This night shall gentle her hangover
And lame asses in Victoria now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their womanhoods cheap while any speaks
That partied with us at Estrojam
The metre's shot to hell, but what can you do?
Only one of them really got the source, but I was hugely lauded and cuddled and it became part of the legend of the night.
Hope it amuses:-)