What does a party planner do for his own birthday? If you're Damian Clarkson of Red Snapper Events " the go-to guy if you want to, say, recreate the Weimar republic in Docklands " then you take the planning to another plane, and let the curse of the best-laids fall where it may.

It actually descends even before we get to the do. We've been told to meet at London Bridge station, look for a genie and rub his toe. A cab will then 'magically' appear to take us to the venue.

'The genie's done a bunk,' explains one of Damien's people, as we search in vain for an oil lamp or a turbaned eminence. 'He went on holiday, apparently. There's a belly dancer instead.'

She's tinkling and gyrating her way through the middle of the evening rush-hour, to the stony-faced indifference of commuters. Her name, she says, is Amira " though, given that her accent is north of Watford Gap rather then east of the Bosphorus, it may not be her given name " and no, we can't touch her toe, or indeed any other part of her. Oh, and the cabs are over there.

They're Karma Cabs " a fleet of Humbers, garlanded with plastic flowers, scented with joss sticks, and driven by Zenned-up pashas " and they're being moved on by the police. So we jump in and head to Red Snapper's HQ, on an industrial estate in one of Bermondsey's less salubrious quarters.

Damian is waiting at the gate. It's his 27th birthday. He greets guests " florists, set designers, clients, chefs, PR luminaries " by walking us down his Greatest Hits invites wall. 'This was the birthday party for the daughter of a big City high-flyer,' he says, pointing out a flyer. 'She was run over on her way to the event and her toe was severed, but she still made it after she left the hospital. Fantastic.'

Samples of the company's 'autumn canap collection' " mini- burgers, mini- chicken curry and rice " are making the rounds. 'The whole sushi-based thing is so dead,' says a passing event caterer. 'Super-shrunk wholesome junk is really hot right now.' Meanwhile, a gaggle of masseurs and manicurists have set up shop in the company's warehouse and wine store.

'Last year Damian organised line dancing,' says Sacha. If you didn't know she ran a 'party room-dressing' company called Flourishing Events, the huge pink-rose-bearing choker she's sporting might have given it away. 'Of course everyone professed to be horrified, and two minutes later we were all high-kicking across the lot like loons.'

This year's group activity is salsa dancing, with a chilly- looking girl named Nina leading bystanders into an enthusiastic, if schematic, rendition of the merengue. The more leaden-footed retreat to the hog-roast stall.

'We too are in catering,' says Annemieke, regarding her plate of crackling with trepidation. 'But for dogs.'

'Our company, called Waglife, is entirely dog-centred,' explains partner Jane. 'We're working on a formula for dog champagne.'

'We've also got a plan for a revolutionary pooper-scooper,' says Annemieke in covert tones. 'But there are a number of health-and- safety hurdles to cross.'

The event's final flourish is the arrival of a 22-seater stretch Hummer to ferry guests into the West End. It takes about half an hour for everyone to pile into it, and another eternity to negotiate the series of 24-point turns it takes to get us through south-east London's tapering lanes. We're dropped off at London Bridge, and the monster pulls away to the accompaniment of popping champagne corks and lusty stabs at old Wham! classics. There may have been a few minor hiccups along the way, but the party planner has finally morphed into the consummate party animal. n

What's on the menu?

Party planner's greatest hits

Who went Friends, family, clients, employees

What they ate Super-shrunk wholesome junk, hog butties, crackling, chocolate brownies with cream, fruit skewers

What they drank Ros champagne

Style 24-hour party people

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