I'd like a party with an atmosphere

This weekend I was happy to bestow the privilege of my presence at what will soon become not just a matter of public gawping and amazement, but also a matter of "record" - if you'll pardon the punnery.

Yes, I travelled to South East London environs.

But no, that was not the "record" whenceunder I do speak.

Yes, I quaffed mightily of the equivalent of a veritable Nebuchadnezzar of high-quality but reasonably-priced drinking champagne.

But, again no - that is not the "record" of what is the subject hereof. And anyway that's just a typical rip-roarer of a weekend for me. Or a Thursday.

And I did consume unto me the finest meats, sweetymeats, pickles, and cheesery from a table so loaded with goodness it had groaned its last.

But thrice no for third time. Are you listening? That was NOT the "record" wherehere I speak of unto.

For no, I refer of course to the Commodore Jahhhhhhhhnnnnn's 50th birthday and squirl killing festival what doubled up as the world's biggest party in the most confined space since I got all boozed up with Beattie in a phone box.

Cramped, yes. But cosy, and all my kindling kept dry, to boot.