07: Vote for My Party

My human beans seem to like something called a party. Listening to the telly box, I worked out this was something to with ‘polly ticks ’ but (again) I was wrong.  In the street where my human beans live, there is a party about once every two weeks. In these days of lockdown, these parties are outdoors. Everyone takes their own chair and their own glass and the hoast (or party instigator) provides bottles of beer, wine and fizz (lots of bottles, usually). 

The human beans collectively drink as much of this beer, wine and fizz as they can until:

(a) there is nothing left (though the beans seem to have reserve stocks available for such a crisis)

(b) the human beans all fall down

(c) the party leader (who I’ll call Jim) tells everyone the party is over and they must go home (preferably with their own chair and glass).

Why is this fun? I like a drink as much as the next dog but however much water I drink, I don’t get louder and louder like the beans do .... and I don’t wake up late the next morning claiming I’ve got a dead newt in my mouth and a quarry in my head (as TOWTSH did recently).

So if you are invited to a party, tell them you are shielding. This seems to be the only valid excuse for not attending. (Evidently, “I’ve lost my chair or my glass” don’t seem to be valid.)

Anyway, I’m off now to scour the garden for crumbs or cats.