It was 11pm.
I was sitting at Black Pearl with The Bearded Ranga and we were wondering what to do next, having just finished a cocktail with that pear-stuck-in-a-chimney flavour, and another that tasted of five volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica, edition#9, hardbound.
A text came through. A number, a street name, a word: NOW.
We headed across the road to the bottle-o, popped the umbrella-ella-ella and braved #stormageddon, bag of goon in hand.
It was apparent from two blocks away WHERE DA PARTY AT. Lights, music and merriment were pulsing from yonder window break, and we opened the door to a crowd of party-people singing Savage Garden beneath a roof that would make Santa’s elves weep with joy.
Our party host – who we met mid Kweena Arena track – had spent a month mathematically calculating the pattern of 4,000 lights and 2,000 precisely-spaced, hand-hung baubles to create a true Christmas miracle.
There was nothing left to do but dance to 90’s pop music beneath the glorious plastic stars, as a thousand tonnes of storm rained down upon the sleeping homes of Melbourne.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, I hope you crash a decent crimbo party too.