Bloggers about

Another old friend from the UK came into the office today. J and I worked together a decade ago and while I left the dark world of PR he has climbed the greasy pole and is now a bigwig in-house guy.

So when his PR company suggested a meeting I jumped at the chance. We dispensed with the work side of the briefing in half an hour and then devoted the rest of the time to catching up. It’s fun to see where everyone is and compare war stories and as he used to work with Si I took him down to meet her.

It was Si’s last day and so we chilled out at the conference awards dinner before she had to get a red eye back to New York. Then she’d secured up passes to the VIP post-awards party and so we headed off to a sweaty nightclub in the heart of SOMA.

J and I discussed the things men do after the second vodka and tonic (marriage, life and the eventual heat death of the universe) and then as we were making our way through the crowd I ran into a blogger I’ve been reading for years, Girl with a One Track Mind.

Now I may not agree with everything she writes but she turns a great turn of phrase and deserves credit for having the guts to write about topics not usually covered before the internet, and for getting a book deal out of it and not turning in the usual piece of drivel bloggers have been known to do in such circumstances. I wrote a couple of pieces about her, particularly after she was disgracefully outed and it was good to meet briefly in the flesh before she was swarmed by fans.

Miss Fabulous

Tuesday and the welcome news that Si was over from New York for a conference.

Great to see her again and we had a high old time crashing the MySpace afterparty. Was a lot of fun and I met some interesting people.

It’s customary at these parties to have a ‘celebrity’ DJ, and this one was no exception. Samantha Ronson, Lindsay Lohan’s girlfriend was taking the stand and to my surprise she actually played some records.

To explain, the rise of the celebrity DJ has nothing to do with a sudden interest in music among the glitterati and everything to do with technology. So called DJs like Peaches Geldof, Kate Lawler and similar oxygen thieves buy in premixed dance sessions on a laptop, come onto the podium, press a button and then preen for the cameras/drink themselves insensible/try and get off with rich footballers.

Ronson did actually play and mix her own records, and deserves credit for doing so. The only problem was she wasn’t very good at it. Some of her mixes were jerkier than a Thunderbirds puppet and while scratching is a good skill for a DJ did she have to do it every single track?

Anyway, a good night was had by all and we decamped to taxis and headed home. Great to have Si back, she’s the life and soul of a party.

Ouch

Leaving party last night and this morning was very, very grim.

The hangover was quite bad but it wasn’t helped by Virgin installing cable in the house at eight sodding thirty in the morning, so I woke to the sound of the front of the building vibrating as a hole was drilled through the wall.

But the hangover was well worth it. Last night was a great send off and huge kudos to everyone who showed up. There were some unlikely arrivals who I hadn’t seen in ages, older friends and a few relatively recent ones. Special award to Rupert who managed to get out of the Apple launch in time for a quick drink before persuading the BBC to send a car to pick him up from the pub so he could do an interview.

It all started off quite slowly, although we weren’t the first people there. But then it just seemed to hit a critical mass of people and things kicked off. People mingled well and it was good to see so many old friends. The turnout was surprisingly high – I nearly had a Sally Field "You like me, you really like me!" moment.

But the Brownian motion of parties was in play; just as all house parties end up in the kitchen eventually so this one ended up in the smoking area outside the pub. By nine the upstairs bar I’d booked was empty, apart from a few forlorn looking rucksacks, and everyone was outside. To be fair it was a hot and muggy night and probably the majority of people there were smokers.

We stayed out until closing time and then A, A and myself headed into Soho to find a bar that was open. I nearly got refused entry, after the bouncer found my homemade ‘In case of emergency’ kit from C. This excellent gift contained Marmite, chocolate, tea and a bottle of beer. We agreed to check it in at the door.

After a quick drink my brain started sending me signals that it was time to go. Staggered down to Trafalgar Square and low and behold an N47 was waiting to whisk me straight to the end of our street. God looks after drunks and small children*. Got home and fell into bed, actually took a running leap if memory serves. It as a night to remember.

*Well, obviously not, unless the deity was asleep at the switch in Austria and Portugal.