Monday, October 31, 2005


Last night witnessed the triumphant return of DJ Dad as I sought to wield my authority over the district's pampered under 10s at the ritual Halloween disco.

Oh yes, dressed as a wyrd cross between Frank'n'Furter and Johnny Vegas I subjected fifty odd Paiges, Nathans, Olivers, Lillys, Freddies, Archies (...continue until sick) to a wicked conconction of Madonna, Sigur Ros, Sugababes and the Electro Hippies.

It seemed to go well. We had to send out for more beer after half an hour and I only had to warn two of the older ones for snorting their Daddies' best coke in the lane behind the Village Hall. (Posh Crack they call it round here).

Speaking of posh crack, most of the little angels had their Mums in tow. I tell you what, once they're out of their dirty jodhpurs and into some fancy dress, those moneyed Mum's don't look half bad. Funny how they can dismount a Shire horse with a swift clenching of the buttocks and a deft flexing of the thigh, but they can't climb out of a Discovery dressed as Catwoman. Grr.