So it was my friend QEII's mum's 70th-birthday celebration on Saturday night. I was invited because Ibu loves me and I also love her. But also, QEII wanted me to be the official photographer for the evening.
How different it is to be at a party as the "official photographer" and get everyone's cooperation and indulgence, compared to being at a party as a guest and being constantly told, "Bugger off with that bloody camera, hazelblackberry."
Anyway, it did seem a trifle tragic that the social highlight of my weekend was a 70-year-old's birthday party (albeit, a very charming 70-year-old).
So I listened to Rage Against the Machine on the way down, because I am tres hard core, and I was pleased to see when I arrived that QEII had also invited our friend Bam-Bam. We compared notes and were most delighted to learn that our choices of evening entertainment had aligned perfectly: kicking up our heels with the septuagenarian, or sitting on the couch at home with the cat.
Given that my cat will barely deign to breathe the same air as any other living thing these days, I didn't have to think about it for too long.
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