Corpus Christi "May" Ball 2005

Corpus By Night:


Diarmuid has been such a legend as the catalyst to my having some ecstatically enjoyable weekends in Cambridge over the past year or two, and the Corpus Christi May Ball (in June) I went to last weekend was just superb from start to finish (however brief it was because the necessity for me to return to scrape a living to pay for my flash new pad). Hard though it is to conceive, somehow I managed to enjoy the trip even more than the last one. What can I say except, "Cheers mate!"

The warm-up to the ball included a picnic of some home-cooked specialities on which I gorged myself to a point of near bursting due to their relentless deliciousness; was an event that was conducted inside due to inclement weather. Diarmuid is staying in a pretty incredible flat which is shaped like the bridge of the Millenium Falcon so the view from inside his room is like this:


(only it's a squirrel in a pretty garden instead of a loose cannon in outer space).

The weather, according to the BBC forecast, was sunny and 30 degrees; however it bore all the visible signs of heavy rain from the helm of the Diarmuidian Falcon. Consequently I brought my umbrella to the ball, an incident which was to lead to the worst most inappropriate words I've ever thoughtlessly uttered.

To cut to this (anti-)lascivious part of the story: the ball which contained all kinds of delightful novelties, also included a speed-dating event (which turned to be a great service to me - current anecdote excepted). Now as I spe(e)d-dated along, my umbrella was conspicuously protruding from the inside pocket of my rubbish second-hand ill-fitting tux which caused one of my dates to ask on my arrival (on behalf of herself and her friend who I was in fact double-speed-dating due to the glut of women at the event) whether I had an umbrella in my pocket or whether I was just happy to see them. What happened next was perhaps the worst most unsalvagable and inappropriate comment that has ever stopped a nice opportunity for banter dead in its tracks in the history of conversation (seriously - I defy you to come up with something worse). I said... "No, it's an umbrella alright... I'm just what you're looking for ladies: a man who can guarantee to keep you dry all night!"

Ouch. I still wince thinking about it. You should have seen their faces (*shudder*).

Things did pick up however when I came crashing back into the event with some fresh alcoholic lubrication (ahem...) and met something of a stunner whose company was immediately captivating. Though intrigued, I felt a little flustered at this stage I have to admit, and I thought I was coming across as kind of manic and weird. So flustered I was, that I didn't move on to my final date and utterly fecked up Dan who had the misfortune of sitting next to me, by attempting to hog this girl in an unforgivable contravention of the rules. God, I'm a jerk sometimes.

Anyway, there must have been something endeering about my drooling drunken dishevelled demeanour as she did indeed deign to dance and discourse with me despite my d-related alliterations and general oddity. And ultimately, she was to be a main highlight of my evening.

The main act (in my opinion) was a Michael Jackson impersonator whose impressiveness I'd find difficult to over-emphasise. He was the MJ of the circa "Dirty Diana" phase and so was pretty versatile and convincing. Watching him had the effect of making me dance like a man who has been attacked by a swarm of bees and it also really made me feel like I had a new insight into the real MJ which brought about a sense of empathy in me for the guy that was a million miles from what I was feeling while listening to the Arviso (sp?) evidence on those reconstructions a few weeks back. Here's a picture of the guy; the likeness is incredibly striking:



It has got to be an impossible task to try retain some sanity when your artistic expression has such an impact on your audience. It's really not at all surprising that people like Elvis and Jacko (in their own way) got overtaken by their own brilliance. It must have been practically unavoidable. I reckon it was the 'off the wall' and 'bad' periods that must have done Jackson in and not his childhood as he often says - how could anyone cope with that kind of adulation? Well, I better figure it out soon anyway - I'm getting increasingly popular every day; arf, arf (despite lame "jokes" like that)!

The main differences between this and the Trinity Ball were as follows:

1. There was free food and booze all night at Corpus.
2. I saw no-one passing out from intoxication and being taken out on a stretcher.
3. It never took too long to find missing friends.
4. I saw no-one having sex.
5. I didn't use a 'potaloo'.
6. I didn't have to queue for more than 2 minutes for anything... not even a date.
7. The survivors photo (what a great idea this is!)

Admittedly the line-ups at my Alma Mater are much more impressive, but I reckon that's about the only thing that Trinners has going for it.

Anyway, the whole affair was an absolute delight, perhaps it was a shame that quasi-mojo didn't come along like he did last time - but he probably would have been grouchy anyway, as he doesn't have the stomach for travelling. I of course broke my new 3.30am rule by a number of hours, and I did indeed get drenched in ale despite my resolution to avoid coming home wearing fluids.

Diarmuid is coming to Dublin this weekend - and the best I can offer him in return for this great weekend is a Tofu Rogan Josh and a side-salad. Hmmm... maybe I should try rustle up a little desert too. You think?