Last night I did something unusual. I went to a party and didn't drink much. The reason why is that the party was way across Sydney, traverisng East to North and the best option was to fire up the Little White Therbette and drive. So I did. I took my best bottle of wine, a 2001 Eric's Blend from Brand Laira (Coonawarra), a big fuck off box of Belgian choccies and a couple of printed pages of Google Maps for the final two blocks of navigation. Didn't need the latter given my jammy ability to take a sharp right at exactly the right time.
The venue was a cousin's house, the reason was a get together of cousins from my dad's side of the family. There are thirteen of us, one now living in France, one in Scotland with the rest in Sydney and its surrounds, from the Mountains to the Central Coast. Thirteen there are of us and thirteen showed up with assorted husbands, wives, partners, whatever. Its the first time we've managed that roll up on these six monthly get togethers, in fact I can't remember when all of us have attended. It was fanfuckingtastic. One of the mob commented that when she was coming back in to the gathering from a wander around the one thing which struck her was the laughter. It reminded her of the times when our parents used to hold these huge family get togethers and we'd fall asleep to their peals of laughter. Yeah, we all remembered those times, but only briefly because someone cracked a joke about what sort of vintage was Bin Laden Merlot as he squeezed a last couple of drops out of Eric's Blend. The wistful look on his face as the last dropped fell cracked us up. And that's how the evening rolled.
So there are thirteen of us, and thirteen showed up. Not a dud amongst the lot.