Gone to America

Ah, the party. Yes, a great success, enjoyed myself immemnsely (that’s not a typo, that’s me slurring my speech in fond remembrance). As I feared, nobody showed up at eight. Except Eileen, the DJ. Thank you, Eileen. Ivan had got a deal on the decks and arranged to have Nigel (making his first appearance in this blog in a non-commenting capacity) and Bonnie deliver them to the pub earlier on, and I’ve agreed to deliver them back to PH Sound Sytems on Sunday. Eileen and I set them up and waited. People started trickling in not too long afterwards, among them my parents. They swore they’d only stay for an hour, but I have a feeling it was a bit longer than that. It was OK, though. My Dad bought a lot of drinks for everybody and if they told any embarrassing anecdotes it hasn’t filtered back to me yet. I was tired and stressed from work, but alcohol is a great healer, and I soon forgot my petty concerns.
I don’t know how many people showed up in the end, but between myself and Ivan we pretty much filled the upstairs of the Bankers. Eileen did a great job. She included a Johnny Cash tribute in her set, and even played a few of my old Beatles records. Ivan took a turn on the decks himself. He kicked it old school – at least, I think that’s what he was doing. Sounded good, anyway.
We were kicked out at about 1am, and the usual dissipation occurred, people going hither and thither. We loaded the DJ gear into Xanda’s car. She drove it out to Ivan’s flat so that the party could continue there later. He pulled some kind of weird voodoo, and got a bunch of us into 4 Dame Lane for free. Actually, is there normally a cover? I’m getting old (not as old as Ivan yet, though). It was too loud and too crowded and too hot. Had some pleasant conversations despite the best efforts of the DJ, but left before I was kicked out. Ivan said he’d call me in the morning about returning the decks. Got the Nitelink home and slept.
Or at least slept until 6am, when I got a phone call from Ivan asking me how to set up the amp. The party continued, apparently. I told him whatever it was he needed to know, and rezonked.
The next day. It’s about 2:30pm and I’m just making myself a nice cup of coffee. Nigel calls. He’s just over from London for a week and a half and he’s staying with Ivan. Apparently, the decks were supposed to be back in town between 10:30 and 12:00 that morning.
I see.
Ivan hasn’t surfaced yet. Nigel has been trying to wake him, but this is a fruitless endeavour. And I’ve been thinking. All that gear isn’t going to fit in my Smart Car. Mum?
She very kindly agrees to drive me out to Ivan’s and thence to the East Wall Road. Hopefully, the All Ireland final won’t have too much affect on the traffic, and we’ll be home in time for a family dinner. We arrive at Ivan’s. The gate into the underground car park is closed, so I call Nigel to come out with the zapper. He gets it off Bonnie (Ivan’s flat mate, as you’ll know if you’ve read the earlier entries) and emerges, blinking.
He’s looking a bit worn. He’s staying on the couch, which is in the living room. He couldn’t go to bed until everybody else had left. About 10am, apparently. I’m about to congratulate him on his relative chipperness when I look into his eyes. There’s nobody looking back.
I leave Mum in the car park while I go up to the flat. It’s not that I’m afraid of what she might see, you understand. I just don’t want her putting her back out.
The plug board is missing, and I don’t want to ring these guys and tell them we’re only hitting the road now. Ivan!
Bonnie drags him up, and retires herself. Ivan isn’t that happy to be conscious (if that’s what you call it), but he makes the call and helps us put away the gear. The plug board is probably still in Xanda’s car, but she’s not answering her phone.
Packing up the gear and bringing it down to the garage doesn’t go as smoothly as it could, largely because all three of us are functioning at a much reduced mental capacity. The brains just aren’t clicking the way they should be. The sun is bright and it’s hurting our eyes, and we really don’t want to be dealing with all these cables. All right, so maybe I got the most sleep, but I left the house without having my coffee, and that coffee would be really good right now. At one point, myself and Nigel walk around the stairwell twice looking for the door we just came through.
We’re leaving the carpark. We need the zapper. Nigel can’t remember where he put it down – he thinks it might have fallen into one of the cases. This is bad, because it’s attached to Bonnie’s car keys. She’s going to need those. The boot is opened, the flight cases are unloaded, examined. My Mum puts the handbrake on and… waits patiently. Dad rings, wondering where we are.
Ivan appears – he’s found the zapper. It was on a table. Everything back into the car, the gate opens and we’re on our way. I’ve been given the directions about eight times so we should be OK.
First stop, Xanda’s. She’s still not answering her phone, but when we arrive I see one of her tenants moving around. I bang on the window and he lets me in. I was lucky – he was just about to go to bed. It was that kind of night for him too. He gets her car keys and sure enough, there’s the plugboard, in the boot. Now we have everything. Ivan calls. Apparently we accidentally packed a phono cable that he needs for his DVD player.
Anyway, It all got delivered back, only a little over four hours late. The guy didn’t seem too upset. Either he’s used to it, or he felt constrained by the presence of my mother. I rescued Ivan’s cable. I still have it actually. I should get it back to him.
I’ve set up a page for my memories of the night here. Thanks to all who attended, and to those who didn’t, my remonstrance will be swift and harsh, but also just.