The Rave

The Rave

Everyone needs a holiday & Mrs DJ was clear that either I booked a break abroad for her and her alone, i.e. most definitely not with me and the dear little ones, or she would ‘deal’ with me. I know what you’re thinking, idle threat, but you should see what she did to the paperboy when he kept folding the newspaper. Three times she warned him ‘don’t fold the newspaper,’ and each time he took it upon himself to think that he knew best. Schoolboy error. Dear Mrs DJ gave him a lambasting to never forget. She even used some German. The knock on the door that evening from the paperboys father was therefore not to be unexpected, but what was an unfortunate surprise was the size of him. He was built like a brick toilet house. This fella was as wide as he was tall, and I’d place him at over 6 foot.

‘I’ll get my wife,’ I said, very quickly, only for him to say,

‘I suggest you don’t move.’

So I didn’t. I waited. He just looked at me. I began to perspire. I think my left knee also shook a little. He laughed, turned, and went. That was it. It’s haunted me ever since. Mrs DJ laughed too when I went to find her hiding, as she was, with the kids in the playroom.

So Mrs DJ had gone away for a long weekend to the Algarve with her old posh friend Verity leaving me and the sprogs to have some precious father children time. This we enjoyed very much as I drove them over to my parents for them to enjoy their own long weekend being spoilt rotten on chocolate on the strict understanding that, when questioned with MI5 techniques on her return from the sun, that they say it was only one night.

That night in the Cross Keys ‘Big Steve’ poured me yet another of his fine ales and asked me if everything was alright at home. He’d been concerned ever since the black eye incident caused by the little one kneeing me in the eye as I tried to build her Lego princess palace. This had followed the broken fingers incident after one of the twins fell on to my left hand as I was attempting sit ups with the other twin sat on my back. Then there was the hair cutting incident when I awoke to find all my fringe has been removed with my dear wife’s ‘sharp’ scissors by one of the twins who had ‘needed’ hair for her dolls legs so that they could look like mummy’s.

‘Alright? Everything is absolutely fantastic! I’m home alone for the weekend which is just about my first break from the clan since I went on Dick’s 40th trip to Benidorm!’

‘His 43rd you mean.’

‘Indeed so.’

The good doctor had fabricated his birth date to get a trip abroad with the boys past his wife. It had all gone so well until they had an accidental mix up of passports on a trip to Outer Beyond later that summer.

‘This weekend Steve I’m going to have an internet party!’

‘A what?’

‘An internet party. I think they call it ‘a pop up rave.’ It’s where I put on the World Wide Web that I’m having a wild party and hey presto a party to remember turns up.’

‘Mrs DJ will ensure you never forget it when she finds out!’

‘A fair point Steve, I grant you, but my cleaner is lined up for a double shift the next day and all will be well.’

‘And when is this fine event?’ Steve asked, a smirk threaded through every word.

‘Tonight,’ I replied boldly, ‘from 11pm. Strike whilst the irons hot eh! You are very welcome. Dick’s coming of course, The Long Haired one too. Loads more of the gang are in attendance too including Big Tone who is beside himself with excitement. We haven’t mentioned it to The Boss for fear of him wanting a slice of beer money.’

‘You’re selling beer?!’ asked Steve far too loudly for my liking.

‘Of course not but it won’t stop Big Boss wanting some cash. You know he runs this town.’

‘Village.’

‘Well, yes, village. So, are you coming?’ I asked, a touching piece of hope and need scratching at the back of the question.

‘Of course I am,’ Steve happily replied, ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

My internet invite had been simple. ‘Party,’ it stated, ‘@ Upton. Follow the music and bring alcohol. No drugs. From 11pm. An all nighter. Fancy dress not a necessity.’ I’d put the message out the moment Mrs DJ had disappeared mercifully through customs. I’d added the bit on about fancy dress on a whim purely because I thought it might broaden the appeal of the invite.

By 10:30pm my village mates had all arrived and the stereo got cranked up. By 11:30pm the house was solid with people, some of whom were in fancy dress. By 12:30am the garden too was rammed. I had lost all control of the night and had long since decided ‘to hell with it’ was the only way forward. Debauchery had landed in several bedrooms and in the laurel bushes out back. Alan was having great fun taking shots of it all on his old Pentax K1000.

Steve passed me at around 1am just shaking his head and laughing.

At 1:45am the police, somewhat inevitably, arrived. It seems the half of Upton who had not come had called them.

By 3am the house and village were quiet and I was asleep with Aspley in the bath. We’d been finishing off some of Alan’s home brew apparently and it had obviously done for us.

The next day dawned and I was instructed by my cleaner to instruct a professional cleaning company, some emergency decorators, plumbers to free up the loo’s and a gardener to deal with the disaster that was our lawn.

By the time Mrs DJ was back all was well, though I was several hundred pounds lighter, and when she eventually heard about the party she chose to believe her head which told her, clearly, I wouldn’t have dared.

Indeed not.

Uptonians rock.

DJ


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From an article in next months The Upton Tonic. Blippers getting a hot preview!