An Intimate New Year's Eve Soiree

Carriages long after midnight. That would have been the case at the first Lord Strunsky's Estate in Surrey in the Eighteenth Century, when that august personage held an event on New Year's Eve. Plentiful food, even more plentiful wine, dancing, excellent music, and liveried servants everywhere. Today, "liveried" is usually a comment upon age spots.

But not to despair. A good party can still be held, and to this end I decided to throw a New Year's Eve get-together, in order to dispel (somewhat) the mess of 2008. Not a large one, mind you. Only about 100 were in attendance, and there were several notable absences. Bill and Hilary, for instance, had to send regrets. Indeed, they had to cancel their own Ball, in order to lower another type of ball in Times Square in New York. The Sarkozy's were at Klosters, going down various Alps on two sticks, which was a pity -- La Bruni does have a good fashion sense, and on this topic can make intelligent comments. The Obama's were still in Hawaii, and wanted to stay there. This I can understand. I had been involved in a salvage operation in Hilo involving a nuclear missile that had gone a little astray. After recovering it, along with some assistance from two very attractive Navy Seals, I noticed a car parked on the pier with a bumper sticker that stays in my mind: "Not a native, but I got here as quickly as I could." So enjoy, Barack -- things are not going to be as enjoyable after January 20th.

For those that could attend, I feel I must let my readers down a bit. Several of the invitees belong to the Western Intelligence Services, and would not take kindly to their names popping up in a missive such as this. To say nothing of breaching Official Secrets Act. Others have privacy concerns, and while the paparazzi are not a problem -- too busy being iron filings around such sad magnets as Lindsay, Paris and Britney -- nevertheless I see their point. Fame attracts, and not always happily.

My main criterion for selecting my guests was to ensure that no one espousing "A Cause" ever darkened my doorway. Ideologues are the most boring people on earth, and, when cloaked in religion, some of the most dangerous. Not that members of Al Qaeda or The Taliban would seek an invitation, unless it was to be a "party" where I could be stoned to death. Yet others, not as insane, did seek to come. David Suzuki expressed such a desire, but was turned down. I mean, here was a scientist doing superb work on the genetics of fruit flies, and then for some obscure reason turned his back on this work to become that most useless of things, a "personality". I simply sent him a note, drawing on Marlowe, "Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight."

Then one of the Mayor's aides put out a feeler, indicating that he and some of the members of his Star Chamber (read, Executive Committee) might enhance the festivities. This request I nipped in the bud. I want no truck or trade with the Mayor or his minions, who seem intent on taxing Torontonians to the extent that the entire city becomes homeless. Two Councillors were present, however, in that they had exhibited a knowledge of such terms as 'fiscal restrain', 'value for money' and 'tax relief'. I will not divulge their names -- ideologues, as well as having no sense of humour, are extremely vindictive.

As for the festivities themselves, a fine afternoon was spent with some of my colleagues doing Tae Kwan Do in the gym, along with some energetic fencing sessions. (The Compte de Rienville, who had been a member of the French Olympic team, taught us some interesting and rather deadly moves with the rapier). Then all went outside and engaged in an epic snowball fight. It was, everyone agreed, good to be a kid again. That done, showers were had, and everyone dressed for dinner.

This gave me an opportunity to wear "the little black dress", an original obtained by my grandmother from Coco herself, and the Compte was duly impressed, as he bloody well should be. Music was provided by a somewhat eclectic trio of groups. Taking turns were Coldplay, Feist, and the Julliard String Quartet, and somehow it all worked. More guests arrived, including two Royals and, Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen. After which, things got a little fuzzy.

And where were my four brats? Well, this being the first time they had all been together in ages, I managed to rent a club in the city, and arranged to get a band that all four agreed on -- something to do with a condiment and jewellery. Pearl Jam, maybe. They invited God knows whom, and trooped off. My only worry was that word would spread, and that unwanted guests could cause problems. A few words in the tinted ear of the Police Chief, however, along with a hefty contribution to the Police Benevolent Society, and presto! -- first rate security. This would do wonders to ensure that the kids had a good and safe time. As Al Capone tells us, "A kind word sometimes gets things done. A kind word and a gun always gets things done."

Happy New Year to all.