Sunday 17 April 2011

The Boss: In Da 40 Club

Go, shorty - it's yo' birthday. We gon' party like it's your birthday. She 40.

Right, that's enough of that. I'm clearly not black, and the closest I've been to the projects was some fancy art installation at The Wapping Project (possibly not 50 Cent or Snoop's cup of tea).

What I'm trying to say is - The Boss from Blunt has joined the finest of clubs, the F-Word Club.

Spent Saturday evening celebrating the event in some mad little Japanese cellar bar in Clerkenwell. Packed with top cliterati and her nearest and dearest, The Boss partied like it was 1999, and pretty much every year before/since rolled into one. She was off her tits. The lovely Nat put up a gallery of pictures, showing The Boss at every stage of her 40 years. Hilarious stuff - who knew she'd had hair that big in the 80s? And a projector slideshow of the same kinda thing, all in glorious Technicolor.

During the course of the evening, I was offered some illegal indulgence which I politely declined; a hand in marriage which I politely declined; a lesbian affair which I politely declined; and a spitroasting by one top photographer and one top illustrator which I politely declined. You know who you are. If I'm even remotely at a loose end in the next few weeks, I may take one/all of you up on your kind offers.

There was a large, empty drinks fridge in the spill-over area, which became a feature of the celebrations as, one by one, the revellers took turns to cram inside it, Houdini-style, and have their pictures taken by the cream of London's photography world:

Two people in this photograph may, or may not, have offered to spitroast me

Some quite special dancing occurred. Pogoed to Blondie and Kim Wilde, jigged about to Sylvestre and Grace Jones (could it be any more camp?) - and oh boy, how I funked to Cheryl Lynn. I drew the line at Phil Collins, declaiming loudly (apparently) "I'm not dancing to that fucking baldy Tory drummer twat". NIce.

There was sambucca too. A lot of it. I never, ever learn.

It was the most sterling night - sushi, booze, disco, the biggest red velvet cake from Hummingbird Bakery - truly, a birthday fit for an old Queen.