Bacchus Revisited

Honestly, I really really did try to be well-behaved this weekend. But alas, the road to hell is – as ever – paved with good intentions. It started out quite well. After a very productive Friday with my business partner (we've set up a new publishing company and will be media moguls by this time next year), I met up with a group of old friends for dinner on Friday evening. That went well – nice food, nice company. It was all quite restrained in fact and I was in bed for 3:00 a.m.

Unfortunately Saturday went a bit pear-shaped. Following a virtuous start when I took a birthday present of a lobster (cooked) to an old lady who lives in a nursing home (she has no family at all and so otherwise would get no visitors on her birthday), I pitched up at – you've guessed it – the Broadway, ostensibly for a quick drink while I waited for my daughter to join me. Several pints later I was still sitting there in the sunshine having been joined by several other writers and film-makers who often hang around there. Finally, Imogen arrived. Later we ate sushi, washed down with more beer and sake and later still found ourselves in Tantra where we met up with a crowd of hedonistic lunatics we hadn't met before. They invited us back to a house in The Park (one of Nottingham's smarter districts). The house was huge – it belonged to the parents of one of the crowd – and had a seemingly unending supply of food and drinks plus a swimming pool (heated). Well, needless to say, scenes of the utmost bacchanalia ensued whereupon most of the sunshine-kissed youngsters ended up in a state of puris naturalibus (i.e. naked), and even those who remained clothed soon became very, very wet.

Of course, modesty prevented me from divesting my own clothes - after all, my daughter was there but moreover, the sight of my ancient naked body might have dampened the spirits somewhat. Pity really, because I enjoy swimming. It was a riot and only ended when the police arrived (about 6:00 a.m.). Luckily there was nobody floating face down in the pool (shades of a Michael Barrymore party), nor had we succeeded in pushing the family's Rolls Royce into the water (à la Keith Moon and the infamous Oasis album cover). Actually, I think it was an Audi anyway.

Sunday was naturally a low-key affair. Not even a trip to Broadway. And I forgot to watch the Perseid Shower last night. Boo Hoo, but I think I might get another chance tonight. Will I need shower gel and a cap?