Y-Fronts

I am nominating this weekend the YFronts weekend. Not for any close encounters on my part, but more to do with two episodes of dancing men in Y-fronts, at totally separate parties. Rewind...

Thursday night, started off gently, then I left the house. By ten pm we were playing volleyball in a flat in Sky Tower (narrowly avoiding the flat screen tv and computer in the corner - what was he thinking?!) - I ducked out of playing and put myself in charge of safeguarding the shot glasses from the safety of the sofa in the corner. By midnight we were drinking neat vodka in the back of the cab on the way to the plush environs of Emirates Hills; this is where memory begins to fade. I know I bumped in to many people, I remember the jelly shots, and i remember realizing that some fucker had removed all my cards - including the cinema loyalty cards, and other useless bits of plastic I have tucked in the various pockets of my wallet - but not cash or phone from my handbag. It was the illogicality (word?) of this that really pissed me off at the time. I was forced to take solace in the arms of the irish, and stumbled off into the night, finally surfacing at the sailing club around lunch time to huge amounts of pisstake from the rest of the crew. It seems I wasn't the only one with a tale of woe though, there were a number of people who had cards or other things nicked during the party - Lucy's phone went walkabout right at the end of the night - however the reddest cheeks belong to the gentleman who chose to strip off to his red underpants and do robotic dancing in the garden to a whole song, unaware of jeremy beadle wannabe in the window filming the whole thing.... can't wait to get the forwarded mpg.

Limped through sailing on friday, have discovered that when operating the backstays you can actually almost curl into a ball with the tensioned sheet preventing you from slipping around too much, and therefore catch up on something approaching shut eye. If the skipper doesn't start shouting or deciding to tack. Turns out we did something right as we ended up winning by 6 minutes (a lifetime with our handicap) so stuck around for the prizegiving to whoop and cheer the big T collecting the beers - no posh prizes, only useful prizes. I found second wind from somewhere, perhaps the cheeky naps on the back of the boat, so party number two got underway, and we decamped to T's house and got straight in the pool, basically spending the next 6 hours alternating between the pool and the jacuzzi. Nice. Life is tough in the Gulf. Left me with a sodding earache though, which serves me right for being smug. The big aussie turned up with hangers on, and gingerpants brought some complete randoms - one of whom we dubbed manpants (here comes y-fronts encounter number two...) He borrowed swim shorts to go in the pool and jacuzzi, but when he decided to fire up the bbq again (which was close to midnight) he chose to strip off the nice thick protection of the swim shorts and face the large flames of the bbq with just the thin cotton of his yfronts for protection. They also had strange seams that I decided were a kind of bum lift mechanism for a pert rear, I was entranced until the big aussie and Capt T chose that moment to drown me in the jacuzzi for not paying attention. Or paying attention to the wrong things. Back on the water sat morning, more illicit shut eye mid manoevre, and we're almost ready for the muscat race... this time next week, I'm actually getting relatively nervous. More about the lack of working heads than anything else... ugh.