Hold on, Iain! What do you mean, "party"? Seriously, man, you can't just say something like that and then just leave it. Tell us about the party, goddammit!!!

Oh, OK then. If you really insist.
Tomorrow is my birthday. Although that might be today or yesterday by the time you get to read this. Sunday is Larry's birthday and last Sunday was Thierry's birthday. So to celebrate our combined advanced ages, Chloe The Divine arranged a big celebratory bash. Bottles of wine were opened and quickly emptied, stuff was cooked on the grill, Chloe's amazing potato salad and baked beans blew everyone away, the naked gendarme made a guest appearance and charmed the pants of any of the ladies who were still wearing some, and an altogether fabulous time was had by all and sundry ( he says, deftly deploying an Oxford comma).

As the night wound down, the debating society reconvened. Tonight's topics were geopolitics, race and social stratification, the place of organized religion in a modern world, and the comic genius of Peter Sellers. There was a frank and free exchange of views but no exchange of blows and the world was put to rights. The world, of course, simply refused to register that fact.

Tomorrow, we hit Orient. Somehow, I don't think Orient will notice.