Our source of inspiration, not for the first time, is the website of the clearly much-travelled Aussie on the Road. Our Antipodean friend opines that no bucket list is complete without the following:
- Go to a fancy party with or without an invitation.
- Have a drink thrown in one's face or be slapped for being a cad.
- Get a kiss from a celebrity. Tongue optional.
I suggest rolling all of these recommendations into one, viz:
Behave outrageously at a party
and however you slice it, I'm not going to do it.
I don't know why the drink-in-face is an alternative to the slap. Surely one must aim for both? Purists can argue about the order of these humiliations - I think the drink should follow the slap, having maximum effect while you are still stroking your reddening cheek. Also the kiss was to come from a "preferably female" celebrity but I prefer it my way. We'll have no sexual discrimination here.
I could also nit-pick by treating the attendance at the party with an invitation as a separate objective to that of gate-crashing it. Perhaps, though, merely attending a party to which one is invited is not much of an achievement, however fancy it may be; the challenge must surely lie in taking on the role of imposter.
Obviously all of these events should take place at the same party. It is a "fancy" party (note: not a fancy dress party) so clearly that rules out some of the drunken beach barbecues popular on the Gold Coast of New South Wales (see below) but not so fancy that a guest who is misbehaving is merely shown the door by two hefty footmen, as a polite preliminary to being shown where the dustbins are kept and what the inside of one looks like really close up.
I have no experience in crashing any social event. I have turned up to celebrations taking place in a large function hall with other similar events at the same time, and certainly could have snaffled the odd canapé or two from the wrong reception had I chosen, but this, I suspect, is too accidental to count. No, we must seek out some fancy party to which we are emphatically not invited and take pains to be there nonetheless. I have suggested some approaches to this problem in my earlier piece on weddings. In general, it seems that unless one already mixes in the sort of circles where fancy parties regularly take place, merely finding one to invade is going to be pretty damn difficult.
Let us posit, however, that a suitable venue and time has been identified and we roll up to the entrance. Will the hostess be there, turning a puzzled eye on us as we try to bluff that we are a friend of Moira, not not her, Millicent, no no, what a silly mistake, Martin. Nobody by these names present? OK, I've come to unblock the drains/search for a missing cat/on secret Government service, just let me pass, lady and I'll be out of your hair as soon as I may.
Are we in? Now to sweep to the centre of the room, talk loudly and boorishly, monopolise the attentions of a suitable person and make some underhand insinuations about what we might get up to afterwards. A few offhand remarks to passing waiters about keeping our companion well tanked up, and some nudging in the ribs of anyone milling around nearby with remarks about "I'm going to be alright tonight, know what I mean" should help inflame your victim to the point of either a left hook (damn, didn't realise they had boxed for their school) or the pint glass (full to the brim) is upended smartly over one's head, shoulders and upper torso. Or both.
Soaking, smarting and ostracised by all, and with a few of the host's friends from the karate club approaching menacingly, now is the time to complete one's mission. A celebrity. A celebrity who is up for a snog with a undesirable, disgraced, gate-crasher reeking of alcohol. This is where it becomes increasingly clear that the whole concept is flawed.
One might perhaps so enchant a passing celebrity that a quick snog (tongues optional) is achievable. One might force entry to a do and make a scene. It is hard to see how all of this can be done at the same time and even harder to envisage why anyone would want to? Am I guilty of easy stereotyping if I consider that maybe all this is the typical fantasy of the average Australian young man whose unpleasant habits have been so brilliantly captured in a recently published book "Sh*t Towns of Australia"?
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Having browsed through this book I now know more about larrikins, gronks, drongos and bogans than I think anyone needs to know. What emerges is that "culture" down under means getting drunk and rioting, a "quiet day out" means getting drunk and rioting, and a good Saturday night involves getting drunk, rioting and then doing it all over again. I can begin to understand why the height of sophistication, to the dole bludgers and lowlifes depicted, is to attend a "fancy" party. Possibly this means any event held indoors as opposed to a drunken mob vomiting and fighting their way up the main street. That they should go on to do offensive things can be taken for granted.
I don't think I need write any more.
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