Louise's 30th birthday party

Leith, 24th June 2006

In the beginning, there was music.  And that music was murdered.  Which sadistic soul was it who invented Singstar for the PlayStation?

In amongst the cacophony, it was time to open presents.  Louise admirably attempts to display as many of her presents as is physically possible.

 Her feigned enjoyment at unwrapping a bag was also impressive.

The real business, however, was happening at the Leith Academy Sports Club, where Louise and her merry clan prepped the room for birthday festivities.

Balloons were blown, things were hung... meanwhile "other Paul", aka "Ro-land" quizzed the barmaid (to be fair, he did a lot of the hanging)...

The sisters, doing it for themselves, arrived, er, again.

Crowds gathered from far and wide outside the Sports Club, as Roland obediently bent over in the corner, either being sick or tending to the barbecue.

The excitement was all too much for "first Paul" (aka "Paul Allen", aka "PA") who instead settled for watching Leith Cricket Club either score some runs or take some wickets (it wasn't clear which team was which).  In the shot, a slightly rotund gentleman was trundling in with some medium-paced deliveries, and much enthralment resulted.

Still, it's not about the cricket, it's about Louise, and those who know her.  Two people who unarguably fall into this bracket (and are, in fact, some of the reason she is on this planet), are Graham (aka "Dad", aka "The Big G") and Nana (presumably with nicknames too numerous to do justice to here).  Nana finds time for a wave to the photographer, but The Big G is far too busy for that kind of nonsense.

The expert of the open flame, Roland delicately balanced maintaining firelighter efficiency with the possibility of singed eyebrows.

Just in case there was any doubt in anyone's mind.

Barbecue status update: not yet ready (but getting there).

Meanwhile, inside, Avis (aka "The Super A") concentrated on more important matters, namely the aptly-titled cucumber salad.

And suddenly it was all go.  Next stop for the runaway barbecue express was kebab city.  No-one knew what the individual kebab flavours were, but no-one cared.

Not many shots of the food itself were taken, mainly because it didn't last long enough, but also because the photographer spent half his time with his head in the pizza oven (a loose term given that the pizzas would only just fit and the ovens could just about melt butter).  But there was time to show how well prepared Avis and Graham were - note the emergency back-up supply of buns in the background (rumours of a national bun shortage were quickly squashed).

Luckily, before things descended into a bunfight, the DJ arrived and set up his hi-tech equipment.  Would he be well up on the latest tunes in the indie and dance scenes?  What do you think.  (No, the Proclaimers are not a new band.)

Before long, it was time for desserts, with the Schofield clan hard at work.  Roll up, roll up, get your cakes here.

Roland regaled Nana with tales galore with his usual charm, possibly enhancing his inheritance possibilities.

There are a myriad of possibilities for what might be going on here.  Most likely is that Auntie Jill has asked the sisters Schofield to give their scariest look possible.  But it might also be the case that Jill has told an uproariously funny joke (or maybe the joke was not that funny but the girls are just damn good at acting).

For some reason, Paul relinquished control of the camera, the ruddiness in the cheeks betraying his penchant for lager.  In fact, come to think of it, there are shiny red cheeks all round.

The Big G's attention then turned to the distribution of champagne prior to the toast.  The first shot shows very deliberate care being shown in this task.  Steady now.

Graham is then palpably shocked at the old leftover hot dog/trouser fly gag.  Hold on to that tray, Graham!

The inevitable disco then got underway and those so inclined took to the dance floor.

Uncle Peter showed young Lynne how they used to dance in their day.

Avis and Uncle John followed this up by giving Graham and Louise a dance lesson and a half.

A shamelessly drunken Lynne gets confused as to how a microphone usually works.

Never mind all this boring, repetitive dance music.  It's time to rock, baby.

Status Quo perhaps don't have anything to worry about just yet.  Then there was an unsuccessful call for Jill from the dance floor, who was busy checking her eyelids for holes.

The surprise balloon drop was a disappointing anti-climax.

The fun and games descended into mild farce.

And were soon overtaken by balloon sports as the activity of choice.

There's always time for dancing, however, as the pairings became ever more random.

The creature from the black lagoon showed its face as things just got plain silly.

But Paul showed he could pose normally.  It hurt, though, as can be seen from the look of mild concern.  Here he is with Lynne, who smiles as hard as she can without tearing her face muscles.

The barman, tasked with quenching the party-goers' seemingly bottomless thirst, did a sterling job.

In fact, no-one was safe from the prying camera.  Smile!

As things came to a close, Roland pushed himself for one last family dance, this time with Avis.  It is all an investment and will pay in the long run.

Someone I don't know tries to do a Superman impression to someone else I don't know.

Shyness in the face of the lens causes the big man averts his eyes.

It's the time you've all been waiting for.  Yes, you've guessed it, it's the obligatory lager shots.  Yum yum.

In the fading light, Lynne (aka "Lynnie", aka "Elsie (LC)") and Auntie Jill (fresh from impromptu slumber) dance in the dimming light with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Birthday girl Louise, however, wastes no time in doing her "famed" Joanna Lumley impression.

More "here's how to do it" dance routines from Leith's Torville & Dean (um, without the ice).  Mama and Papa Schofield, everyone.  Altogether now... awwwwww.

Let it not be said that there wasn't enough alcohol.  Costco's own fizzy wine went down an absolute treat.

Louise and Paul pose in the dark (where's that damn flash when you need it) with obligatory blow-up microphone.

Armed with a water pistol, revenge is sought for an earlier soaking.  Scream, victims, scream, mwahahaaa.

Smile, drunkards!

Now dance!

The birthday couple show off with some moves of their own.  How pissed?

As the party draws to a close, Lynne looks disinterested with the whole caboodle.

For some reason, Roland decides to challenge someone for a chair-in-shades race, whatever one of those is.  Unfortunately, the chairs are not made of reinforced steel and the inevitable, but hilarious, capitulation takes place.  This is the film The Matrix could have been.

Get up, man!  It's broken!

We then make up a game of cricket with whatever is lying around.  Thus, the microphone becomes the bat and some, er, ball-shaped things become the ball.  Here are Paul Number Two's attempts, finishing up in the textbook classic "kiss the microphone" post-shot position, as coached by all cricket experts these days.

Paul Number One, meanwhile, seems to be sans hitter, as they say in France.  I think it's in there somewhere.  But the ball has gone miles, trust me.

It was a crazily fun way to finish the evening, and almost inevitable whenever you get boys in an enclosed space with nothing to do and stuff to play with.  Anyway, to sign off, Lynne is slightly confused by the presence of an eaterie called Paul in Edinburgh airport.  Crazy stuff.

The end.