We had work drinks last night. Excitement! I said I'd go but planned to nick off after half an hour or so. I ended up being there for 2 1/2 hours. Why? You tell me. I became sort of mesmerised as I was drawn into one incredibly deadly conversation after another, mostly about people's home renovation projects or, even worse, about work. Who goes to work drinks to talk about work? Dull peeps, that's who/whom.
Luckily there was wine. Awful wine, but it was there and that's what counts.
Afterwards I met Lost in Translation at His Majesty's to see The Alchemist, a play for the cynics (and a bit of a marathon event when you've got some work drinks in you & feeling a trifle drowsy). It was a seriously academic crowd in the theatre and I was so glad old LiT was there to give the audience some much needed va-va-voom.
Before the play we stood at the bar having a glass of champagne and surveying the assembled peeps. LiT put forward her theory on (heterosexual) relationships, "They have their best chance of success if they begin with the man feeling humbly grateful that the woman condescends to be with him."
I looked at her standing there, tall, dark, utterly gorgeous, expecting men to fall at her feet in, well, humble gratitude. There was the slightest hint of a smirk on her luscious lips. I guess that's why she's got v-v-v and I don't.