Vegas, baby. Vegas. (And PIE!)

We (the people) went to Vegas on Saturday, but not before we gave thanks for a second colossal helping of pie earlier that evening. Megan, one of Jeff's office mates, had a Thanksgiving dinner/party type thing and the boys in black headed along to check out the security (and pie) arrangements before the main event. Lots of top chat, food and (in retrospect) possibly too much booze set us up for the partying ahead.

Vegas was typically swinging and the Mafia, consisting that evening of world + dog, were all looking pretty fly. We were, in fact, money. We had five (count 'em) MIBs/bodyguards (including Annabel, who while technically not an M nor actually IB, managed to upstage the rest of us by generally carrying it off marvellously), an Audrey Hepburn (Devon, in a fantastic costume. Not presumptious in the least, Devon!), Andy (World's Smoothest Man) and a gaggle of Irish girls. I suspect the latter are compulsory for any real night out.

And I danced. Firstly in the queue for the bar to Little Green Bag, the one song guaranteed to make me twitch in a rhythmic fashion and then again once I was too mortal to really care, although Annabel's exhortations to stop being so self-conscious, while well-intentioned, had of course the opposite effect :) I'm going to be in therapy before I'm 30. Bet you I am.

Random party observations from a minor obligatory bash on Friday evening:

• Brazilian street performer music, while edifying in itself and indicative of a well-rounded musical education and sophisticated taste, sucks balls when compared to Tom Jones to really get a German party going.
  
• All Greek girls appear to be named 'Vassiliki'. Try it; ask a Greek girl her name and it'll be Vassiliki. Guaranteed*.
  

Oh, and one last thing: witness Bob the Invulnerable Cricket, as seen clinging to our kitchen wall.

*Based on an exhaustive sample of 2 Greek girls.