When QEII walks in the door, good taste tends to walk out. Especially if she, QEII, comes accompanied by a bottle of wine. We were in the middle of a not-terribly-highbrow conversation, marked by much guffawing and shrieking, when the phone rang: we had to make a mercy dash into the city to rescue Mona Lisa from the Sheraton. It wasn't until we were half way up the freeway that I realised I was in tracky daks and bare feet - again. Luckily, I had also forgotten my glasses so as I sashayed through the Sheraton's foyer, bumping through an endless stream of wedding parties, I was aware of various faces turned towards me, and moving up and down to give me the once over, but I was mercifully oblivious to the details of the thin-lipped expressions.
I don't think there were any Vietnam Veterans there. I didn't notice any camouflage gear. But then I wouldn't, would I?
Mona Lisa was very brave about being seen with me. She said people were probably just jealous I was dressed so comfortably. I'd like to believe her.
As for the not-so-highbrow conversation? Well, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to hear about that.
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