K only has one party every year but he makes a proper job of it. He lives out of town. Right out of town - he and his neighbour are several hundred metres from any other house. So having loud music until stupid O'clock works well. Inviting a load of his dancing mates follows naturally. As the house is actually a modest semi, we use the large parking area for dancing. It's covered with OSB on battens, which gives it a bit of bounce. This year, because of the rain he'd used plastic sheeting to make a huge series of roofs sheltering the dance floor as well as the barbie. For those who didn't want to dance, drink or eat, an old motorbike is got out of one of the numerous sheds, attached to a chariot and people play on the tracks in woodland behind the house. Or you can just chill on one of the well worn comfy chairs dotted about.
Later, the band packs their stuff away and the DJ takes over. I watch with interest as one of the musicians makes a bid for the most provocatively dressed dance girls. Uh oh! After waiting for him to do something, she's started to lead the dance. He's still smiling but I think he's lost. Then, when I'm not looking, he's gone. Maybe he read some signs and gave up? Or perhaps his band colleagues dragged him away to drive the van after a hurried exchange of phone numbers.
For those who don't want to go home, there's camping space in next-doors garden and breakfast next morning. A few dogs are wandering around and it feels very relaxed and informal.