Is it possible to have beef with the elements? I think so. I now hold a serious grudge against the rain. The sun, meanwhile, is dead to me.

Perhaps it was the title that called it on? Perhaps it was the the yacht influenced attire that sucked the elements down on us? Who knows, but it certainly rained like a bastard. What I do know now for sure is who and what my friends are. The ones that could, all came.

E5 Moomin : Director of jokes and music.

The inflatable marquee had been promised was to arrive next week. As long as it was on the way, eh. An 'ultra-hands-on' bar manager girl called George ordered three instant-gazebos. Then as the proper rain set in, she set about rigging a tarpaulin between the food area and the music. She saved my party. I'd marry her if I could. My friends are plucky sorts, so of course they had the craic right there on the roof,  in the rain. Some held a handful of canvas in one hand, a prosecco in the other, continuing to banter with their neighbour until things were secured. Someone pointed out, the whole thing was just so, so The Blitz. NB. That's WWII, not the nightclub.

All present and cigarette? Not quite.

Was this an instance of  'be careful what you wish for'? What I dreamed of was a glamorous, memorable time for my people of all ages, catered for and entertained in the June sun. The views over Dalston, the perfect company, the music we poured over preparing, the braid we sewed on at the last minute, the cakes Sarah's people had made to order. We did try. We did have a laugh. A strange, almost sea-faring sort of blowy-wet laugh. The Captain's hat did it maybe?

I did receive some very deeply life-affirming lessons. I did plan to give my pals a good time, not force them to rise to meet a tough challenge. They all schlepped over regardless and made the best of it.  It's sad to see a first rate pavlova swimming in rain water, but at least no sproggs went overboard.  The young 'uns attention was held captivated by the engaging pink mohawked mentalist that Lyall had enlisted to play with them, Gaffy. She sent the kids quite trippy. In a good way. I think.

Meeting yourself is what can occur at moments of horror or massive disappointment. It happened again yesterday. When the penny drops and you realise the truth, you look yourself level in the eye,  swallow it, then immediately move forward. Especially do-able with all of your beloved spars wrapped round you. I was more disappointed about not delivering for them than anything. The sad fact remained, all could see just how lovely things could have been. One takes one's chances. One flopped a little this time.

I mourned my little roof dream today. A part of me remains quite wounded. When the sun came out a day late, hitting my face, it felt too, too awful, suddenly contextualising  yesterday. Just a spell of its warmth and brightness would have worked. It was not to be.  I shall not  do this again. It was a one off. We did something memorable up on the roof top. Just not what I thought we'd do. What was poignant the number of people who came up to me having met another one of my friends saying 'so-and-so is absolutely brilliant', or 'I just love your mate blah-blah, they're a hoot'. The sheer volume of high quality cross pollination was amazing. See, something did happen.

Sun? Sorry, you're no sun of mine..

TS in.