Ofceey Partie- KTN-Standard

Last Thursdae was the KTN-Standard office bash, n so I scooted over there by sunset, like six pam, only to pata most of editorial hard at jobo as the bashski kicked off in the big tent downstairs.

Eventually at eight pam, me, Pulse ed Stevosky ( fresh from BBA, SA) n Miss Musyoka, now at KQ, made our way downstairs, me crackling jokes ati wakina Naikush lost as much cash as they could without a ndege going missing mysteriously over the ocean, or boeing angushwad by Somash separatists.

We got theya just in tyme for dinner, n cracked jokes with Rosie of SDE about how the marketing guys with their Zorro masks looked like they were going to hold up the food line.

‘Give us a lump of sembe or we are gonna smoke yur soup.’

I ended sitting nexta Silvia Njoki, our Pulse fashion tsarina (she waz to be recognised and awarded for winning fashion blogger of the year, later dat nyte) as we waited, thaste, for da pub to open.

The other dude, on his feet mostly to snap the party proceedings, waz our hard-working foto-journalist, Davie G.

The company team presentations began, with the Pace-Setters setting the pace, and the Cowboys doing their thing, and the lady masqueraders’ masks reminding me of Venezia (recently re-located my Venetian wall mask, Munchen clock, Lisboa boy, Bailey paintings n moti ‘Clearly Ash’ to a penty, n by penty, I don’t mean Pansi of I Max, lol).

N waz it Giniwasekao, wakina Hassan Jumaaaahhh, in Maaaaa aaatire? Team Cheche, whom I enjoyed in my solo verse poem on behalf of print editorial, were destined to come nyuma, ama Nyakeminchia, even behind us as team ‘Bado Mapambano.

I did a ‘strip-poem’ called ‘Mandera’ in a vest ( meant to rep the vest menace of al shaababski) that ends: ‘If you own a blender in Mandera, or do a fender bender, or bendover or chora saba, or sing the bella acapella, in Mandera, then yur one of 36 or 28, and die in Mandera.’ (Later, Marsha of HR’s bandanna inspired a sponte poem).

I really enjoyed ‘The Rockstars’ performance, tho, n waz very happy that Flora, in her black jean outfit, n sassy ATT, beat everyone for best dressed persona. Yu go gal.

Marketing tsarina Irene made her speech, before Madame Pauline K of HR syked us all, followed by our CEO sire Sam Shollei (who later served us generous splashings of usquebaugh) n cracked jokes about the star of the evening, Nairobian’s editor CEO being after his jobo (well done to humble Hudson G, 4 being employee of the year).

As I grooved out stage with Stevosky, himself a double external award winner dat evening, n my boy Kev Oguoko, cool boss Munywoki called out at me, n I spun so fast I banged myself on a pole, n ended up with a fat upper lip, which I had to treat with whiskey at the high table (happily, both bosses Bundo n Tanui were not there, then, leaving it up to boss Munywoki to console, n cheka, at clumsy Smitts).

That band called H_Art had a high energy performance, like on spliffski, followed by Wyre who had us all on our feet, before the deejay took over from Gorilla.

Joined wakina Lynette Otieno n a yeller yeller from edit n Anne Mukei at a corner after we’d funguad da bar to party part’e hard, as I spied cool designer John at the corner, n congratulated him for his award.

George O-Rido, olde friend o’ mine (who had his own event at FCCC on Monday) n my ed Pete Ndoria were among the last folks I saw as we split the venue after midnight (before the Duet turns into a turnip).

But not before a last piece o drama where one-a the admin staffers thought boss lady Doreen M’Baya waz a college lass the Smitts had letad to the bash.

photo:www.freexscape.com