Midsummer Night's Feast

Ah, Irish boys!  If I thought I had a thing for boys with British accents, I am reduced to a breathless puddle of quivering knees by boys with Irish accents.  Some days I really think I should just move to Dublin...

Irish boys, including The Irish Boy on the right

This evening was the Midsummer Night's Feast being held at the club, which we had been planning for months.  I had originally planned to get to the club early, at around 6 PM, but after a day of shopping with my Swiss friend who was visiting, we barely managed to leave my flat in time to make it there for 7 PM.  I did manage to pick up a lovely crown of roses at Primark that matched my dress, so although I worried that they were a bit over-the-top, it was a nice "midsummer" touch.

Standing around at the champagne reception

Luckily the crowds were just arriving, and so I was able to make my way in, grab a glass of champagne, and circulate with people.  I got a bit stuck paying attention to my guests, which I suppose is an odd complaint, but since I would be sitting with them at dinner, it seemed a bit ridiculous to be talking to them beforehand.

The room at dinner

I only ran into one last-minute seating problem, before at 8 PM we were called down to dinner.  The banqueting organiser and I agreed on a rotation, and he gave me the club gavel, which was made of carved ivory, and inscribed in silver to say, "This is to replace the hammer I broke at the Club Dinner - 1925".  My goodness, what a historical piece!

Playing with the historical gavel

People took ages to file down into dinner, during which time I jokingly argued with the Young Dutchman (who was seated to my right) about whether to read the Cambridge or the Oxford grace.  I prefer the Cambridge version since it is so much more familiar to me, but he argued that with so many Oxford people present, I should read the Oxford version.  I read the Cambridge version in the end, which got me some grumbles, but I knew they were only in jest.

Our table at dinner

The dinner went well, as I had a nice Irish boy seated to my left, and the Young Dutchman on my right.  I didn't get to chat to the Young Dutchman as much as I would have liked, but I never seem to at these things.

As the time for the rotation approached, I found myself debating with the Young Dutchman about how to do it.  I'd originally thought to do a rotation of four places, as that would put me inbetween a handsome Irish man and another decent-seeming chap.  The Young Dutchman however, was arguing for a rotation of four places counter-clockwise, or seven places clockwise.  When I finally counted it up, I realised why he wanted to do it, as both rotations would place him back directly across from me.  Utterly charming, but not the point!

Standing up to get the boys to do the rotation

I finally compromised on five places, as that would still give everyone new people, and put me with the Irish boy I wanted to sit with.  I stood up, did the rotation, and all went according to plan.  He introduced himself to me, and then proceeded to absolutely make me swoon with his thick Irish accent and way of saying "C'mere to me..." in the way that only real Irish boys do.  He was a charmer, all right...

I was then told to do the loyal toast once everyone had their port, so I banged the gavel on the table and got everyone's attention for that.  Finally, it was time for the after-dinner opera singers entertainment, so I banged the table so my Oxford10 co-organisers could introduce them, at which point they completely lost the room.

I was kind of surprised that these were professional performers, because I have seen opera singers, without microphones or any sort of accompaniment, manage to hold a room with the power of their performance.  However these singers, as soon as the volume on their record couldn't be turned to the maximum, just didn't seem to know what to do, and wandered around aimlessly, constantly trying to go back and fix things.

It was one of those situations where I almost wondered if I should try to get people to settle down, but they had so thoroughly lost everyone at this point, there seemed to be no point to me.  (And if performers that you have paid for can't put on a good enough show to keep people interested, what is the point?)  So we suffered on through until we'd finally had enough, and I at last quieted the crowds one last time so one of my Oxford10 co-organisers could give a speech.

Alas, I guess I had really underestimated how comfortable I am with public speaking, and how much it terrifies other people.  Every time I'd needed to call the room to attention, I'd had no trouble being authoritative, projecting my voice, and just getting everyone to listen to me.  I guess I have that presence about me, and whether it's a room of 15 or 150, it's never been hard for me to command attention.  The Oxford10 rep on the other hand, with 150 eyes all on her, suddenly froze, gave a mumbled, gasping speech where she forgot to mention half of the important points, and then it was all over.  I thought about jumping back in to remind everyone of the club and the bar upstairs and all that she'd forgotten, but I'd just had enough at this point.  Whatever, time to call it a night.

Playing with books in the library

We retired upstairs to the terrace, where many people had gathered.  I have vague memories of more drinks,   losing the Young Dutchman to another party, taking pictures with books in the library, and then being kicked out of the library by one of the staff.  We were then all in the front lobby, debating where to go next (I figured we should go to the club we'd arranged, Opal), but someone then had wristbands for Aura, and before I knew it one was being snapped on my wrist, and just like handcuffs, I was then led away off to this club.

There was a £10 cover to get in (apparently reduced because we had these wristbands), but then we got a shot once we were inside because we had these wristbands.  Which the bartender cut off once he gave us the shot.  To say I was confused is putting it lightly.

Reading time!

There were people dancing everywhere with glowsticks however, and I guess drunk people are easily influenced by bright, glowing things, because all of a sudden I forgot about the weirdness of the wristbands, and just wanted a glowstick.  Some girl (a club girl), came by and handed us a few glowsticks, and before long we were having fun dancing with them.

The Irish boys were with us (I think I'd known that we were all in the same group), and the cute, charming one who had made such an impression before was now dancing with us.  I was glad to see him, and enjoyed dancing with him, but felt like I couldn't do much with so many people around.  One thing I've learned from the Young Dutchman, is that you can do anything you like, as long as you are discreet.  It's the witnesses that make things problematic.  If you can preserve your reputation, you really can get up to quite a lot.

So when Hong Kong Boy and his girlfriend told me they were heading home, and the only real "witness" left was my Swiss friend who would soon be returning to Zurich, I went back to dancing closely with the Irish Boy, leaned in to give him the subtle message that, "You can kiss me now", and he immediately swooped in with his lips on mine.  I was joking with the Tall South African about it later, the subtle lean-in that girls do to let a guy know they can kiss her, and he laughed, "We really appreciate that, you know!"

Dancing with glowsticks

God, I'd forgotten how nice it is to kiss a boy.  His lips played on mine, his tongue danced in my mouth, playing and nibbling...  Kissing to me always seems like a way of talking without words, a way of communicating emotion, passion, and desire completely without a sound.

Yet, as we stood there, making out on the dance floor, I realised this wasn't going to work, we needed to find somewhere a bit more private to indulge ourselves.  So I grabbed his hand, led him off the dance floor.....and immediately ran into another group of people I knew from the club who had suddenly appeared.  I hope I didn't seem too rude, but I said hello and then almost immediately dashed away, pulling the Irish Boy after me as I headed for a dark corner, where thankfully I found an empty bench where we could sit and drink each other in.

The thing is, he was crashing on a friend's couch that night, and I of course had a house guest sleeping on my floor, so there was nowhere to go.  So it wasn't like we could just kiss for a while and then say, "Let's get out of here", all there was to do was just stay where we were.  Instead, we just kissed, and kissed, and kissed, necking like a couple of teenagers.  I can't remember the last time I just made out with a boy like that, we were there for well over an hour, just kissing, laughing, not saying a word but enjoying every moment of it.

Later I was thinking that it's a shame that probably eventually goes away.  What married couple ever just kisses each other in a dark corner in a night club?  When did we ever get too big and grown up to just tease and tantalize each other for ages like that?

It was only when the lights started to come up, and my Swiss friend came up and interrupted us, begging to go home, that we finally realised we had to call it a night.  We exited the nightclub, along with all the other Irish boys, and stood out on the street corner for a bit as the boys debated what to do, my friend tried to hail a cab, and the Irish Boy and I couldn't resist continuing to kiss each other.  God, we were being obnoxious, but I didn't really care.  Kissing him was too much fun.

Finally however, our respective friends dragged us in opposite directions and we had to part, but what a great end to a spectacular night!