P = Parties

We were lucky. The annual Alma Street Party in Kentish Town that Jab had texted me about.

We walked there, and having forgotten quite how to get there, felt fortunate to discover we were following the drummer of the band Rough Science, who performed there last year.

Said 'hello' then at the corner where a band was already playing said 'goodbye'! We walked up the street, through people, past stalls selling this and that, and I saw the journo I'd replaced all those years ago when I got my first break.

Chat, chat, chat, said 'see you in a bit!' and carried on walking, spying a bar, spying a sweet stall, to the other end of the street where another band was playing and where we stopped to sit down on long white seats. I texted Jab while my son lay down.

We won't last here long, I thought, if we don't run into anyone we know. My son wouldn't handle it after partying at Kenwood the night before.

As I expected, when the band started singing "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps," my son said he wanted to leave.

"After this song, after this song!"

After that song, they said they were going to sing Lou Reed's Perfect Day.

"We'll go after that one, promise! Please, I like that song!"
"Mummeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

As I listened I saw my son's little school friend C, and his mum, a single working mother who I've chatted to quite a bit recently; she finally got transferred to a three bed.

She was there on her own. I offered to buy her a drink. Carling! I bought the boys sweets. The party truly got under way for us, it was great!

"If only every weekend we had this!" we said. Everybody in such a good mood, milling about, enjoying the open air.

Jab never made it but we were amongst the last to leave, at 9.30pm!

A hilarious time, but I'm crap at posting hilarity so you'll have to take it from me!