Monday, 7 March 2011

Street Party Hard

Well, it must be ‘that time of the month’, because here’s an update. It may be the last one for a while, seeing as my computer is currently howling like a constipated ghost and it is usually 15-20 seconds between typing a sentence and seeing it appear on screen. Ah well.

Last week, in a rare excursion from cursing at cursors and maiming my mouse, I attended a meeting at the local to discuss the forthcoming street party my neighbours plan to hold in commemoration of Prince William and Kate Middleton’s marriage. Thankfully, I didn’t have to go draped in the Union Jack flag, reciting the national anthem. It seems the neighbours are of the same mindset as me; we don’t especially care who’s getting married, we care that we’ve got a day off and we’re going to use it to throw a kickass party and introduce ourselves.

On the subject of the Royals, I also read recently in the Kemptown Rag (yup, my neighbourhood even has its own magazine) that Prince Harry doesn’t wash his hair. He uses water, but not shampoo. Check out his pate compared to that belonging to Prince William. I think it’s further evidence that H2O is the only real beauty product we need. (To clarify, I don’t think Prince Harry is beautiful).

The street party meeting was further evidence for me of how savvy Brightonians are. Everyone seems to work in web design, events, the media, events in the media. I was expecting the chance to meet a few of the residents and fully expected the assembly to descend into drunken debauchery, given the setting. But no, there was an actual agenda, further reading, forms to help allocate tasks to volunteers and a minute-taker. I felt a flush of pride to be involved and wish I could’ve contributed more (like the couple who offered to bring a gazebo and staging) than my feeble offer to help put up bunting.





What the street partiers envisage.







What the Council predicts.


Eerily, when I checked my Twitter feed the next day, a couple of the Guardian columnists (Sali Hughes and Alexis Petridis) I follow were talking about going to the same pub for G&Ts. It makes me wonder about all the celeb-spotting I’m missing mere metres away. I wonder who else goes there. Maybe Mark Kermode goes there to let off some steam about Johnny Depp’s latest incarnation as psychotic writer/pirate/ninja/zombie. Perhaps Simon Price, when not hosting most of Brighton’s club nights and writing books on the Manic Street Preachers, likes to unwind with a vodka orange. Well, anyway, I hope to see them all at the party next month.