Party animals

Party animals

The words are really starting to swirl on the page for me here but I'm
not scheduled to
stop until a quarter past seven. At this time I shall go down to the
ground floor, via
the stairs not the lift. I will find a pretext to speak to the security
fellow on duty at
reception. I have not thought of what I will say to him yet, I'm due to
start thinking
about it at seventeen minutes past; at that time I will be locking the
door to my
apartment. Having spoken with the guard, I will return to my apartment.
I have a
split level kitchen decked out in moderna and sporting an antiqua
wooden floor: thick,
dark wood marquetry of stylised esses on a paler wood background. That
is what my
kitchen looks like, I'll be in it at thirty-four, thirty-five maybe,
minutes past. More
likely both. There I will make a small pot of earl grey tea, enough for
two cups. At
approximately twenty to (I wish I could be more precise) I will return
to my study and
take tea, two cups with a twist of lemon. Whilst doing so, I will
continue revising for
this dinner party tomorrow night with Christopher and Elizabeth, which
is what I am
doing now. At eight o'clock I leave for work.

Allow me to explain myself a little better. My name is Charles
Casthorne and I was
born in nineteen sixty-six, a late born offspring of an earl. After a
public school
education I went to one of the perhaps less prestigious universities
and graduated with
honours before finishing up in pharmaceutical sales. I have a
reasonably well-
maintained apartment in a fashionable district of London and after an
unsatisfying and
unsuccessful marriage I am now two years divorced. I believe at
thirty-six I am now
middle-aged. In order to cope with this fact, I have a strategy in
place designed to
keep body and soul together. To fit-in in the modern world with all its
backbiting,
tale-telling and litigation culture, you have to adapt. You cannot go
anywhere these
days without bumping into someone you know, which isn't a problem.
Bumping into
someone who knows you- now that is an altogether different matter,
before you know
it the word is out and one finds oneself being discussed in all the
wrong circles. This
is why one needs to adapt- to mediocrity. No, that isn't a toast. In
order to avoid
potential awkwardness, one must be seen to be whiter than white. As a
general rule of
thumb anytime you assert your individuality, somebody who knows you
will be
watching. It therefore being unwise to act on a whim, virtually
everything I do is
allotted a timeframe. I only philosophise until ten past- this is where
I stop. I have to
concentrate for this damnable dinner party. And drinks- oh lord!

I spoke to the guard about my car. I told him that I was doing a spot
of research for a
project I was interested in. I wasn't, I was looking for answers. Or
perhaps replies is
a better term. I was seeking opinions that are not my own for
Christopher and
Elizabeth and their insufferable guests. I think at this juncture I
should explain the
concept of the aspirational middle-aged bourgeois house party, for it
does take a little
getting used to. My colleague has rather kindly invited me around to
his house and I
would prefer not to go there. Christopher and his charming wife would
prefer it if I
did not turn up to their party and if all the other couples they have
so graciously and
cordially invited did likewise. None of the couples want to go to the
party and have
naturally accepted their invitations with expressions of delight
'Edward and I would
be delighted to attend. Wouldn't we Edward?' These events would not
exist but for
protocol. Our host and hostess for the evening were invited to mine and
Beatrice's
explosive demise two and a half years ago and they feel compelled to
reciprocate- or
retaliate one of the two. It is somewhat reminiscent of strategic arms
policy. Each
couple will arrive at their allotted time slots, cloaked in their own
little couple
bubbles- thin, strong and invisible barriers to anyone who wishes to
know them as
people. Once there, nobody will want to know them as people; should any
of the
assembled let slip anything of their true nature during the proceedings
it is considered
the height of bad manners and idle gossip shall follow them always.
Barring the
hosts, everybody at the party will wish they were at home in their own
little couple
bubbles, safe from the outside world. The hosts will be at home but
will wish that
they were elsewhere. Drinks will be politely offered and poured out by
the host and
hostess, and light-hearted remarks will be made regarding how everyone
should help
themselves as the guests mill around physically unable to help
themselves. Light-
hearted comments will be exchanged with the host regarding the measures
poured and
the danger of serious intoxication of the recipient later on in the
evening; these will be
greeted with laughter and similar claims from others of the guests.
Light-hearted
always, never funny.

After the initial dull pleasantries, the mingling will commence. A
process akin to
lions prowling the Serengeti, the predators watch the prey, seeking out
the weaker
members of the pack whilst the canap?s are being picked at by the
vultures of the
group. When everybody has their first drink in their hand, the lions
encircle the pack
and, choosing their moment to strike, they leap upon their chosen
victim, engaging it
in conversation. As a lone animal I am, strictly speaking, an elderly
and infirm
wildebeest- or a lamb to the slaughter. Couples who talk to other
couples are quickly
fended off; their couple bubbles simply bounce off eachother. As a
middle class,
middle-aged couple the worst thing that can possibly happen to you is
that somebody
will discover any grain of truth about your lives. This can be
anything: what your real
hobbies and interests are if they differ from the bog standard; how
close the two of
you come to divorce sometimes; who you bank with, and artistic or
creative
pretensions are a definite no-no. The object of the game appears to be
avoiding
intimate disclosure. This, for a couple, makes conversation difficult.
Everytime the
husband oversteps the mark and everytime the wife steps in to tell him
that he has had
too much too drink already, every subtle dig and angry riposte is a
form of disclosure.
And every disclosure is a source of discomfiture to all concerned. It
is now nineteen
minutes to, I shall take this through to the study.

The car that I drive is an audi S8 four-door saloon in metallic grey.
It has a 40v, 4.2
litre engine and 340 break horse power, together with 16-inch alloy
wheels and I
really have not the faintest idea what any of that has to do with the
price of fish. I
know all this because it is part of my revision. Dave on security has
said that he
knows nothing about them and that they are all the same to him, audis.
One of the
more odious features of this form of gathering is that cars are the
only means of
expressing one's individuality. Once set upon by the predatory couple,
as prey you
are subjected to a terrifying conversational ordeal. In order to avoid
unnecessary
disclosure the couple plays with its helpless victim savaging it with
polite trivial small
talk, short sentences and long pauses during which they will attempt to
remember
which uninteresting questions from their checklist they have not yet
asked of their
prey. At various points in this barbaric process one is asked about
one's career, one's
home and one's lifestyle, without ever gaining any useful insight into
those of one's
assailants. It is like being interviewed by Richard and Judy. I bought
a number of
Sunday papers at the beginning of the week, only for the magazine and
supplement
sections. Coupled to that I have watched a little television during the
week leading up
to the party, something I rarely do. The results of these media forays
are mildly
disconcerting. Apparently my audi S8 says that I am a spontaneous
individual who
dares to be different whilst seeming to tow the line, as it were. That
really is not me
at all. I will have to point out that the model that I have is nearly
two years old now
and is not the same as the spontaneous and individual one featured in
the current
advertisements. At the time that I chose my car the audi S8 reflected
my personality
exactly: a slick, in-control, successful sales executive, I was quietly
modest about my
achievements but deep down I was strong, courageous, focused and tough.
I thought
that other seemingly in-control slick executives of a more egotistical,
boastful and
competitive ilk were arrogant fools, and in the advertisements they
always came a
cropper and I was able to publicly expose them for what they were-
without being
mean or unpleasant about it. I might have to stress the registration
year when I get the
inevitable 'So what do you drive then?' I wonder if I can sell it
before the party. I
need a car that reflects what I am really about. I wonder if they can
bend metal and
fibreglass into something resembling a confident, in-control,
successful sales
executive who has self image problems and delusions that people are
judging him by
the make of car that he drives. Eight o'clock, car keys.

I really am a dreadful fraud. I am reading the Golfing News during my
lunch break
en route to Milton Keynes. There is a wonderful article about a day of
sunshine and
golf at Saint Andrew's golf course in Scotland. The worst of it is the
interpretation.
When the conversations turns from lifestyle (for which I have read a
number of recent
editions of no fewer than three different home and garden magazines-
the consensus
seems to be that my tastes for this season are wooden floors Selfridges
rugs and
various accessories that I need to reacquaint myself with the names of)
to hobbies and
interests, I will use the phrase '...and of course we all laughed when
I bogeyed the
fourth'. I do not, unfortunately, understand what this phrase means or
whether it is a
good thing or a bad thing. My real hobbies and interests are riding
horses and
smoking marijuana with the drop-out elements from my former alma-mater.
No
matter, all of the things that we say at these bashes are fake- one
might as well take it
that one step further and study for it. After all, the worst deceit of
this whole charade
will come at the end of the night: 'We really will have to do this
again sometime.'
The problem is though: we undoubtedly really will have to.