Whew; what a night. Intense, spectacular, moving, hilarious, inspiring. A chance to enjoy our friends, and what fine folk they are indeed – and how they revelled in the costume challenge of genderfuck. Winners were votedĀ in various categories of sartorial achievement: finest subtle transfomation (Max), finest, ahem, sock (oh names names; some gorgeous young friend of a friend), most dramatic straight male transformation (ooh Kenny!), girl we were all hot for as a man (after much discussion and talk of a dance-off, Deborah), and most glorious queen (Mimo, in my mermaid wig; no contest in the absence of Mr d’Silva, since Mimo’s friend came as a flat-chested lesbian, aka himself).
The 70s punch bowl was filled with Mirjam’s infamous rum/orange/champagne/ice cream punch, the fairy lights were twinkling, Pablo was mixing tunes from Mirjam’s iPod, and all manner of magical encounters were occurring. It was a fitting celebration for the return of Mirjam to Pembroke/tiny rhinos.
Tsk. I should’ve got Mimo to do the prize awards with me. Next time. We’ve promised another party if there’s another election, and I’ve a birthday coming up anyway.
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