"where does the vomit end and the couch start?'On Saturday I went to a party in Bondi that was utterly out of control, 200 people, animal masks, bongo drums and projectile vomiting. It was a flash back to my days with a plastic vodka bottle, walking home drunk and peeing in someone’s parents rose garden. Yes the heady days of high school parties. 14 years later and a few more zeros in the back account, the good old house party does bring back nostalgia for the days when the big problem was who looked old enough to buy the $8 two litre wine cask.
The party seemed to mostly be a combination of Bondi backpackers, 16 year old gate crashers and utter randoms. While public drunkenness was secondary to pills it seems, as most people had eyes like black hubcaps. Something that never happened at any of my high school parties, the biggest drug was pot or at maximum some old poppers someone’s gay brother left in the back of their car.
It did not take long for the cops to turn up, we were shuffled out onto the front lawn to see the riot squad turn up. I noticed that every house neighbouring the party has its owners standing, hands on hips, in their yard staring at the chaos. Populating the side show were girls laying on the grass with dresses up on their shoulders vomiting onto the mud next to them as their friends took pictures on their camera phones, two French guys having a rather homo erotic wrestling match in a hedgerow and some girl screaming for a guy called Max who obviously did to be want to be found. The police were not in the mood for disco and started literally pushing people on their away, and in one case, smacking the face of a drunk idiot who wanted a picture with the riot force.
I suggested we leave immediately as the police were not going to beat around the bush, rather beat you in the bush. I never remember being chased off by truncheons in the 90’s but never the less it was damn fun to see little things change, but I am glad that I am no longer vomiting into the grass or into bongo drums. I am also thanking the fact that camera phones did not exist so all those falls, pashes, pukes and drunken kleptomania were never documented.
The party seemed to mostly be a combination of Bondi backpackers, 16 year old gate crashers and utter randoms. While public drunkenness was secondary to pills it seems, as most people had eyes like black hubcaps. Something that never happened at any of my high school parties, the biggest drug was pot or at maximum some old poppers someone’s gay brother left in the back of their car.
It did not take long for the cops to turn up, we were shuffled out onto the front lawn to see the riot squad turn up. I noticed that every house neighbouring the party has its owners standing, hands on hips, in their yard staring at the chaos. Populating the side show were girls laying on the grass with dresses up on their shoulders vomiting onto the mud next to them as their friends took pictures on their camera phones, two French guys having a rather homo erotic wrestling match in a hedgerow and some girl screaming for a guy called Max who obviously did to be want to be found. The police were not in the mood for disco and started literally pushing people on their away, and in one case, smacking the face of a drunk idiot who wanted a picture with the riot force.
I suggested we leave immediately as the police were not going to beat around the bush, rather beat you in the bush. I never remember being chased off by truncheons in the 90’s but never the less it was damn fun to see little things change, but I am glad that I am no longer vomiting into the grass or into bongo drums. I am also thanking the fact that camera phones did not exist so all those falls, pashes, pukes and drunken kleptomania were never documented.
