I have just spent three days at a professional conference in the company of some very serious-minded gregarious people with very high tolerance levels for whisky and wine. It would appear to be a career characteristic. I was a bit of a fish out of (mineral) water in my self-stitched finery. I made some social gaffs (I suppose you knew to take the bread roll from the left hand plate, didn't you? You could have warned me) and there were a few occasions when I just plain wanted to run away. But somehow I survived to tell the (edited) tale.
|Day One: This is not a cocktail dress!|
I should have worn my little black dress. But when I tried it on the night before, I realised it was too damned big. So... I wore a Sencha blouse and my wide-legged trousers. Fine by day, but hopelessly inappropriate for a formal dinner. Nobody had explained what the female version of a "lounge suit" comprised... it would appear to be a cocktail dress. The other ladies were all dressed as if they were going to a wedding.
|Day Two: Total blackout|
I shone in the art section of the dinner-table quiz, boosting my group's score.
I wandered about taking photographs... of which more another day.
If I am going to dress like a disfunctional arty person I might as well behave like one. I ate lots of fruit salad, and stuck to water and coffee. Weirdo.
|Day Three: grey socks?!|
As soon as the last lecture ended, I headed for the station: I had an hour free to zip to Mandors Fabrics before I caught my train home. Woo hoo!
I have purchases to show you, but right now I need to go to bed.
There is a reason why I live in the middle of nowhere: there aren't many other people there.