Friday, April 13, 2007

AIN'T NO PARTY LIKE A DTD PARTY

It wasn’t quite the den of iniquity that I was expecting, but there were the inevitable pole-dancers and an array of stunning tottie on display, so the visual treats certainly weren’t lacking. The first person I caught sight of was The Gecko, who’s opening and slightly intoxicated line was “This is what happens when you’ve been on Eastenders”. Crikey I thought, imagine the parties the Mitchells must be having.

Enjoying the bevies in equal measure were a host of other familiar faces: Bill Chen, Devilfish, Joe Hachem, Vicky Coren, Mickey Wernick, Roland de Wolfe and The Hendon Mob all being lured in off the street – the first in that list being of particular entertainment, baring his chest and pushing those dancing shoes to the limit. “I’ll have nightmares for a year,” cried a disturbed onlooker. “6 months per nipple,” I replied.

A pre-cold turkied Kevin O’Connell was present, understandably enjoying his final sips of ethanol. Although pissed as a fart, he was able to utter a few decipherable words, one batch being in the form of a post-boom anecdote in which he reminisced of how a kid bypassed Trevor McDonald to request Kev’s autograph instead. I was so tempted to ask, “Who the eck is Trevor McDonald?’ but thought better of it.

The Devilfish was his usual nutty self; singing, dancing, socialising with the breasted ones – I don’t think there was a safe lady in the room. It was fun, although mighty surreal, seeing the fella I used to watch on the box as a student gyrating those hips in front of a pole-dancer. Gotta love the Fish!

Speaking of pole-dancing, John Shipley certainly wasn’t timid, inviting the gossiping paparazzi (oh crap, that’s me) to snap him sliding the ol crotch up and down the pole, a bevy in the one hand, the pole in the other and a huge Cheshire cat grin slapped across his face. Seeing a usually conservative Shipley bumping and grinding sure was a sight to behold.

If you think the gambling stops when the booze is introduced, then think again, as it’s a clear catalyst. At one point, I recall witnessing Mickey The Worm and Mark Vos making sizable bets on the number of tables in the room. It’s a shame the plastered Aussie was seeing double, he might have won…

After a while, all the DTD girls lingered around outside, posing for the odd photo with various stars, oh yeah, and JP Kelly (just kidding). Hachem seemed to be the main attraction, at one point saying “Don’t tell my wife about this!” “What was your wife’s email again?” I later asked cheekily. “Fuckoff@hotmail.com,” joked The Hach. Bingo, a World Champ told me to fuck off, well that’s my claim to fame! Moneymaker and Gold are home bankers, Raymer could be a challenge.

Okay, enough waffle, time for a few piccies. There were many Heat Magazine-esque rumours flying about, but I really would get my balls chopped off and steamrolled if I gossiped too much. What I will say, though, is that the grapevine was vibrating vigoursly at one point, with my sources informing me that one player pulled a lass only to later find out she was a lady of the night. I’ll leave you to do the guessing.

You lost the bet, Mark!

Less hair than a Right Said Fred tribute band.

The Mrs is easily pleased come her b'day.

Don't do drugs, kids!

I repeat... don't do drugs!

Oh I give up!

Duthie dons pink.

Benjo, snoops, and The Panzer - sober as judges. Overruled!

Actionjeff points at his drink for no apparent reason.

Is it just me or is Vicky wearing a "Come to bed with me..." look?

Trevor McDonald

Lynchian Jen

Mad as a box of monkeys

"'Smack My Bitch Up'... My fave!"

I know Joe's receding, but this is ridiculous!

So lucky that the bar used to be a fire station.

People always say we look like brothers

Guess Joe isn't a breast man

Worth the entrance fee alone


1 Comments:

At 2:29 AM, Blogger Suffolk Punch Poker said...

Lol. Good stuff, Snoops

 

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