Wild Times In Storridge

The shy, retiring one with the microphone is The Millbrooker's sister. Sorry. The photo is at her house in Storridge.

Storridge is where Sis lives with her man Martyn and receives occasional visits from assorted offspring. She and Martyn live in a beautiful oak framed house with a living-cum-kitchen area the size of Dartmoor.

Martyn was fifty on Saturday just gone, and they threw a bit of party. Nicky and I made the trek by chuff-chuff to Great Malvern to join the throng of Martyn's extended family, Teresa (Sis) and her two grown-up kidlets and various hangers-on at Bywood House.

The 'do' was, as might be expected if you knew Sis, noisy, raucous and seriously booze fuelled. I remember Martyn wandering about cuddling a bottle of champagne (which I think may have been his third). There was a disco and karaoke, which featured some truly appalling vocal performances (notably a rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody during which I'm sure I heard Freddie spinning in his box like crazy).

All in all it was one hell of a journey for four hours at a party, but it was great to meet up with Sis after several months and to see Tom (nephew) and Georgina (niece) after a hiatus of something like two or three years.

This is yours truly in probably the only time I'm likely to be perched upon by a lovely 18 year old actress. The young lady in question really is my niece, honest. We got the smiles by shouting "scrotum" to the camera. Georgie is far more innocent than she looks and I had to explain what a sphincter was when we tried shouting that to get a smile in another photo call. She was wonderfully shocked when I got her to stroke my tattoo and told her she'd touched my cock (hey, the old jokes are the best).

Meanwhile, I gave them a lusty "My Way" which should have been the Sid Vicious version, but the DJ played Frank Sinatra's instead, leaving me a bit high and dry. Bastard. "It's the same song", he said when I moaned. Yes it is, but it's a completely different arrangement, and one I don't know well enough to perform in public. Ah, well, at least it was only witnessed by some very pissed people.

Last, but not least, here's the birthday boy himself in a fetching red rugby number.

I rang to thank them for their hospitality after we got home on Sunday and Martyn said that he doesn't like being fifty; he'd had a headache all day.

Thanks go to Sis and Martyn for inviting us, and to lots of the others whom we met that evening who made us very welcome. Cheers. Hic.