Sunrise and Krug

You must have seen the story about Corey Delaney, the guy in Melbourne who threw a thrash-up for friends while his parents were on holiday.

Riot police were called in to stop the party after more than 500 people rocked up.

In normal circumstances everyone would think Corey was a spoilt brat who wasted the police's time but not on this occasion.

Hell, no. Check out that stomach.

This is Corey, swaggering down the front telling reporters that he wasn't bothered because "he doesn't remember much of the party anyway."

Here's one of Corey's mates the next morning running down the road naked.

Oh. shit.

I've just realised that Corey is only 16 years old. This isn't too bad given that the age of consent in Victoria is 16 years old.

Hmm. This actually makes me so depressed because it means that this guy was born in 1991.

Fuck. I can remember 1991.

I always like to think that I'm young(ish) and 29 isn't that old but...

1991 was the year that Silence of the Lambs came out.
In 1991 Madonna was working on Erotica and getting all naked for her Sex book.
In 1991 Baywatch had already been on the TV for two years!

Now who feels old?

When I was younger, fatter and partying endlessly while drinking loads while popping everything from uppers to downers, pissing on other peoples' lives and smashing cars up in the process I used to think 'fuck this - this is my life who gives a shit.'

But now, in the year that I turn 30 (fuck), I think maybe it would have been nice had it been a bit different.

I refuse to feel remorse and I'm certainly not going to make a list of regrets but the older you get, the more that feeling surfaces.

Actually, screw it.

I cannot wait to turn 30. Ironically "early 30s" sounds much younger "than 29 years old."

I think when I get to South Africa I am going to reclaim my youth, send my parents off and throw a massive thrash-up in their house.

This may fuck my inheritance up but who gives a shit.

For this house party there will be:

Vats of alcohol with beers, wine and spirits.
Our swimming pool filled with loads of inflatable dolphin thingies.
The sound system will have sub-bass woofers that make the windows rattle.
Our tennis court will be turned into a massive dancefloor with spinklers so we can have a wet underpants competition.
Unless 700 or more people turn up, the party will be cancelled.
And towards the end of the evening I will choose four or five or six of the fittest guys to spend sunrise with me in the pool house. In there we will interact, drink Krug, have a dust-up and watch the sun come up over the mountain.

Just thinking about this makes my pulse quicken.