Eating Paté With Hitler

I'm always quite amused by what people term as a "party". I come from a working-class background and when I was young a party meant losing three days of your life; two of them at the party itself, and the third at a later stage in life, because of the damage the alcohol had done!

I have woken up in strange places with strange people. My brother once woke up on new year's morning with no eyebrows and a full face of make up (guilty as charged, your honour!) We once put a friend on a train to Crewe the night before his wedding, only to get an irate phone call from both the bride and groom the next morning. He was so drunk that he happily waved to us as the train pulled out of the station. This was pre mobile phones, and he had no money and only a couple of hours before he was due in church. He arrived, dishevilled, in the clothes he had worn the night before, on the back of a friend's motor-bike. My friend did stick a carnation in his crash helmet as he walked down the aisle, and luckily he was marrying a truly remarkable girl who saw the funny side of our little prank! I have crashed parties in my youth where there were things going on that made me feel like I needed a wash just in witnessing them. So when I turned up at a party recently and found that "smart casual" meant a suit and tie, I knew that I was in for a long night.

I fell out of love with alcohol a couple of years ago. I don't really know what happened - I just became fed up of drinking. Don't get me wrong, I still have a couple of pints from time to time but I can't be bothered drinking wine, which used to be one of my loves. I can't be bothered getting drunk, but at this so-called party, the thought of getting drunk started to become more and more appealing. I'm not one of those people who get drunk then have a personality transplant, I tend to either get all huggy kissy or want to put the world to rights. When I'm sober, I'm quite well known for saying the wrong things, and when I'm drunk, this becomes even worse. I'm not a person who is easily offended, and I don't mix with people who are easily offended. I'm a Yorkshireman. If you are reading this and you aren't from Britain, you should know that people from Yorkshire are famous for telling you 'the way it is'. We don't tend to dress things up, and we are not purposely trying to be offensive, but we are just naturally inclined that way. The whole topic of conversation this particular evening seemed to be geared around what people did for a living, This type of conversation, I find, tends to be dominated by some arsehole in marketing or sales! Interesting people don't usually go to these parties.

I was amused to be offered canapes, as a "canopy" in Yorkshire is something you hide under when it starts to rain, but here, it was biscuits with paté. I got talking to a man who pointed out to me that jeans and trainers and a suit jacket is not evening wear, so I pointed out to him, “Who gives a fuck?” I had had one or two drinks by then, and decided that he was going to be my victim for a 'Gezzy' (see previous blogs). I couldn't help but think that I knew this man from somewhere, but I meet so many people that I'm rubbish at recognising them when I see them again. I asked him if we had met before because I seemed to recognise his face and he laughed. “Lots of people say that to me...” What he did next was so disturbing that I genuinely thought that I was drunk and imagined it! He took out a small moustache from his pocket, then stuck it on his top lip and did a Nazi salute!

“I'm a Hitler impersonator” he announced gleefully.

I was so stunned that for the first time in ages I was lost for words, until I found myself saying, “You are bothered about me not wearing a suit to this poxy party, yet you'll happily parade about dressed as a despot who was responsible for killing millions of innocent people?”

“It's only a bit of fun,” he replied, defensively.

“No. Dressing up as an Oompa Lumpa at a fancy dress party is a bit of fun. That's weird! Not only that, but you actually carry the moustache in your pocket to impress people with! You is one sick bunny!”

He tried to walk away, but by now I was on a roll. “Just who the fuck hires someone to turn up to a party dressed as Hitler?” As I said this, the room fell silent, and people turned to look at me. My wife threw me the naughty step look, but I was helpless by now. Mouth must say what mouth must say!

“Go on  -  tell me what sick retarded idiot would part with money to have you parading about as Hit...” It then sunk in that he was at the party not as a guest, but to work! I felt ill thinking that I had turned up to a party with people who find this sort of thing amusing or even worse might even admire this sort of politics. I told my wife that I was going. If she wanted to stay, that was up to her. She shuddered at the thought of being stuck there any longer and quickly ran out of the door with me.

While walking down the road after escaping from this event, I told my wife that she knew some seriously sick people. 

“I know some sick people? I didn't know one person in there! They were all a bunch of weirdos, they were your friends!”

“My friends? Do you know any of my friends that would have a dress code to a party?”

“It was supposed to be (name withheld)'s party, though I didn't see him or his wife anywhere!”

“He cancelled that party a month ago. He's in Dubai, the lucky git!”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I did, but you must have been talking at me at the time, and why would he tell you it was smart casual?”

“They didn't. I told you that, so you wouldn't turn up looking like you were going hiking.”

“So we have just turned up to some sort of right wing rally?”

“Seems so. Do you want to go and get drunk to forget?”

“OK, just for you, but promise me we won't ever talk about tonight again?”

“OK, but you will, no doubt, write about it, sooner or later.”

“No I wont!...”