If you look out in other directions you see more city lights, and you also see a whole lot of highways. If you stare, and let your eyes go out of focus just a little, it's a DIY Koyaanisqatsi. Very cool.

There were some other people we knew there, and quite a few folks we'd never met before. They all seemed nice enough, but the one truly hilarious guy is moving in a month or so, which figures.

One couple brought their ten year old daughter because their babysitter had let them down. She doesn't look ten, mind you, but Ian assured me that she was. She does look older that that because she's a tall girl and rather chunky. A few observations:

(1) Ten year old girls should not have breasts.
(2) If your ten year old does have breasts, BUY HER A BRA!
(3) Ten year old girls who are well over five feet tall and have breasts should not be sitting in the laps of daddy's male friends, especially not with their arms around the men's necks and their braless breasts pressing into the men's chests. They also shouldn't wiggle. I'm sure it was all perfectly innocent, but it certainly didn't look that way. One of the men in question didn't look all that comfortable with the situation, either.
(4) Whatever you do, never, ever turn over musical control to a ten year old girl. The result is predictable and somewhat painful.

Actually, I wasn't sure which appalled me more: the music we were listening to, or the fact that Ian actually owns the CDs of the music we were listening to. You're fifty years old, man! Grow up. Although, to be fair, the three "young ladies" Ian had invited seemed to be enjoying it. They also spent an inordinate amount of time trying to sing Avril Levigne's Sk8r Boi, and getting the lyrics wrong.

Confession time: I know the lyrics to that song, word for word, and I didn't help them out. Then again, neither did the ten year old, and I'm betting that she knew them, too.

It was a fun party. Not wild by any stretch of the imagination, but nice.

Another confession: I managed to bring an abysmal bottle of wine. Truly terrible, and I am duly ashamed. They were having a special at Jumbo, you see, and they had a girl giving out free samples in lovely big glasses suitable for drinking Bordeaux, or a nice Barbaresco, or even Barolo in a pinch. So I tried some, it tasted pretty good, and I bought it. Of course, that was on Friday, when my nose was completely stopped up, I couldn't hear properly and I was drugged to the gills on sinus medication. Guess I couldn't think properly, either. Actually, I think I knew that.

Incidentally, that was the same day that Elvis' Big Boss Guy called, and I thought it was my father. In my defense, he has a deep voice, just like Daddy does. On the other hand, he had an international type upbringing resulting in the merging of two distinctive accents that shouldn't go great together, but somehow, for him, it works. It works, but it's distinctive, and it's not like my father's accent in even the tiniest way. I passed the phone to Elvis, and the first thing Big Boss said was "You aren't going to call me Dad, are you?" Which confused Elvis, because I hadn't mentioned that little embarrassment to him beforehand, but I digress.

Back to the wine, which I wouldn't say any more about, really, except I still have two more bottles. I'm thinking that maybe if I decant it, it will be OK for home consumption, on the theory that those big, lovely wine glasses were a clue. On the other hand, the wine was only 3 Euros a bottle, so if that fails I'll just make some sangria. Or cook with it. Or something.

Yesterday was pretty low-key. The weather was gorgeous, so we sat out in the Square and had a beer with Miss Kitty. Then we went into the pub and had something to eat and played darts and gossiped and so forth. There was supposed to be a pub quiz, the last one until Autumn, but it was canceled due to general lack of interest. Which, incidentally, is why they don't do pub quizzes in the Summer. They've rescheduled it for next Sunday, but I dunno. We'll see, I guess.

Today was pretty much your basic Monday. I'm still not feeling 100 percent after last week, and the allergies aren't helping things. But I did manage to go to Portuguese class, run some errands, go to the grocery, do stuff around the house. Monday stuff.

Yesterday, Elvis announced, very matter of fact, that he lost three pounds last week. He wasn't trying, didn't even go to the gym last week. No, he simply was sick for a couple of days and-- poof-- they were gone.

Bastard.