Thursday, October 14, 2004
Oh yeah, the meal. Well, it wasn’t so bad, I guess. It was at a posh hotel on Park Lane, I was the youngest person on my table by twenty years, the booze was free and plentiful, this dude gave the speech – long on rugby stories, short on his experience teaching Tony Blair to read, which was a little odd given the largely foreign make up of the audience – which was OK, if overlong, and a terrible classical quartet of young girls played rocky versions of Mozart and a string-heavy take on Britney’s Toxic. Some guy I speak to every day on the phone couldn’t work out who I could possibly be; he thought I must be Italian, due to my continental hair. Then there was more free booze and I had a cab home on expenses – the first taxi I’ve taken in London in two years. It was fine.
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