Given my youthful visage and playful attitude you may be surprised I was born almost forty years ago; my birthday party is in November. It’ll be a quiet little affair with a few select friends whom I like, nay, love deeply and want to celebrate with that one day a year one gets old on. Or gets forty in my case. Or rather three, but you know about that.
This means, that the guest list has been selected and if you are yet to receive an invitation I’m afraid you are NFI[ref]Not Invited[/ref]. I’m happy to start a backup list, if anyone could
stomach revel in a luncheon engagement with me (and peerless friends), but I warn you, my party organiser is being ruthless about numbers (small venue) and those on the list so far don’t seem too disinterested in turning up, so the chances are low.
However, I am going to lengths to make it entertaining, both in terms of food and wine served. Naturally I want to give my friends a good time, but also I have been told by several different doctors that, due to unrelated conditions[ref]Mostly caused by the ineptitude of the medical profession assuming that, simply because I have paranoid schizophrenia, every pain I have is in my mind. Once, for example, I was asked to leave a GP’s surgery when I was in so much pain I could not see. My internal organs were riddled with blood clots. I was in hospital for a month after I convinced the arse of the urgency of the situation. I was bollocking terrified, then bored in hospital.[/ref], I will be lucky to make it to 50. Naturally, I am unconcerned by this. I have a healthy diet, take exercise and generally look after myself, so I bet I will last, but I want my 40th to be a major celebration and the headache-inducing party of the 2013/14 winter season.
Consequently, the theme is large formats. Thirteen magnums and four jeroboams will be consumed, let me impress that upon my thirty guests. However, I feel I want to give my readers the chance to join in the fun a tiny tad. Since writing is such an incredibly difficult chore for me at the moment, rather than the usual joyful rollercoaster of merriment, I can leave a poll up on the homepage until I can battle more words out of my frighteningly psychotic mind into some form of coherent and hopefully lewd order. The coffee report had jokes – god, that was hard to write; took days and lots of coffee. So, I ask you, dear readers to vote for three magnums and one jeroboam that you think will be finished first. I’m afraid I cannot offer any prizes as the polls in WordPress are anonymous, just think of it as a little teaser to test your knowledge of what makes a popular hilariously fine wine. Of course I will report with pictures
when I get out of hospital in November. Here’s the first poll, you have up to three choices of which magnum will be finished first:
I suppose if someone finished off the most popular choice first I could get them to finish off the second most popular choice as a reward…
Here’s the second poll, one vote out of four jeroboams, which to be finished first:
You will be aware ‘None’ is not an option in neither poll nor at the party!
I will be having thirty guests at my bash in November with a grand total of forty-two bottles (in large formats; I wanted more bottles than years, even if there are actually fewer bottles, if you see what I mean…) for us to wallow in. Personally, I’m rather looking forward to the fizz, Port and ambulance.
What if I do make it to 50? I’ve a plan! I’ll spill the beans. I’d like a little party with my few very closest friends, my jero of 1999 Comte Armand Pommard 1er Cru Clos des Epeneaux, my mag of Taylors 2003 and lots of Paracetamol.
60? Surely thou kiddest?