Well boys and girls, I've an important fact for you: Digital cameras don't respond well to bouncing. I've never really been one to collect or take photos, but I was gifted with a lovely digital across Christmas. Of course NYE follows shortly afterwards and well, my camera had a fall. Rather like a drunken Humpty Dumpty. And yes all the pieces had to put together again.

All that aside, I've been waiting for the photos before posting the NYE experience. It was decided that the bunch of us would head to Melbourne, Platform One in fact, for the celebration of NYE05. The place was themed in the manner of a 1920's speakeasy, and the costumes had to follow.

We received some amused stares as we approached the station, but to our delight we found some Speakeasy clientele already waiting at the station. The club, Platform One, is located under the tracks, close to Flinders St Station and the other outfits were impressive. We knew we were likely to get messy, so our outfits seemed more economical than some of the $600+ suits that were sighted.

An interesting idea, was that the curly hair some of us possess would not be suitable for our costumes. In the preceding hours we tried to find some product that would render our hair flat, and slick. The result of our search was Goop, which to all senses appeared, and worked like epoxy resin. Honestly, it made the toughest curls straight, or at the least slightly wavy. Getting it out, well that was painful. I digress...

I love swing. And jazz. Some of my favourite performers belong squarely in the mix of these two genres. Royal Crown Revue, Sarah Vaughn, Grace Knight, all entertain with pulsing beats and stunning vocals. Well, we were thrilled with 3 hours of swing until midnight, then the shenanigans began.

It all started early really, shortly after midday. Coopers really vanishes with the crew we had assembled. Once the hair was slick, the outfits sorted we headed into town. Upon arrival, we started on the champagne, which has historically had disastrous effects on some members of the entourage. The music kept us well entertained, until midnight, when the absinthe was brought down from the top shelf.

The end product of this display was the attention of one of the most attractive patrons of the club. This attention became focused on a particular individual, which turned into a long and involved conversation. Discussion of university majors, similar tastes blah, blah. This in turn became pashing, and "massaging". Good work really. Then a silly mistake. The female fashion for the times included flapper dresses, strangely shaped strapless numbers. Accordingly, a strapless bra was needed. During the "massaging", the bra was undone. The only recourse was to retire to the ladies room and adjust. This task was accomplished solo (Due to the large queue outside, would be my guess).

Then, there was a quick regroup with the lads, while there was a pause in proceedings, more drinks etc. The pause was becoming rather extended (again due to the large queue, unbeknownst to us). After drinks the focused individual resumed waiting at the designated spot. A further period of waiting followed, when AH was approached by the lad.

Lad:"Ahh, what does she look like?"

AH:"What!?"

Lad:"I can't remember, what does she look like?"

AH:"Dunno" then chuckles.

Lad:"Ask snorks"

And so he did. You may recall my memory is not one of my greatest attributes. Especially after 12 hours of drinking. I did my best. Relayed through AH: "5"6', shoulder length dark hair, dark dress and 'hot' with a lowercase 'h'."

The lad surveys the crowd, decides on who fits the description, walks up with remarkable nonchalance and starts pashing.... the wrong girl. She does not have a lowercase 'h'. It was too late, he was again beyond communication. The penny dropped when the new girl had the same trouble with her bra. At this stage the discussion began again.

Lad:"So what about that university major?"

Girl#2:"I just work at Coles, is that alright?"

Of course, Girl#1 had returned to discover her new friend, with his newer friend and moved on. The lad decided to persevere with Girl #2 for the duration. The last image I have of the club is the Lad and Girl#2 in a dark corner, suddenly lit up when the lad, mid-pash sends a text without even looking. His eyes are closed, he doesn't realise the light those phones put off. It can stay our little secret.

We ended up walking to Brunswick St at 7:00am to find a 24hr bar. I'd expected to find a Zanzibar equivalent, no luck. We headed home for a well deserved nightcap, at 8:30am.