Fiona is 40

This morning Dave and I are well and truly wrecked. How we imagined Fiona's 40th turned out to be sharply at variance with the way the night turned out.

What we imagined: a restaurant table full of posh party girls from the publishing industry quoffing sauvignon blanc, making polite conversation, and pretending to be interested in a couple of middle-aged middle-achievers (us). Home by midnight.

What really happened: Got the train into Birmingham and met up with everyone at the bar of Hotel du Vin and the small select gathering was genuinely friendly. [In passing, if you ever feel that impeccable service has gone out of fashion, head down to the wine bar at Hotel du Vin, Birmingham. The adjective "attentive" doesn't begin to cover it.] We knew Lindsay, Eamonn and John Bennett already as they all used to work at Talis. We didn't know Ros and Ben, but that was about to change.

Walked down to St Paul's Square, and the eight of us dined at The Rectory. Fairly standard bistro food reasonably well executed. Lots and lots of wine. No real surprises so far.

At around 11, six of us decide to go onto The Jam House. Manage to grab a table, belatedly realising that we've gatecrashed into a private party but not caring. Table quickly becomes a morass of beer and sambuca shots. Live music act is playing an eclectic mix, and Fiona quickly rediscovers her inner rock chick, which to be honest is always close to the surface. Apart from one fairly involved conversation with John, I don't recall doing much beyond dancing (in heels) and drinking, until 2 when the place closed. I do recall marching to the bar to complain that my cointreau had been cleared away by one of their staff. When this was denied I shouted "OH THAT'S BOLLOCKS AND YOU KNOW IT" and stormed off. An hour later I watched Fiona's friend Ros (former Marketing Manager for Ministry of Sound and one-woman party-generator) indiscriminately slamming down all the drinks within her reach including mine. I also remember Dave turning into a disco diva at around 1am. Dave is binary when it comes to dancing - it really is all or nothing. Last night he gave it his ALL. Last week at Boogie Shoes he was in NOTHING mode, and went home early on his own without dancing a single step. Everyone who was with us last night will remember Dave's flamboyant disco-fuelled staircase dance act. I have no idea where this comes from.

At 2am, at the taxi rank, we were invited back to Fiona's in Harborne for more drinking and dancing. I watched incredulously as Dave readily agreed. Perhaps Dave's best mate Manish would like to add a comment to this post confirming how out of character it is for Dave to want to do anything at all after midnight apart from sleep. So off we went. Dave then spent two hours bonding with his new best friend for the night, Ben, Ros's husband, while Fiona, Ros and I alternatively chatted, danced, drank and all five of us vied for supremacy in the past sexploits stakes. Fiona flirted with Dave; Dave flirted with Fiona. We all loved each other.

It all had to end at some point and at 4am we bade farewell and taxied back. Feeling slightly nauseous I reached out for that well known hangover prevention treatment - Heinz tomato soup, and finally hit the pillow at 5.

No headache today, miraculously, but my feet have never felt so sore.

By a country mile this was the best night so far of 2008.