Frat Party

At the weekend, Kevin's frat Christmas party was at our house. People take it in turns to host and this year, well, we offered. Sounds like madness, doesn't it?

In fact, it was incredibly well-organised. The young whippersnapper frats in their best bib and tucker, shirt neatly tucked into trews, ties, nicely polished shoes, came and set up. All the food and drink was provided. The youngsters ran the bar, no-one drank too much, and at the end, the 'pledges' cleared up. It was a sort of rent-a-party. Totes civilised. Who knew?

Hmm, Kevin did, I must admit, this is how he had told me it would be, and it was.

My own part mainly took the form of dog-wrangling. As soon as strangers started arriving, Whisky became insane dog, but I put him in the car and took him for a walk. Er...a drive and then a walk. We have a place we go down by the river, which is normally deserted, but yesterday evening, at twilight, there were more cars driving past than I'd ever seen there before. Followed by a police car.

An elderly Chinese lady wearing a coolie hat was clipping the grass verge with a pair of garden shears. There are no houses there, this was just a random piece of grass verge.
'Cars very fast,' she said.
'Yes,' I agreed, unable to think of anything less anodyne to say in the face of surreality.
But the dog came back calm.