Evenings In

I have had another fine weekend, this time of Evenings In. I like Evenings In a lot: slopping around someone's flat doesn't make you feel glamorous, it's true, but while the small at-home gathering furnishes little occasion for truly fabulous heels, there is equally little occasion for taxis, having to work out the bill, drinking drink you don't really like because it's all they have, shouting to hear the conversation, etc. Besides, for someone so fond of shoes, I must confess that I am never happier than when barefoot, and one of the failings of bars is that taking off your shoes and curling your feet up under you while you sip your wine just isn't quite the thing. Other advantages of people's homes are that there are no queues for the loo, or queues for the bar, and you can listen to whatever music you like. And you are guaranteed only the company you like: since it's not as though I ever talk to stangers in bars anyway (what are street corners for?), the noisome proximity of other people's inane conversations has limited appeal.
Of course this is all rather predictable from the transient perspective of a rather downcast Sunday evening: ask me again next Friday night. If I am making myself sound geriatric and proving that I am lazy as well as stuck in my ways, this will come as no surprise to anyone, especially considering that by my calculations I have not been clubbing since approximately April 2004. I got bored of it when every night seemed to turn into a rerun of my pretty gay friends telling manky straight chancers please to leave me alone. Sometimes you don't know a good thing, eh?