A trip to the moon on gossamer wings

Prior to the laryngitis caper, i was fortunate to attend a most wonderful and intimate dinner party to celebrate the Meister's milestone birthday.

My dears it was some soirée! B and J were the perfect hosts and prepared the most delicious banquet. i have never tasted such delicious gnocchi in all my living days. Champers, red wine and cointreau flowed until 2 am. Mrs Beeton-Bridges here was in charge of hors d'oeuvres and decorations and added her somewhat Frostig artistic decorative flair via balloons and home made placecards.

There was much mirth and carry on and some rollicking speeches. My only lament was that there was not a bowl of cheezels. One of the guests had quite the Liz Taylor cleavage on display and every time i copped an eyeful i wanted to shoot a cheezel through the hoop so to speak, i.e. flick the cheesy puff into the bosom's hollow. Needless to say i was the least sophisticated member of the soirée set, my chair was furnished with a pile of telephone books upon which i was seated in order to reach the table, so it was probably just as well that the bowl and those cheezels were not about.

From this tower of telephone books I yearned for sophistication, and cheezels, and revelled in the magnificent spectacle that was the birthday Meister - atop of the stairs surrounded by wrapping paper and gifts, gleefully rolling amongst her birthday loot . Baby Huey indeed!