Jonola14

RENAULT PARTY

Renault and Nissan have now been in alliance for five years and last night both companies had a joint party to celebrate. The venue was Battersea Park, London (the seasoned readers of this site may remember this post which regales all sorts of debauched antics from the Renault Christmas Party there in 2003) and the theme was ‘Race Around The Kasbah’.

Other halves were also invited to the bash, so Debs and I turned up at the door and the first thing we did was to say hello to two rather large but allegedly “good-natured” camels. I’ve never seen a camel before (apart from the one I photographed at long distance standing outside the random circus that appeared in a field down the road one day last summer) and I was surprised at the enormity of the things. Debs “didn’t like the way he was looking at me” so kept her distance and I warily refrained from patting the thing in case it bolted.

The entertainment inside the venue was marvellous. Fire-eaters and belly dancers being the highlights and some of the positions the dancers got themselves into were really quite remarkable. Of course there were all sorts of sordid comments from the perverse motor industry divorcees in the crowd so I happily bantered, much to the disgust of Debs, before making my way to the free bar.

The before-dinner drinks and the meal itself were free from any amusing incidents, although I was greatly disappointed by not winning either of the two holidays on offer as raffle prizes, but after dinner, once the umpteenth bottle of Beck’s had been sunk, the amusement began.

There were four entertainment stalls - dodgems, a coconut shy, Scalextric, and the frog-catapult (which provided SO MUCH entertainment the last time I was there). So, being the competitive little tyke that I am, I had as many goes as possible. First up was the coconut shy. After a few sighters, as well as dismissing Debs’ attempts as “wayward and weak”, I knocked one of the blighters off and claimed my prize. I didn’t win a coconut, I won a plastic bottle full of twenty party poppers, but this particular plastic bottle was one of those that you twist and it splits half-way up, making a neck half and a body half, thus providing easy access to its contents.

Needless to say, I was very pleased with myself for winning a prize, so after an unsuccessfully stint with the frog catapults, Debs and I claimed a dodgem and set about trying to ram as many French people as possible. Debs was driving so I was playing the mouthy co-driver and shouting directions and instructions at her. “There’s one!” I yelled as we veered towards a Frenchman a mere ten seconds into our ride, with Debs giggling and me gripping my party poppers bottle by its neck and aggressively shaking at at anyone that came near. Wielding the bottle in such a threatening manner was enormous fun and the waiting crowd looked a bit concerned, until I hit the bottle into the palm of my left hand like a thug would do with a pool cue in a “come on then” gesture, only for the bottle to split open and all the party poppers to scatter onto the floor of the dodgems. For the next thirty seconds, all you could hear was BANG….BANG………BANG! as dodgem cars ran over the tiny explosive devices, thus firing out all the colourful paper onto the ride. Debs could hardly drive she was crying with laughter and I was busy giggling and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. BANG! The siren eventually whirled into action to signal the end of our turn so it was all I could do to advise Debs in one word to “scarper” and we hurried inside and out of sight before anyone collared us. Even when walking to the coach at the end of the night, the dodgems was covered in multi-coloured paper and little navy blue bottle-shaped objects. Oops!

The frog catapults beckoned and the tempting prize of a small, blue soft toy for projecting a rubber frog into a revolving dish via the use of a mallet and a catapult was too much to resist. “That rubber frog’s got no legs” Debs remarked as I placed it in the firing zone, “that’s ‘cos the French have probably eaten them” I retorted, before swinging the mallet and sending it flying through the air like some sort of amphibian projectile. Egged on by several colleagues, I pounded the catapult for several minutes without any success, yet despite twice missing the catapult completely and slamming the mallet down onto the wood of the stall, I did eventually get one in the dish to claim my prize.

There was still time for a go on the Scalextric and despite my skinful of lager, I won the race by a considerable margin and claimed a Nissan baseball cap which Debs’ kindly positioned back-to-front on my head but by now I was too drunk to notice or care. Twenty minutes later and we were sitting on the coach ready to be transported back to Maple Cross, only I’d forgotten that I’d smuggled out a bottle of Grolsch in my pocket - half the contents of which had now poured themselves onto my shirt and onto the seat, so we moved seats and giggled incessantly at the French man in the silly hat (I was one to talk…) who sat in that seat after me.

Then I fell asleep and woke up as we arrived at our destination, where our pre-booked taxi was waiting. Utterly splendid.