No dear reader (or readers, if my fanbase has indeed expanded): I speak of the long-standing tradition of houseparties within London which use the London tube system as a theme. In fairness, it's not the worst idea in the world: much as I hate fancy dress, the theme and forces people to arrive in imaginative costumes which, if nothing else, provide an easy talking point between guests.
A friend of mine threw one such party last year, and naturally I drew a blank as to what tube station, or aspect of tube life (for many people come as tube drivers, construction workers or...er, suicide bombers), to go as.
Cockfosters immediately springs to mind if you're a bloke, the costume necessitating nothing more than a can of Australian lager and some sellotape. But hey, that's been done. Alternatively, you could go as the entire Northern Line and arrive late. But that's a tired joke.
So I enlisted the help of Al, my imaginative and high-octane friend from Cork.
What should I go dressed as? I asked. The guy exploded with ideas. 'There's soooo much you could go as!' he enthused, eyes wide with possibility. 'Like...like....WAPPING, for instance!'
Wapping? I didn't get it.
'It's simple,' he said, evidently exasperated that I didn't share his vision. 'You just dress up as...as a giant mobile phone....that's WAP enabled!'
Ah yes- how did I not see that one coming?
'Or...or what about Battersea??' he continued.
Battersea? Please explain.
'Yeah you could...you could...' said Al, clearly thinking on the spot. 'You could dress up as a wave (a sea-wave, he added, unnecessarily differentiating it from...a hand-wave perhaps) and...and...walk around, like with a batter sausage in your hand all night!'
And those were just his first two flashes of inspiration.
Blackfriar. Yes, one of the boys actually adopted some black facepaint and a monk's habit. Ben Stiller later thanked him for spawning the idea for Robert Downey Jr's character in Tropic Thunder.
Liverpool Street. Two of the lads dressed as the 'scousers' from Harry Enfield and Chums, complete with matching taches, dark curly wigs and cheap tracksuits. They completed the look by circulating the party, saying 'ay ay ay, our terry, alrice alrice, cyalm down' all night. Despite their efforts, countless revellers came up and asked them why they were dressed as the 118 118 twins.
Paddington. Murphy opted for Paddington Bear, by simply wearing the Liam Gallagheresque duffel coat he normally wears and added a veneer of snarling attitude to the usually placid bear: 'Paddington fookin bear yeeeah,' he growled. 'Fookin mad for it,' throwing two fingers up into the air. I lent him an old navy hat which thankfully took the edge off.
Holland Park. I opted for the considerably easy-to-prepare Holland Park look. This consisted of a Holland football jersey, the Dutch flag painted on face and a hastily-prepared mock-spliff. Which ended up looking like a giant tampon.
Grange Hill. Yes, it is a real place, nestled somewhere down the arse end of the Central Line in deepest, darkest, East Laandan. Chris came as Grange Hill by...well...generally wearing what he normally wears: skinny tie, white shirt and all.
The evening was rounded off by several vomiting incidents, which may or may not have been perpetrated by my good self. Though god knows how I supposedly threw up under a couch. Sometimes I amaze myself.
All in all, good fun was had by everyone.
Word of advice though, be sure to clean all remnants of our costume off (in my case, a beer-stained Holland jersey with blue, white and red paint smudged all over my face) if you happen to be making your home from the party on the first tube the morning after.
Otherwise it sure scares the bejesus outta people. Trust me, I know.
CB
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