To celebrate a year of being in their new house, Paul and Jen had a fancy dress
party – the theme of which was “Heroes and Villains”. For a change I had loads
of ideas and loads of time to prepare but I still ended up leaving it till the
First off I was supposed to be going as a box of cadburys heroes.. see what I’ve
done there? This was deemed a bit too cryptic by the select few I consulted on
the matter and although “Wile E Coyote” of Roadrunner fame came out on top of
the reserve list, building rocket roller-skates and an ACME anvil turned out to
be far too complex. I left it too late and had to ditch him.
I chose what should have been an easy backup; Dick Dasturdly from wacky racers!
His outfit consists of long red gloves, black shoes, a purple coat and a flying
Yeah right, “easy” I couldn’t get any red gloves and finding a purple trenchcoat
I ended up with an old womans mac from a charity shop that I tried to die purple
in the wash.. in it went and out it came, still entirely a horrid beige save for
a strip of fur on the back of it. I should have read the instructions on the dye
“not suitable for polyester”.. what can you expect for four quid?
Now, when I initially heard of the word “Heroes” I’d instantly thought of
D-d-d-D DAVID BOWIE and for a short while I’d contemplated going as Ziggy
Stardust but shied away from crowbar-ing “We could be HEROES” into it especially
as he didn’t even sing that when he was doing Ziggy…
Facts like that however hold no weight on a Saturday evening when the shops are
shut and you’ve got two hours to prepare. So I donned a silvery body-stocking, a
pink wig, got my face painted up (all relics from my mums dressing up box) and
before you know it, TONIGHT MATTHEW I’M GOING TO BE: ZIGGY FUCKING STARDUST
What a sight. The doorbell rings and Scooby Doo is stood behind it to take me to
the party so off I go, guitar in hand. We joked about getting pulled over for
speeding whilst dressed like a couple of dickheads, wouldn’t it be funny! Well,
no it wasn’t.
Although we were not pulled over by the law we did encounter mechanical failure,
announced suddenly by hundreds of cubic-meters of steam erupting from the bonnet
of Petes Punto.
So now I’m grappling about in the dark under the bonnet of a steaming Fiat
wearing nowt but a silver body stocking and a very attractive pink wig.
Surrounded by a fog of what looked like dry-ice at the side of a busy A road,
cars flew by and hurled sexual abuse at the pair of us for around half an hour
before rescue came and we made it to the party.
Then, as if being exposed in such a manner once in a lifetime wasn’t enough, out
of the blue the whole shindig moved down to the local pub for last orders. Why!?
As if being effectively nude in someone elses George and Dragon wasn’t bad
enough (you want to try going for a piss in a body stocking) they were doing
dammned kareoke! Most pop songs are totally offensive and hearing them sung at
high volume by drunken mutants does nothing to improve them.
I can’t usually even stay in a bar where this is occurring. I say usually
because the moment I heard “Would David Bowie please step up” over the mic I had
Guitar in hand, wig on head and cock-and-balls all but out on display I did the
best Bowie impression of my life and sang Heroes. Touch of class!
I know I was pissed but even now in the cold light of day it was proper comedy.
I even got back up later on for what I’m now calling my encore, closing the show
by singing Ziggy Stardust, to which the whole pub joined in.
Someone idiot even asked me if I’d done it before and offered to book me for a
stag do! Hilarious.
After that we returned to the house and partied on until I was awoken by some
serious thunder and lightening some time in the early morning – alone on a
carpet under a cold radiator, still in all my gear.
I mean if I can’t pull a bird during that adventure what fucking hope have I
got? Maybe if I didn’t look like a politician who’d been exposed on the front of
the Sunday mirror…. ah well.
It was a great evening though. Jesus Christ.