Water palaver

This morning I awoke and stumbled into the bathroom to find that the ever so lovely water company had switched our corporation pop supply off. Bastards. My locks have been oily all day. The people from Greenpeace have been eyeing me suspiciously and seagulls have been giving me a wide berth. I've never been so grateful for a Brita jug of water - at least I could clean me teeth. Came home to find a note from said water co. telling us that the water supply would be off tomorrow and Friday as well which means I have to get up a whole half hour early to wash my bits. Like I said - bastards!

Much fun was had this weekend at the wedding of two of my oldest mates (despite the inclement weather). Even more fun was had at the reception in a pub on the side of a hill in Uppermill, near Oldham. A marquee had been thoughtfully supplied for the disco, with one slight hitch. It was quite literally on the side of the hill and sloped at a 45 degree angle. I was instantly hit by a wave of nausea as soon as I walked in - and I hadn't even had any alcohol yet! Most people likened it to being on the Titanic, complete with damp. The bar was at the top end and the dancefloor at the bottom. Presumably it made it easier to work your way down (though doing it in heels is not recommended).

Shame about the DJ though. Step forward the slightly more conservatively dressed brother of Peter Stringfellow (or so it seemed). The thing is, we've been spoiled rotten by having a friend of ours who lives in London do DJing duties at most of our special occasions. And he's really very good. In fact he's been known to try to play a crap record or two during his set just so people can take a breather. Unfortunately this usually doesn't work as his idea of a crap record gets people dancing even more. At this event he was the best man so could not DJ. Anyway, the Bride (not wearing a yellow catsuit and wielding a sword unfortunately) had asked for 80's music. Not a complicated request you'd think. So Peter Stringfellow duly played ....... a range of 60's music, some of which we'd never even heard of never mind could dance to. All in all, during the evening, he probably played about half a dozen 80s tunes and some camp classics provided by our friend the good DJ. Having said that, the DJ and a drunken gay mate of ours did manage to provide us with the highlight of the evening (and an hilarious anecdote for years to come). Wanting another camp classic to end the night on a high, our mate asked for 'Xanadu'. According to our drunken friend the DJ replied, "You mean the one by the foreign bird with the big tits?" and presuming he meant Olivia Newton John he said yes. Five minutes or so later we heard some sixties number with much whip-cracking in it. "What the hell is this?" we all said. It wasn't until it got to the chorus and some chap sang about being 'In Xanadu' that it slowly dawned on us. What the DJ had actually said was, "D'you mean the one by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Titch?"