I've got rhythm, I've got music, I'm a bureaucrat, who could ask for anything more?

Alright, it doesn't quite scan, but at 3.30 a.m. it seemed like a pretty good line...

A work colleague and friend celebrated his 60th birthday with a party for family and friends in Southall last night, and what an evening it turned out to be. Admittedly, Errol is probably one of the very few people who could persuade me to venture into darkest west London (it always worries me that if I miss my stop, I'll end up in Wales or, far worse, West Drayton!) and after an incredibly easy journey, I found myself outside the Southall Community Centre where enough food to feed an army and enough alcohol to refloat the Titanic were being set out.

I had dressed for the occasion in my best Bolivian shirt and waistcoat, and was unusually in the mood to party. As crowds go, the mixture of Errol's family, predominantly from Grenada, his network of Punjabi friends from Southall, our mutual Indian work colleagues and a scattering of Latin Americans from his salsa class (and don't start me about his teacher, although it's fair to say that I could watch her for hours... or Ramon, her teaching partner, who Errol could watch for hours...), plus the huddled group of English colleagues in a corner, made for the sort of experience that would bring a tear to the eye of those who are so passionate about a multi-cultural society. From my perspective, it just indicates that if everyone is having a good time, they're less likely to worry about things in general.

I did have one task to perform though, in that Errol had asked me to introduce him at some point in the evening. He had very kindly provided me with some biographical notes and, fortified with enough beer to negate my usual inhibitions, I was able to make a brief speech, including the odd double entendre, and indicating why Errol is uniquely special, before handing over to the man himself.

And then the dancing really began, a mixture of Caribbean tunes, salsa and some bhangra for the Punjabi crowd. With music loud enough to make the lungs vibrate, enough darkness for those with the natural rhythm of a postbox to be tempted onto the floor and the fact that it was a Saturday night so who cares about tomorrow anyway, it was an evening that I won't forget in a hurry. So what if I didn't get home until 4.30 a.m....