Last night, Mr. White threw one of his infamous house parties. Within minutes of my arrival, he was blasting out music into his back garden, at a greater volume than a Norman Cook beach party.
It wasn’t long before an elderly neighbour, scurried to the end of her garden, collecting parasols, tables, chairs and items of value, and locking them in a summer house, before boarding up the windows and doors. She knew all too well about the hell which was about to unveil over the course of the night.
The evening was surprisingly rather refrained. Nobody drank to the extent of having their stomach pumped, there was no rape, and Mr. White did not have to fight the mad neighbour who lives at the foot of his garden.
Most of the drinkers were sharing what looked like a gallon of vodka, and an even larger bottle of cider. I stuck to my Bath Gem and Carlsberg, while Simon drank a whole bottle of wine (and yes, like last time, he did spill it). Watkins remained the only T-Total member of the party, yet still managed to make the most amounts of noise and eccentric behaviour, as the photos below suggest.
Mr. White hits a new low – drinking fucking diesel
Kay places her burger on Mr. Watkins’s baps
And yes, that is a table lamp you can see outside!
I feel this picture represents the havoc brought upon White’s usually quite home, when his parents take a holiday.
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