I have some fabulous memories of the Biblo-familia: nudity on Great Western Road, a series of ever more dubious health and fitness decisions, a myriad of lubricated lock-ins when we were supposed to be alphabetising the books, a fantastic idea that I am still convinced will be a money-spinner, the running battle over the toilet ceiling, not to mention, of course, the ninja.
Now I have my favourite.
The Biblocafe (aka is that a bible cafe?) AGM. I thought maybe a few people would show – not including the staff, both past and present, who will go anywhere for a free drink – and so was, frankly, stunned at the turnout. We had to empty the milk fridge to chill all the fizz, everyone brought a bottle (or case – thank you John!) and cocktail paraphernalia appeared as if by magic; there were ballgowns, tuxedos, cravats, and a small child in her dancing gear; Tiff flew up from London to beautify me, do The Axle Dance and charm everyone in the building; Hattie and Katherine rocked up in their party finest to verbally abuse me in the tradition of old; KAREN WORE A SKIRT!!
I only have a few photos as I spent too much time ensuring that my guests glasses were filled *cough*, but the neighbours were warned, the chairs were stashed and the playlist was set…
BEFORE
Should be enough, right?
...to soak up the booze...
...a spurious attempt at 'clarsy'...
DURING
...the rest of them are upstairs, pre-gaming...
...the mixologists at work...
...why do they *always* congregate in the kitchen?
AFTER
Well, I'm not clearing this up...
...do the Fandango...
...the Boston Stomp, at 2am, just as it started snowing, to the strains of the Dropkick Murphys. The police waved; Dad would be proud.
Although the numbers thinned at around 2.30, there were people banging on the door until we left, begging to join the fun. My personal favourite was the 4 hopeful lads (one of whom was at a 45 degree angle at the back), clutching an empty yard of ale.
Me: do you have any beer?
Them: Yes??
Me: Liar *shuts door*
One of them (through the letterbox): can I have a job, then?
I’m still considering it as we’ve got cases of booze left and none of us want to open the morning after the night before again…
More photos will surely be posted on Facebook as people sober up enough to work a computer…
UPDATE:
- Liz rang Ross to check that he’d be up in time for his 10am shift. At 4.29am…
- OJ went AWOL after going home to let a flatemate in. He woke up, face down on his kitchen floor, to a raft of missed calls (…we thought he was still on the hunt for Triple Sec and wanted to finish making the margaritas…)
- The appearance of the 2 bottles of Robinsons Sugar-Free was finally explained: someone thought it was a suitable substitute for fresh lime…FYI? Not.
- EVERYONE WHO WAS WORKING THE NEXT DAY WAS SOBER, PROFESSIONAL & A CREDIT TO THEIR EMPLOYER.
- We lost the till keys. I eventually borrowed a spare off a very bemused man in KRK. Two hours before close I found our keys under a coffee cup on the machine.
- I have had a raft of text messages asking things like, “how did I get home?”, “where’s my shoe?”, “I think I headbutted the washing machine”.
Have just emailed you some of the less blackmail worthy images. I have kept all the negatives.
I had a brilliant time and only left when I did because of stupid buses that stop running stupidly early. Well, that and a niggling sense of responsibility as I had work the next day.
I also have some photos that I shall put somewhere online [1]. And if you have any larger versions of some of the photos you’ve put up in this post, I’d love to have copies (or just put them up on t’interweb somewhere [2]).
tl;dr: awesome fun, let’s do it again next year. Or a ceilidh. Or an AGM and a ceilidh
.
[1] The Free Internet, mind. None of this Bookface nonsense. Fight The Man. *cough*
[2] If you must use Bookface, please ensure that permissions are set so that non-members can view them, ta.
I’ve now uploaded my pics. They’re semi-public, anyone can see them if they follow this link. Larger versions available by asking nicely.
Flying up from London was no problem- flying back down was a bit more of an issue (I’ve never before been the hammered/smelly person on the plane that people ask to not be sat next to.) I turned up to the Loose Women Christmas party STILL drunk from the night before, and couldn’t understand why no one appreciated my Axl dance after I spent an hour begging the dj to play Guns. You would think they were embarrassed of me or something… Uptight twats (read: you know it’s bad when Denise Welch thinks you’re a drunken mess.) I need to move back to Glasgow. My head says yes, my liver says no… I think Colin would also say no, considering the state I left you in… Worth it!