I’m converted. I want to live the high life now. I want fabulous venues, attentive staff and seriously good food. I want red leather and dark wood dining chairs, carved with a T. I don’t want to be bothered with things like having to open doors for myself any longer. My staircase needs a make over. I’ve decided that my natural habitat is dressed up, surrounded by men in brocade jackets and patent ballroom shoes. I’ll get the fanatastic frock lady to update my wardrobe accordingly.
In my earlier anxiety about attending a gala dinner, I’d forgotten that it was just people sitting round a table, chatting and eating. Well dressed people, certainly, but regular people. Apart from Lord and Lady Footballteam and the local government minister. At our table were folk from the council and a music promoter. The girls wanted to know why I didn’t ask him for free tickets- maybe I should have staff to do that sort of thing?
A technical glitch (computer and camera not talking to each other) means that I can’t show you me being glam on the replica Titanic grand staircase. Assume I was lovely. Instead you get Jake and me in the front room.
In contrast, Saturday was spent in a church hall, surrounded by 100+ dressed up 9 year olds, performing, chatting with friends and eating sweets… Maybe not such a big contrast then.