Fringe Day 23: Paaaartaaaay

I think that when a day starts with you opening your door, seeing your flatmate, asking them if they remember how they got home, they reply no, and you both high five, that your new levels of what sort of behaviour is acceptable of an eve have had their standards reduced somewhat. These morning occurrences have got more and more regular with specific highlights being the topless mime gun fight we had last week and Craine’s informing me that he still only has 5 socks and has been re-wearing them all and borrowing Nat’s rather than just buy socks. We have all hit a new low.

It is party week though and party is what will happen. After 4 long weeks of Fringe, the thing all partakers, be they performers, staff or whatever it is other people do here – professionally loiter I think – just need to proverbially let their hair down and get very drunk. Last night was my favourite of the parties, now that the big end of Fringe Awards was so horribly stolen from us a year ago, the Mick Perrin party. A free bar until the wee hours and a general desire for mayhem from everyone attending. I’d love to tell you what happened, but I honestly don’t know after sufficient amount of booze. I just know I’m not dead and I’m still a bit drunk so it feels like a win for the team. My fringe aims have substantially dropped recently and I’m now just working on the basis that as long as I’m not dead by Monday then its Tiernan 1, Fringe 0. There are still 4 days to go though and another free booze party tonight so anything could happen. Its nice to have these sort of challenges.

Of course I could slow down, but my problem is, I bloody love parties. If I was in a zoo, my little info blurb on the stand outside my cage would say ‘Party Animal. Mostly found at parties. Mostly eats – booze and canapes. If Party Animal seems like he wants attention do not talk to him or stroke him as he is drunk and will see that as a come on leading to awkwardness until he loses all memory and spends the next day apologising. Party Animals only live till they are 30+ after which they lose all urge to have fun and get interested in gardening and sitting.’ I do bloody love ’em. I could totally stop comedy and just work as a professional party goer. The problem with this would be my chat would be super dull as it would only be about other parties and really, if I think about it, not a lot happens. You talk to some people, everyone drinks and therefore pretends its more interesting than it is, and if you’re lucky you get a hilarious anecdote the next day about falling over in a cab or being sick on your own shoes. The sorts of stories that without the booze would just seem odd. Yet, the lure is still there to go and do all of that. Its an odd mindset where I would prefer to spend an eve like that than say go home and read something intelligent and ponder the universe.

Will it ever change? Well there was a while when I wouldn’t party as much, but now, as a single chap, I have nothing to lure me home besides the prospects of lying in my bed wondering if the party I’m not at is fun and what I’m missing. The truth of course is that what I’m missing is talking to some people, drinking and possibly being sick on my own shoes. Note: I have never been sick on my own shoes. In fact I’ve only ever been sick from booze six times and two of those were due to a milky coffee the next day, two were because of pint downing races and one was due to a cigar that I inhaled wrongly. I’m generally a very good drinker. I would even put it on my CV. Despite my tiny stature I can drink for Queen and country until someone gently puts an arm round me and makes me go home. This is what’s happened most of this fringe. Sigh. Only four more days. Just….mustn’t……die…….

Luke has just walked back in the flat after having gone swimming drunk. The booze made him get bored and so he has just done several laps while singing various bits of the Super Mario theme tune to himself under the water. Amazing. Hooray for parties.