low-key, but impeccably conceived, soiree.
I don’t mind asking people to bring things by the way—and I’m very specific. Gone are the days when I make a lot of work for myself—that might surprise you, it surprises me. I’m very forthright on this matter, which is something people appreciate very much in fact because, naturally, people are short on time and they can’t allocate time to trying to work things out like what to bring to other people’s parties, it’s a minefield, and even if you do have time to give to working such things out the fact is there is always an anxiety that what you finally select to bring is a real clanger. It never is a clanger, not really, but who wants to sit in the back of a cab with a bowl covered with tin foil in their lap wondering if what it contains is going to be met with melodious condescension—who needs any of that? Givepeople a specific request and they arrive feeling pretty slick and raring to go. Not that the requests are issued in haphazard fashion of course—I know perfectly well who to ask to supply the cheese for example, and who to contribute the bread. It’s easy to notice what people enjoy eating, and from there it’s reasonable to infer that they’ll endeavour to procure the finest examples of whatever comestible treat it is they have cultivated a particular fancy for. And, naturally, there’ll be one or two you let off, simply because, gusto notwithstanding, they’ve never demonstrated any discriminating interest in what they eat. They’ll probably rock up with hash and breadsticks, and quite possibly a dim jar of drilled out green olives, and people who stay late will horse into the breadsticks and the following day there’ll be shards of breadstick all over the floor, ground to a powder in places, where people have stood on the bigger shards while talking to people they don’t usually talk to, or even when dancing about perhaps. I always enjoy the day after in fact. Slowly going over everything from the night before until it’s all just so. Everything in its place: awakened, accomplished and vigilant.
As it turned out he came and she didn’t. They couldn’t get a babysitter you see. He came on his bicycle and his face was incredibly flushed, which he seemed to be enjoying very much. Indeed, it is nice to be flushed, whatever way it happens. I can’t recall what he brought with him, which surprises me—I’ve a feeling it was something that needed to be kept flat because I seem to remember that the minute he came in the door he was anxious to look inside his rucksack. It was a tart, I remember now. That’s right, he took a tarte normande from his rucksack and it was perfectly intact—and there was a bottle of Austrian white wine too with a distinctive neck which I put in the fridgeright away and I don’t think I opened it until much later on— the neck was distinctive you see and I remember putting my hand around it again quite late, it was really chilled, possibly too much. There was lots of wine, more than enough, and I was pleased about that, in addition my friend with tenure brought beer and a bottle of my favourite gin, which was unexpected and very kind because that particular gin is astronomically expensive. Everyone came with something thoughtful in fact and now and then I’d bring some chicken wings out of the kitchen, or one of those pizzas that have such beautifully thin bases some people presume they’re home-made, and everyone already knew each other more or less so I could do whatever I liked and didn’t have to worry about whether so-and-so was enjoying themselves because anytime I looked around there wasn’t anyone who looked left out, but then it’s so small in here it would be pretty difficult for anyone to look left out even if they felt it.
For a long time a man sat on the ottoman, I don’t remember which man and perhaps it alternated. I just remember jeans and boots, and of course that wasn’t at all what I’d had
I don’t mind asking people to bring things by the way—and I’m very specific. Gone are the days when I make a lot of work for myself—that might surprise you, it surprises me. I’m very forthright on this matter, which is something people appreciate very much in fact because, naturally, people are short on time and they can’t allocate time to trying to work things out like what to bring to other people’s parties, it’s a minefield, and even if you do have time to give to working such things out the fact is there is always an anxiety that what you finally select to bring is a real clanger. It never is a clanger, not really, but who wants to sit in the back of a cab with a bowl covered with tin foil in their lap wondering if what it contains is going to be met with melodious condescension—who needs any of that? Givepeople a specific request and they arrive feeling pretty slick and raring to go. Not that the requests are issued in haphazard fashion of course—I know perfectly well who to ask to supply the cheese for example, and who to contribute the bread. It’s easy to notice what people enjoy eating, and from there it’s reasonable to infer that they’ll endeavour to procure the finest examples of whatever comestible treat it is they have cultivated a particular fancy for. And, naturally, there’ll be one or two you let off, simply because, gusto notwithstanding, they’ve never demonstrated any discriminating interest in what they eat. They’ll probably rock up with hash and breadsticks, and quite possibly a dim jar of drilled out green olives, and people who stay late will horse into the breadsticks and the following day there’ll be shards of breadstick all over the floor, ground to a powder in places, where people have stood on the bigger shards while talking to people they don’t usually talk to, or even when dancing about perhaps. I always enjoy the day after in fact. Slowly going over everything from the night before until it’s all just so. Everything in its place: awakened, accomplished and vigilant.
As it turned out he came and she didn’t. They couldn’t get a babysitter you see. He came on his bicycle and his face was incredibly flushed, which he seemed to be enjoying very much. Indeed, it is nice to be flushed, whatever way it happens. I can’t recall what he brought with him, which surprises me—I’ve a feeling it was something that needed to be kept flat because I seem to remember that the minute he came in the door he was anxious to look inside his rucksack. It was a tart, I remember now. That’s right, he took a tarte normande from his rucksack and it was perfectly intact—and there was a bottle of Austrian white wine too with a distinctive neck which I put in the fridgeright away and I don’t think I opened it until much later on— the neck was distinctive you see and I remember putting my hand around it again quite late, it was really chilled, possibly too much. There was lots of wine, more than enough, and I was pleased about that, in addition my friend with tenure brought beer and a bottle of my favourite gin, which was unexpected and very kind because that particular gin is astronomically expensive. Everyone came with something thoughtful in fact and now and then I’d bring some chicken wings out of the kitchen, or one of those pizzas that have such beautifully thin bases some people presume they’re home-made, and everyone already knew each other more or less so I could do whatever I liked and didn’t have to worry about whether so-and-so was enjoying themselves because anytime I looked around there wasn’t anyone who looked left out, but then it’s so small in here it would be pretty difficult for anyone to look left out even if they felt it.
For a long time a man sat on the ottoman, I don’t remember which man and perhaps it alternated. I just remember jeans and boots, and of course that wasn’t at all what I’d had
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