WORDS: BOOTHY
I’m 30 next year and all my mates (well, both of them) reckon it’s as good an excuse as any to have a massive party – after all, when I look back at the decisions I’ve made over the last 29-and-a-half years, it’s pretty phenomenal that I’m still alive, so I decided they were right and started party planning. It’s going to be the party of the century, but unfortunately fireworks and dancing girls are out of my price range. Not that I’m into dancing girls; I’d never objectify women in that way, even if they have got really big boobs and a nice arse. No, for Boothy’s Big Birthday Bash, think more along the lines of party rings, Now 56 on the ghetto blaster and loads and loads and loads of booze.
As far as the Party Rings go, I think I’ll tell my guests I’ve adopted a BYOB (bring your own biscuits) policy and the music isn’t a problem as I’ve still got my copy of Now 56 I downloaded off Limewire back in 2003, before they made that type of thing (stealing) illegal. The Booze was always going to be the big expense but Big Dave, one of the lads from my weekly AA meeting, told me that for bulk buying, you can’t beat heading over to Calais and filling your boot up with beer. Well, that’s all well and good, but that would mean driving all the way down to France in a box on wheels breathing in nothing but recycled farts, with a hint of forest pine air freshener. No thanks.