Post the Seventeenth

It's time for a fancy dress party!

Or, to put it another way; ERMAHGERD!  FERNCER DRERSS!




Saturday night dinners are pretty special at Davis, but some Saturday dinners are more equal special than others.  And this particular Saturday dinner was a special one.

Why was it special?  Well, just because, that's why.

Actually, just between you and me (so, sssshhhhh!) it's part  of a management strategy to maintain good morale.  These are long working days, and long working weeks, so the calendar is crammed with events and occasions to counterbalance the hard work.  But don't tell anyone I've told you.

Some people, in anticipation of events such as this, pack a costume or two back at home before heading south.  For others who are not quite so forward-thinking and organised *cough* there is a fancy dress store in the Sleeping and Medical Quarters (SMQ).

While I am sure you are of the opinion that I am an author par excellence, and would happily dive into the verbiage that spills from my fingertips all day, every day, I am likewise sure that what you really want is to see photos of the loonies dressed up in makeshift costumes.

Well OK then.  Let's do that.

The evening begins with a discreet drink in the bar.

Quiet

 You'll note that some people's costumes are a little bit more... uh... subtle than others'.     But that's OK, it's not compulsory to look like a twit.  And there were more than enough people quite willing to twit-up for the occasion.  Ohhhh yes.

Here's a different angle of the same jolly bunch.

Twittage

And here is yet another!

Twitterati

As you can see, the levels of taste in the room can be measured with a very small ruler.  Oh, but this is just the start, my friends.  Just. The. Start.


Take, for example, Tom.  

No idea

What, one enquired, was Tom dressed as?  Tom couldn't precisely say.  With a kilt, open vest and eyeliner on, he looked to me like a mutant cross between Dr Frankenfurter and William Wallace.  Bravenfurter?  FurtHeart?  Heartenfurter? BraveFart?  You take your pick.

But in the spirit Tom most definitely was.

Can't say the same for Swim-Swim, though.  It appeared to me that he'd made no effort whatsoever.  When I put it to him that he didn't seem to have bothered, he scowled at me, and muttered something about Mother Superiors or somesuch.  Poor little fellow didn't seem to enjoy the evening as much as I thought he might.

Furthermore...

Outbombing the photobomber

...his very first attempt at a photobomb got gazumped by Tom.  I have to say it didn't amend his darkening mood very much.

And then the dinner gong rang, so we all trooped downstairs (or jumped, or slid, or sashayed, or flollopped, depending upon the limitations of the costumes being worn) and took our seats at the beautifully set tables.

Menagerie

Motley

Swim-Swim's mood was on the up, thankfully, when he made a new friend in Trish the Science Fairy.

Trish-erbell

In fact so perked up was he that he began to socialise.  Socialise!  The penguin became a butterfly.

With Cap'n Jill and Pocahontas

I believe I may have mentioned that Saturday dinners are a bit special, and indeed they are.  Instead of the usual lining up at the trough servery, we had presented to us in restaurant style pre-prepared platters - and three courses, what's more!  The chefs (and slushies) went all out for this one!

(And no, that doesn't mean they were naked.  And I know that's what some of you were thinking, so cut it out).

Here, for example, is Swim-Swim eyeing off my sesame and poppy-seed encrusted salmon on a bed of lightly fried noodles and vegetable thingummy.

Om-nom-nom-nom

Ach du lieber Gott! but it was good.  And no, Swim-Swim got not a skerrick of it.  But I let him have my dessert (a black forest cake), so his grumbles tailed away.

And here is the production line:  Rocket and Lesley (chefs) and Adam (slushy - but only temping) whipping up happiness-on-a-plate.

Henry Ford had nuthin' on these three

Simply magnificent, guys.  Thank you very much!



Once the meal was over I scurried (yes, scurried) back to the SAM to get changed into my costume.  I hadn't worn it to dinner because it would have been impossible to sit down in.  After a Clark-Kent-esque costume change it was back down to the LQ to join in the twittery and strut about like a demented peacock.

And here it is - my costume.

Strut

Can you guess what I am supposed to be?

No?

Pout

How about now?  Can you tell now?

Put it out

OK.  Here is a clue, then.  A really big clue.  I am... a fly!  Clever, no?



Oi!  Yes, it is clever.  Shush.  I didn't have much to work with.  Just a pair of wings actually.  The rest of it I made up out of my own stuff.


Just for fun, here are some of the other attendees.

We've met Billy before (Cap'n Jill).  She does a great line in bloodthirsty and murderous facial expressions...

Kiwi pirates - a bit hard to take seriously.

...not.


And here is Scott, sporting a brilliant cleavage for a wizened hag.  It's only marginally disturbing.

Cross dressing.  Just a little bit too much of it in Antarctica.

Here is Hannah, who easily wins the best esoteric costume.  She is dressed a the avatar for the struggle between VHS and Betamax format for videotape format market domination.  No-one else even comes close!

Firstly, the ventral view...

The technically poorer but better marketed bit.

 And now the dorsal view.

The superior bit, alas left behind.  Figuratively as well.

In this pic we have James as a fearsome Hannibal Lecter, and Tim as...  as... uh...  Tim in a funny hat and caftan.

Fer Pete's sake James, smile!  Why won't he smile?

Aaaand here's our friend Tom again.  Tom may have been indulging in a few things Scottish, judging from this photo, and I don't mean his attire.

MacDrunkenfurter

Rocket, meanwhile, spent the remainder of the evening trying to make his camera work.


Braveparp insisted that we be photographed together, and since I had gone to so much trouble on my get-up, I though it deserved yet another photo.

Such saxy, saxy mans.

Cassie (Pocahontas) appears oddly nonplussed as she hurries past us as quickly as possible.

When Tim joined us, dressed as... a marshmallow(?)... the posing only became more outrageous.

Er... OK.  That's quite enough now.

Deciding that the fun had become a little bit too raucous and testosteroney for my tastes, I headed back downstairs, whereupon I chanced to meet Mr Spock.  Mr Mark Spock.

To boldly go where no plastic ears have gone before.

I think he was attempting to give me the Vulcan salute, but unfortunately his attempt resulted in an entirely different kind of salute.

Downstairs also was Bill (Station Leader) who had made some kind of effort to wear a costume, and Paul and Goldy, who had not.  The only thing that they were wearing of note were then kinds of facial expressions that are consistent with having consumed a bottle of wine each.

Winkin, Blinkin and Nod

So it was time for me to 'buzz off'.   (Buzz off!  Buzz off!  Get it?)   And I did.  The costume party did not end with may departure (oddly), and even as I lay me in my little bed I could hear the participants being all costume-y and party-y.

So there you have it - one of the special Saturday nights at Davis.

It's worth noting too the Sunday morning was quite special too.  A number of people were up late, talking softly and feeling extra special, I'm sure.   Ha ha ha ha ha... etc.

Thus ends this Jeff of the South blogpost - with an unhealthy dose of schadenfreude.   Until next time!