So I gatecrash this going-off Christmas party and I've been there five minutes when Hugh Sundae rides in on a Segway. I've never seen one before. "You should have a turn," someone says. Just show me the way, I say.
Turns out the chap from Segwayhire.co.nz is nearby with two machines to play on. "Now, just think about leaning forward," he says. The Segway rolls slowly forward. "Now think about leaning back." The Segway rolls back, staying upright as it does so. I'm off. It's cool.
The only thing I have any problem with is the steering on the left handgrip; I turn the wrong way a couple of times. I take it fairly quietly, figuring I'll save the speed trial for when I'm sober and it's daylight, but by the time I've done a few laps of the car park, powered by my own momentum, I'm exhilarated. I'm not quite sure what enduring benefit the Segway will eventually bestow on humanity, but it's certainly good fun for parties.
"Do people ever just freeze and ride into walls or something?" I ask as I dismount.
"Oh yes," says the Segway man. "Oh yes."
Inside, Open Souls are playing soul-inflected hip-hop and later on, Scribe, who's been milling around, briefly gets up with them to freestyle. People dance. The party has a hip-hop theme, which one woman has interpreted by wearing nothing but a bikini stuffed with banknotes. She seems happy. I meet the host, Simon Hakaraia, founder of dot.ink, who has gone for the gold chain look. We talk about Jello Biafra and stuff until it's time to move on to the King's Arms.
Sleepers Union are playing. They're in a real Flying Nun tradition; they tease out a kind of sweet, psychedelic drone that ebbs and flows. I'm hypnotised by them.
I wait around for the Tokey Tones but I can't last all of their set: it's nearly 1.30am and I have a little bit of work to do in the morning before I'm all done for Christmas. Why are gigs so late these days? Back when Muldoon was Prime Minister, you could go and see two bands play at a pub and still get home in time for the late news. Bah, grumble, babysitters, etc …
If you wanted to go out after 11pm, you had to suss out the parties, a tradition immortalised in Mainly Spaniards' bittersweet Nun 45 'That's What Friends Are For' ("We'll find out where all the parties are/We'll go outside and we'll sit in the car"). Oh yes, we made our own fun back then. Bah, grumble, etc.
Anyway, that's me pretty much done on the paying work for 2003. I've certainly had worse Decembers. I think I'm going to lie down and read the new Vanity Fair now.
Oh God, she's quoting Nietzsche now. Wounded but unbowed by her critics, and so on. Well, one doesn't want to get all Brian Edwards about these things, so I'll pass on further debate on the Coddington report, I think. But how odd …