Friends, Mancunians, Countrymen...

Now it's tempting to continue that with "...Lend me your beers", but that would be obvious, to poor comedic effect, and just plain lazy. But it still made me smile.

So. The day draws ever closer, and thankfully some of the almost-overwhelming tension has now dissipated as we've now had the first of our succession leaving "do"s and [Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!] the movers and packers have now been, moved and packed.

The "do" was on Saturday night at a bar in the City Centre called "Pure Space", and was very kindly arranged by our friend Dave [now booking for weddings, bah mitzvahs, funeral parties and swingers nights]. It's certainly got funkier since the days when I used to go to what was then called "Generation X" [amazing how dated that sounds now], and we're so grateful that Dave was on board to organise it so brilliantly. He even provided the perfect set of tunes, including some late early 80s new wave classics and even some Australian stuff [Yes, it was "Cattle and Cane", Andi. But have you got this?]. And thank goodness, no INXS... Phew.

We were fashionably late, of course. Or put another way, disorganisationally delayed. But fortunately, most of our other guests were dedicated followers of our trend, so we avoided a grand entrance to an array of bewildered guests. Things were confused somewhat by the fact that the roof terrace was holding another private party by "Mr Sponge" and a number of guests headed in that direction initially. Now call me paranoid, but why did so many friends think that I was now known as Mr Sponge?!? Is there something you want to tell me, people? I thought my jeans were reasonably modern and dahn wiv ver kids, but perhaps I was inadvertantly wearing square pants?

At which point, can I also point out that the shirt was intended as an ironic reference to Australia, and was in fact Australian surfware manufactured by Antipodean weirdos Mambo. [Although I hear that that sort of Reg Mombassa-inspired peculiarness just doesn't cut it any more. Shame.] I should have dressed as a Bogan, to be true to my roots whilst nodding a reference to my future, but most people just wouldn't have got that and my cred would have been even more in tatters than it now is. If you're up for another example of Mambo's messed-up take on haute couture, you'd better be at the Red Lion [above] on Thursday evening. Be there or...

Lots of people arrived through the course of the evening, although sadly but understandably a number of people weren't able to come due to childcare/distance/other difficulties. It was so good to see everyone, of course, although the sense of being stretched so thin being host and hostess was a little frustrating. As I cast my eyes around the room [they bounced against the wall and popped straight back in, funnily enough] it was fantastic to see so many people we love all getting on together, although I felt I wanted to be involved in every conversation, chat to every person for the whole evening, be everywhere experiencing everything. I believe there was dancing at one point, but I neglected to become involved myself.

But, as is inevitable with this sort of event, it seemed that as soon as it started it was over. 2 AM came and I had over-refreshed [no, no, that's not me] and didn't feel able to continue the party in "sub-space", the club below. Only a couple of people did make it down there, but I won't name them as I believe they lasted barely 40 minutes with the place rammed full of young persons of a boogalooing persuasion.

So it was time for goodbyes. I had a few "dusty" moments throughout the evening as people left. As much as I tried to carry on normally, the inevitable bottom-lip quiver ensured that either the waterworks needed to start or my chin would soon be pounding uncontrollably against my chest: a simple choice and I gave in to it. Big thanks go out to Jimmy for his impeccable distraction techniques at one such time, which led to the best score of the night on Galaxians, I believe.

I hear on the grapevine that Mr Clive Gifford, AKA Captain Shandy of the Manc Rs managed a very creditable top score of 47, which I believe is also a personal best. So well done to him. Pictured here "grooming" another youngster for his imminent "Galaxians Baidoo Boys" group.

So, a BIG Thanks to everyone who came, again to Dave for his fantastic efforts, and our love to those who couldn't make it. We had the best night, despite the trauma.