"I am TI-TAAAA-NIIII-UUUUM! [Woof, woof, woof, woof!]"

OUR youngest sister is celebrating her 40th birthday tonight in Sligo. Months ago, she warned us of her plans: “We’re taking over the hostel on Lough Arrow for the night,” she said. 

“Beds upstairs, bar downstairs. And listen to this: there’s no bar-staff. We’re stocking the bar and running the place for the night ourselves. And everyone’s coming.”

Then, as if this lunatics-taking-over-the-asylum thing wasn’t red-flag enough, she added, “It’s going to be a top night. Vickie and Hans are flying in from Eindhoven — and you know what a heller Vickie is.”

I don’t know what swung it for my brothers; whether it was the lunatics-taking-over-the-asylum thing, or Vickie, the hell-raiser-from-Holland addendum. Probably a combination. But right now, on my sister’s birthday, all I know is that one brother has taken himself off to Madagascar (because “no-one’s making me do the Conga”) and the other one’s begged-off for “work reasons”, and won’t tell us where he is.

At 8pm, in an upstairs bedroom at Lough Arrow Hostel, I’m becoming more than a bit scared of the Conga myself; my three sisters are planning my drinking strategy for the night, using such terms as “Pacing It”, “Switching to Vodka” and “Ready to Go Again,” even though they know about my feeble liver which, unlike theirs, cannot filter large quantities of alcohol without dire and humiliating consequence.

I stress that I’m a lady, and as such, have only ever lost my dignity through drink in private. This pronouncement is met with great, derisory guffaws.

They force me to tell Vickie-the-heller about my worst private dignity-loss, otherwise they’ll tell her themselves. After I’ve described the incident, Vickie gawps at me and says, “even I can’t beat that.”

“It happened in private,” I say.

Still gawping, she scoffs, “and you say you’re the kind of person who’d never dance up on the bar?”

“I have never danced up on a bar,” I say.

“First time for everything,” Vickie says, with frightening decision.

At 9pm, I’m “Pacing It” under my sisters’ watchful eye — and my fear of the Conga has been replaced by the fear of having to dance up on the bar; every time Vickie catches my eye, she gives me the evils, points up at the beer-taps and mouths “you and me, two o’clock.”

At 11pm, I don’t know what’s happened to my fear of the Conga. It’s completely disappeared. I must try to get it back.

11.15pm: I can’t get it back. I don’t want it back! Let’s face it, whoever came up with the Conga idea must have been a genius. An absolute genius! I mean you’d have to be mad not to be chugging round the bar in a choo-choo train right now!

12pm: I’m “Switching to Vodka.” At least I think it’s vodka. I must find out and make a note of it because whatever it is it is making everything glorious. My sisters are glorious! Vickie is glorious! Everyone is glorious! Even the man behind me on the dance-floor — the one jumping up and down, fist-pumping the air and woofing like a dog to that pounding riff in “Titanium” — is glorious

12.05am: “I am TI-TAAAA-NIIII-UUUUM!” [Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!]

1.30am: Vickie has just come up with a fantastic idea. I don’t know why she didn’t think of it earlier: she thinks we should dance on the bar at 2 o’clock. She’s a genius!

2am: I’m up on the bar with my sisters and Vickie. The ceilings are so low that we can’t stand up but it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter at all! Because we can just bang our heads off the lampshades and crouch-dance on the bar like middle-aged apes!

2.05am: My husband is waving at me and shouting something. I can’t hear him over “Papa’s Got a Brand New Pig Bag” but I think it might be “Jump!” I don’t know why my sisters and Vickie are ignoring him! I think jumping is a FANTASTIC idea!

2.06am. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m on the ground and someone keeps asking me if I’m alright. I can’t answer because my head hurts like hell. My husband’s on the ground too, saying something about a “crowdsurf fail”, whatever that is.

2.10am. It doesn’t matter that my head hurts like hell! It doesn’t matter at all! Vickie-the-heller and my sisters are up on the bar! And I’m “Ready to Go Again.”