A small dog stole my balloons

I know I said it would be a fair few days till I post next, but I'm sitting here - on my birthday - with an hour or so until I pop off to drive the Mini Clubman, and the debauched experiences of last night fresh in my mind. And Willowc had a bit of a go at me about the fact I was taking a few days off.

So last night was my birthday party.

WHAT. FUN.

Now, I was supposed to get to the pub at six o'clock (in the evening, mind), but the damn traffic over Kew Bridge meant that didn't happen. I finally parked up at six-thirty, and hurried along the Goldhawk Road. And who did I bump into? Little Yaz! Now, remember I was a little concerned about whether she had something planned for my party after seizing control of organizing it, and immediately after we entered she sat me on a sofa, dumped her handbag next to me, and scurried off with a barman. So I just sat there looking like a loner with a manbag at a large table with a reserved sign on it.

After a couple of minutes she returned - with balloons! And then hijinks ensued as a long procession of amazing people arrived with presents and cards (you'd think it was someone's birthday…), and I sat in the corner blushing like a special in a studly fashion. There were many moments of hilarity - not too many that I can repeat though, especially not Marcosy's misheard title for Willowc's new magazine - and the Lovely Lorna and I posed for a series of photos in a 1970s catalogue-pose fashion. There was also a fascinating debate between Rob and Jo in which Rob was trying to suggest that it's difficult being a man; his argument centred around the statement "it's like being chained to an idiot." I thought it was a bit harsh calling your wife an idiot, but it turns out that he actually meant the idiot to be a penis reference.

As the evening drew to a close, however, my attentions were drawn toward a small white terrier that scurried round to us, his little claws scrabbling for traction on the wooden floor. This was Stevie.

"I've been warned about Stevie," said Yaz, arching an eyebrow in a school ma'am fashion. "He likes balloons."

And true to form, Stevie went nuts for the balloons; he delicately held one in his mouth then ran around with it; he jumped up in the air while bouncing one off his head; he jumped up on a table, slid across the top, and fell off the other side while trying to get to me while I held one. Stevie. Likes. Balloons.

Anyway, from a total of about 10, Yaz saved one from Stevie and insisted that I take it home. It's actually in the boot of my car now.

We were ultimately chucked out of the pub at closing time (12:30), at which point we managed to direct poor drunken Blanca toward a bus that she just got on without even finding out where it was going, and then laughed as the bus moved forward while she walked toward the back so she effectively stood still as we waved her off.

I think I got home at about half two, put my cards up, then collapsed into bed. Good times. Many thanks to everyone who came (*ahem* to the party) - it was lovely seeing you all.

Right - I really am off to drive a slightly longer, quirky-doored, new, new Mini now.