The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. A couple of months ago I met a woman called Vivien who claimed she was a witch. She also said she keeps a human skull in her apartment. I didn't know if I'd ever see her again but she invited me to her birthday party today so yeah, I saw her again.

I took 6-year-old and 2-year-old with me because Girlfriend was going to a restaurant dinner with friends. 6-year-old was too lazy to walk so I pushed him in the pushchair. Meanwhile, I carried 2-year-old on my shoulders. It was a 20-minute walk to the party. The party was at an evening festival called Tempo Festival. The sky was dark by the time we arrived. Strings of bulbs hung from the trees, people sat at tables, and two DJs played tunes on turntables together.

The music was loud. I found Vivien at one of the tables. Vivien is a 31-year-old Dutch woman with tattoos. She was with her boyfriend, a German guy called Jakob.

My sons ate pizza while we listened to the loud music. I was eager to ask Vivien some follow-up questions about her being a witch. So I said to her, "Last time we met you said you were a witch. Is it true?"

She laughed. "I'm not a witch," she said. "At least, I don't think so. I've tried spells but none of them have worked. But I do have this really good book about witchcraft in my house."

"What, is it a spell book?" I asked.

"No, it's by Taschen. It's a book of artwork and essays."

I was disappointed. Also, I know Taschen. When my stepdad died, I took one of his books: a Taschen book of photos of Japanese brothels.

Vivian brought out some cake from a carrier bag. "This is my infamous kwarktaart," she said. I tasted it. I thought it tasted alright. It was like cheesecake. 6-year-old and 2-year-old tasted it. They didn't like it. 2-year-old threw his on the floor and stomped on it. Then he climbed on the table and started pouring water on Jakob's head from my water bottle.

"Is this making you think again about having kids?" I asked Jakob.

Suddenly there was a scream. I turned to see the world's biggest parasol tumbling towards us. The wind had ripped it from its base and now the parasol was tumbling through the mass of people, chairs, and tables. And it was heading in our direction. It was comical, like a clip from You've Been Framed. But I began to get a little alarmed as it blew closer. Now it was like a scene from Speed 2: Cruise Control, where the cruise ship is heading towards the beach but the people don't run away yet because the ship's still far away. As the rogue parasol tumbled closer I thought about hiding under the table but then someone grabbed the parasol and stopped it, and it was over.

"Do you have any new tattoos?" I asked Vivian. I regret getting my tattoo, a triangle on my left arm. I should have chosen something less basic. I like Vivian's tattoos though. She has the goddess Hecate on her right arm and a vine on her left.

"No, but I'm planning to tattoo myself," she said.

"Sorry?"

She showed me a design she'd drawn: a drawing of Medusa. Tattooing yourself has got to be up there with the worst ideas, along with masturbating with chili pepper and putting spoons in the microwave. I really hope she doesn't tattoo herself.

At 9:30 I decided to call it a night. But as we were leaving, two of Vivian's friends arrived: a guy called Gareth and his girlfriend Itala. Itala is from Italy, which is fitting, given her name is Itala. Gareth is from New Zealand.

Itala was really enthused to meet me for some reason. She said there's a group of New Zealanders who meet up on the weekend. They all have kids aged 3 to 6, which sounds like my kids. Itala said she'd send me some info. This is good as I need a new social group to write about.

On the way home, I stopped at the restaurant where Girlfriend was having dinner. I gave a drum to 6-year-old and a drum to 2-year-old and told them to bang them. You see, the dinner is just for moms; dads aren't allowed. We found Girlfriend and the other moms. We banged our drums but I don't think any of them understood that we were doing it as a form of protest.

When we got finally home, I put 2-year-old to bed. Then I let 6-year-old watch Peppa Pig Parodies, one where Peppa's a rapper called Big Shaq.