We're Gonna Party Like It's 2009... Maybe.

Be amazed dear readers. La Casa de Humble Blogger will become, tonight, one of the hottest party scenes that this town has ever known.

But I'm British, so let's scale it down a bit.

There are several smalls flaws that are slowly raising their ugly heads:

1. It is 1pm on the day of the party and we have neither alcohol nor scrumptious snacks with which to feed the hungry masses.

2. It is 1pm on the day of the party and the flat is still a state.

3. It is 1pm on the day of the party and we haven't really told anyone that there is a party.

As you can see, Dear Readers, this has the potential to be wetter than a flannel in an outdoor bathtub in spring. Your Humble Blogger, as noted in many a post, is not so much the gracious party host as the anti-social party avoider. Or, at a push, the semi-social party -goer who skulks outside with a cigarette. That is not to say that this is not a technique with advantages. The Frechman was, of course, met as a direct result of this personality trait. But one cannot really do that at one's own party. Thankfully, of course, there are the Housemates, who will take care of everything people-related, leaving your Humble Blogger to get quietly drunk in a corner without creating much of a fuss. That is, should alcohol make an appearance.

Please allow me, Dear Readers, to make a prediction re. the evening's festivities...

The night will only be half-prepared when over-keen and un-adjusted foreigners, who have not quite grasped the Argentine idea of never turning up before midnight, even when the invite says 10pm, arrive to grace the house with their presence and minimal profferings of alcholic goods. Frenchie II will play some dreadful mix of Cuban Reggaeton and it will be blasted through the amp at a million decibels an hour. The Frenchman will socialise, mainly with women, which will erupt into a fountain of jealously on the part of Frenchie II who has once again neglected to invite any fanciable women, due to some obscure and thoroughly weak excuse such as, "my boss was there at the time, I couldn't invite them". He will then proceed to wind up your Humble Blogger, and the more lamp-shaded he gets, the worse it will become. El Chileno will remain, as always, harmless. Your Humble Blogger will drink more than is necessary, and either hide in a corner or talk incessantly to innocent bystanders. In the event that the evening gets too wild for words, vomit could also enter into the equation.

Please excuse, Dear Readers, the cynicism, but your Humble Blogger has never been one for parties. I will, of course, make an effort. Much like last weekend, at the club party, when I tried to talk to a Frenchgirl who was sat on her own and was rewarded with all of three sentences followed by awkward silence. I probably should not have then proceeded to tell Frenchie II not to bother approaching her, as it "really wasn't worth it."

However, should any efforts at socializing be greeted with anything more responsive, rest assured, Dear Readers, than vomit will not be on the cards, nor the carpet.