PARTY POLICE - DAY 10

I’m convinced that my flatmates are in the midst of a modern day mid life crisis.  In the good old days, men would simply ditch their wife, find a 20-something play thing and zip around in their flashy new convertible. I suppose a bachelor without a parking permit for Surry Hills would find certain elements of this old school crisis difficult to achieve.

Big P is turning 40 this week. He is a very well adjusted, social character with a strong desire to build cross cultural relationships between Australian men and Asian females. I awoke early on Saturday morning and stumbled down to the lounge room only to discover a veritable sardine can of Korean ladies. Not one, not two, not three….but SIX! Enter Big P stage right. Dressed in his previous night’s attire and cocktail in hand, I asked “Are you experiencing a mid life crisis?” to which he replied “It will be like this all week!” As I walked out the door on my way to tennis, I considered his comment. Surely he will be drinking non-stop, but did that mean our new friends would also maintain their positions for 7 days and if so, will they pitch in for electricity?

Mini P is already 40. Having just been made redundant from his job he is finding himself with an abundance of free time and the desire to understand people from all walks of life. Mini P has been relatively tame until last night. After slamming the door at 4.45am and almost breaking his neck on the staircase, I perked up and listened out for any signs of life slipping away from him. What followed was the kick off of a very special type of party. I could hear the chink of glasses, the giggles of ladies and I imagined Mini P entertaining a couple of classy women with his views on world peace and the growing global financial crisis. After 30 minutes of his wooing I had had quite enough.  I didn’t care if he had a view to marry one of them, partying at 5am on a school night was slightly ridiculous. I stormed down the stairs only to discover 3 scantily clad girls, otherwise known as strippers. They were dressed in nothing but hooker heels and teeny tiny g-strings. The coloured party lights were flashing and one was posing against the wall while the others contemplated her physique. They turned around when I entered from above.

“Good morning!” I said “Nice underwear! Would you mind terribly keeping it down as I have to work in 3 hours and as interesting as your conversation is, I don’t need to hear it”. Roughly translated I’m sure it sounded more like “I’m a lonely old bag who doesn’t want to be sleepy for my desk job tomorrow. Fun? Don’t really remember what that is but it sounds EXTREMELY dangerous. Well, carry on like I know you will."

Returning to my bed to fume for a couple of hours, I remembered the good old days when I lived in Italy and I begged people to stay out and keep the party going. A real party wasn’t over until the sun came up and sitting down for a plate of pasta and a glass of wine while this happened was not an uncommon occurrence. Somewhere along the line I had become the party police, flashing my badge around town. A consequence of my sobriety or am I just maturing like the fine Italian wines I once enjoyed?