I'm in a taxi heading home at four thirty on Saturday morning, and I'm happy. It's been a funny night. It's been a ridiculous night.
It all started well with drinks chez TBNIL - there were cocktails, canapés and gifts that included a cabbage and a rubber duck (best you don't ask about either, really).
When it came time to leave the house, we headed for the Marais and for the fabulousness that is Gay Paris. We worked our way around a couple of bars - and it was at the second bar that we lost le Fabulous Parisien.
Apparently, he had met up with a couple of old friends and stayed out with them all night. I don't know if this is true or not, but I'm not really too worried - the fact that he showed up the next morning with a dozen croissants, a sheepish look and a determination to keep me in the bedroom kind of told me that there was another story somewhere....
After losing le FP, we headed for a big old dance at the Tango - the ropiest club in Paris which plays the best music. It's actually great fun there - with music ranging from the Gossip to Cyndi Lauper; from Madonna to Dalida and French pop from Yelle to Claude François. We danced and danced. And then we danced some more.
At one point, my Lovely Irish Bookish Friend found his way up to the stage at the front of the dancefloor. Accompanied by his Certain Someone they showed Paris how it's done in Waterford. And boy did they. It was all going swimmingly until Certain Someone realised he'd been shaking his booty with his flies undone. Pure class. Especially when a young French hottie pointed this out...
The Fierce People were also with us - and the American half was very very drunk. God bless him, he was like a sex-crazed chihuahua, humping everyone's legs and generally driving people crazy. Very funny, and good fun - if you like an undersized American gyrating himself up and down your extremities. Personally, I don't.
And Skater Boy was there too. But that's a whole other post. I'll just say 'tears before bedtime' for now. I do like to keep you in suspense.
After the Tango, after we'd danced ourselves damp and silly, we decided that enough wasn't enough.
At three thirty Saturday morning we headed to the Dépôt. The nasty, dirty, yukky, sexy, filthy Dépôt. I've posted about this place and its labyrinthine sex-club basement before. Needless to say, it was a fitting end to a funny night.
It was with our boundaries pushed and our horizons further widened that we left Sodom and Gomorrah behind and headed home.
Leaving the club, none of dared look back at what we'd left behind. After all, let's not forget what happened to Lot's wife.
At that time of day, and with the debauchery that we had just left behind, the likelihood of somebody turning into a pillar of salt seemed only too real...