Reverse Dinner

This is a long story, but trust me it's worth it...

Last night was the Inter-Club Reverse Dinner at the Savile Club. I had almost been debating whether I should go, as at the last minute I received a dinner invitation from the overweight-yet-attractive guy, as he and his wife were hosting a dinner party, and it did seem to be a good opportunity to meet a few more people in the upper-class English circles that I seem to be moving into. Yet the Reverse Dinner was already paid for, it had been hard enough to get onto the list, and I figured it would also be a good opportunity to meet people. So I begged off on the dinner party invite, but hope I can make it to the next one!

As I prepared to go out, I of course had to tackle the most important question: How should I do my hair? After so many times going out and just simply leaving my hair down, I decided that on this occasion I would do my hair up properly. There's something to be said for leaving your hair down (see the picture below from the ceilidh I went to last month), but sometimes an updo adds that element of elegance, I think.



Of course, what kind of updo should I do? This is where I absolutely love YouTube, as I just typed in "updo tutorial", and immediately a few instructional videos popped up. I followed one with a few modifications, ending up with pinned curls in a low chingon at my nape, with two side pieces twisted in from my crown on either side off of a side part. I wish I had taken a picture of it, but at some later point I'm sure a posted picture will come up. In the end, it was the effect I was going for, of understated elegance.

I got to the Savile Club, and made my way into what is normally the cocktail reception before dinner (dinner was 7 for 7:30), but instead of the usual glasses of champagne, they were serving coffee and brandy. Given that I don't drink coffee, I accepted a large brandy sniffer, and felt the burning fire of brandy going down on my empty stomach. Obviously, when faced with a five-course meal, you come hungry, but that can prove dangerous when the first thing you have to put into your stomach is brandy!

I found a small circle of conversation and introduced myself into it, utilizing the same networking skills that have served me so well over the years. (I will never understand people who don't like to show up to parties by themselves, as that's the best way to meet new people, in my view!) Had a nice chat, got a few photos taken, and then the president of the Younger Member's Committee at the Savile Club gave a speech. He did warn us that although the last time a reverse dinner was done, the chef kindly created a menu that would be gentle on people, but this time the chef had decided to really go all out and challenge us. He said that if we really struggled, we could put up our hands and they would try to bring us something more accommodating, but we were encouraged to do our best with the menu. As well he announced, there was no seating plan, but we were encouraged to seat ourselves properly, in the usual boy-girl-boy-girl fashion. At last, after that fiasco with the Americans at the Carlton, and the mix-up at the Caledonian, a reminder of how you're supposed to seat yourselves at dinner!

We then all made our way up the grand staircase into the ballroom, where we were to be seated for dinner. I found a table with some friendly-looking people, and a free chair next to a young man, so I sat down and introduced myself to everyone seated there, two girls and three boys. Imagine my surprise then, as we all started chatting about our backgrounds, it turned out that we were all members of the O&C, and even more so, that we'd all gone to Magdalene at Cambridge! The kicker though, was when we revealed when we'd been at Magdalene, we'd all matriculated in 2003! Hence we started playing "The Name Game", and it turned out that we all knew the same people, and that we were all in the same matriculation photograph. Surprising that we'd never run into each other before, but it led to a great evening of reminiscing about our days at Magdalene, getting ready for formal hall on Fridays, and just the good fun we'd had there overall.

Then we checked out the menu, and perhaps you can see why it would be challenging:



Potted Cheese
served with a glass of Port
Dark Chocolate and Orange Tartlets
finished with mint and caramelised orange salad
Fillet of Scotch Beef
finished with roasted artichoke hearts, buttered spinach, roasted potatoes fondant Madeira and truffle jus
Tian of Spiced Crab and Avocado
finished with pickled cucumber and baby cress salad
A glass of Sparkling Wine

After spending the first course chatting with my new Magdalene friends, I turned my attention to the man on my left. He struck me as quite handsome, but given that he brought a girl to the table with him, I assumed that he was in a relationship and didn't grant him much regard. So I was surprised when, during the course of the dinner, it was revealed that the girl with him was just a friend, and he then proceeded to devote a great deal of time and attention to me, instead of the girl he was with!

(I will say, his friend Kate seemed lovely, and I felt a bit badly for stealing her companion away from her in conversation, for on her left she was simply left with a very large overweight man and his girlfriend, who were bizarrely all over each other all throughout dinner. I suppose there's no accounting for what people find attractive, but seriously this guy had to be at least 250 lbs, and the girl was rather pretty, yet fawning over him like he was Brad Pitt).

The man to my left turned out to be a member of the RAC, an Irish guy who pretty much grew up in the UK, lived in Canada for a while during his childhood, and eventually ended up going to boarding school and then on to Edinburgh (which I'm gathering is the Tufts or Duke of England, in that they are for those who couldn't get into the Ivies/Oxbridge). He then went to live in Australia for a while and surf (he looked like such the surfer type, I could totally believe it), but eventually moved back to London because this is what feels like home to him.

The kicker in the conversation however, was when we were talking about where we lived, and he said, "West Kensington".

"Oh, me too!" I replied. "Whereabouts in West Kensington?"

"Right near the Kensington Olympia Exhbition Centre" he replied.

"Oh, me too!" Where near Kensington Olympia?"

"Behind the Centre, near the train station."

"Oh, me too!"

Finally, we found out that we live on the exact same street, just a few doors down from each other. And of all the people we might have sat next to at dinner, we inadvertently sat right near our neighbour!

I ended up having a really lovely time talking to him, and have to admit I would be intrigued to see him again if I get the chance.

Admittedly, there was an awkward moment, when we finally reached the champagne course (and thankfully they hadn't poured it a week in advance, like at Jen's wedding!), when as the waiter put the flute on the table, my neighbour knocked it over and spilled champagne all over me! I leapt up as quickly as I could, dabbing my dress with a napkin, but I was absolutely soaked through. Luckily I was at least wearing a black dress, so it didn't show, and then I tried not to be upset, trying to show that I was one of those very chill girls you can spill an entire glass of champagne on without her freaking out.

Kindly, the waiter brought him another glass of champagne (now that he'd spilled his entire glass on me), and our entire table toasted each other, as we had been the entire evening. It was kind of funny, as with the port, we all toasted each other with "cheers" before we all drank, with the white wine, with the red wine, and now with the champagne. (Yes, we "cheated" a bit and poured the white wine before the red, although justifying it by the fact that the white wine was chilled and would get warm before we got to our starters!) It was funny how we couldn't drink each time before we'd raised our glasses, looked everyone else at the table in the eye, and said "Cheers". Funny enough, you don't clink glasses the way you do in the US, it's just a very restrained, dignified toast, although done repeatedly.

To make up for his faux pas of spilling champagne on me, my neighbour insisted on buying me a glass of white wine down in the bar after we departed from our table. I talked to him for a while, but to give him a chance to socialize with others, I also talked to the Magdalene people who had been at my table, as well as Leeza and Chris, a married couple who had been at my table at the ceilidh last month.

Finally my neighbour was leaving, trying to catch the last train home so he could be up for some event in the morning. So we kissed on each cheek, assured each other that we had the other's info and would get in touch about meeting for a drink soon at our local, and just lingered with unnecessary extra kisses and hand-holding. I worry that perhaps I was imagining it, projecting onto him, but I could swear there did seem to be a hint of interest there. I guess we shall have to see what happens next...

At around 1 or 2 AM, everyone started to leave, and the Magdalene people invited me along with them to another nightclub, but I declined, thinking I would head home shortly. (Foolish me!) I got dragged out of the bar by Brian and Catherine, a couple who I'd met at the dinner I went to at the Carlton ages ago. As we stood around gathering our coats and trying to decide what to do next, at Catherine's urging I gave her my card, and we agreed that we would do drinks at the RAC and O&C sometime.

Somehow, our plan to simply leave then morphed into a plan to go to this random house party that somebody had suggested we all go to. So we all piled into cabs, with the men insisting that the women go first. The cab dropped us at the address on Belgrave Square, and indeed it was a house, yet with raging club party going on. Everyone inside was dressed in pirate gear, and there was a table in the hallway to charge us all entrance fees. It turned out that all of the women could get in for free, while for the men it was £25. Thankfully this crowd all had the same reaction, which was that £25 was highway robbery. We had a long debate about whether it was worth it to go in, but finally decide to go with it.



It was a bizarre party, full of middle-aged men with pot-bellies and frighteningly skinny women. My best guess is that it was basically rich old men and models, yet with everyone dressed up like pirates. Definitely made us wonder, "Who are these people, and how did they know about this party?" Keep in mind, we are in a house with no markings to indicate it might be a nightclub, and it really looks like a house, with beautiful chandeliers in the ceilings. Some people's costumes were absolutely bizarre, including a guy in a dress and giant feather hat. Our whole group couldn't have stood out more, all dressed up in our posh clothing, having come from the Savile Club, all standing around drinking champagne. It was definitely one of those surreal moments where you had to pinch yourself and ask, "Am I really here?" So, I took a video, which maybe will give you a sense of the bizarre flavour of the place:


Now here is the point where I have to confess that I was feeling "frisky". And I desperately wanted someone to play with. Might seem a bit bizarre to have just met a guy at dinner you think you could seriously be interested in, and respond by immediately looking around for someone else to jump into bed with. Yet, in this circumstance it seemed like an excellent idea to find an obnoxious boy I didn't actually like, but who was good-looking and probably easy to seduce into playing with me. So you can imagine my sense of good fortune when this American boy suggested splitting a bottle of wine with me.



For some reason, the American reminded me of the character Dorian in this hideous UK television drama I've become addicted to, "Trinity". Gossip Girl, it is not, but it definitely satisfies the "upper-class good-looking British twats" urge. If you want to see a clip of the show to get the idea, click here. Of course, the ironic thing is that the American was actually American (duh!), but definitely had both the good looks and obnoxious sense of self-entitlement that I was looking for.

The party shut down at around 3-4 AM, and I went home with the American and a few others, as the American apparently lived right near by in Belgravia. Interestingly, the American grasped me by the hand and led me along, quite determined that I was coming home with him. He held my hand the entire way home, reaffirming his grip every so often when it seemed like I might drop his hand. It's a strangely intimate gesture, I realised, walking along holding hands with a boy. His hand was surprisingly warm, and I felt oddly reassured by how determinedly he held onto me, unconcerned about who saw, just like it was the most natural thing to be holding my hand while walking along and talking about how he'd run into Bill Bellicheck, the coach of the New England Patriots, in a bar in London the other day.

We got back to the American's place, someone got out a guitar, and for some reason we started singing American songs, like "American Pie", "My Country Tis of Thee" (showing the Brits how we sing "God Save the Queen"), and the "Star-Spangled Banner". Very odd, but exactly the sort of thing I guess you'd do with a guitar at that hour of the morning.

After a while, the others went up to the roof, and I was left alone with the American. He seemed extraordinarily drunk (probably not helped by the bottle of whiskey he'd brought out), but I was reminded of a recent episode of How I Met Your Mother called "The Sexless Innkeeper", about people who fake interest in hooking up with someone just to have a place to sleep. I realised that if I could just get him interested in going to bed, I might be able to just crash out with him. Yet, to my surprise, even as he was nearly falling asleep in his chair, he didn't seem to want to go to bed with me.

I was getting a bit bored then, so when this Scottish guy Dave came in and started dancing with me (really swinging me around the room, ballroom and tango style), I just went along with it. I'd remembered meeting him at the ceilidh as well, and he'd seemed somewhat interested then too.

Bored with that, Dave then suggested that we go up on the roof and see what everybody else was up to. It was a bit difficult getting up the ladder in my high heels, but I made it up. It reminded me of being on a rooftop in Argentina a few years ago, drinking wine and looking out over the city lights, talking with people in Spanish. Here the conversation was in English and we were drinking whiskey instead of wine, but the view was still spectacular and it was all just incredibly surreal to be looking over London from a rooftop with a bunch of guys in the middle of the night.

Still, I was wearing a halterneck dress with no shawl, and was quickly getting cold up there, while the boys were all comfortably hanging out in their jackets and ties. So I was quite relieved actually when the Americancame up to fetch me and suggested we go downstairs again.

He climbed back down the ladder first, and then held it while I climbed down after him. As I came down, he did something that would normally be an incredibly seductive move, running his hands up my legs as I came down. Unfortunately, it turned into a total "Bridge Jones' Diary" moment, as I was wearing Spanx! So you can imagine his surprise as he ran his hands up my legs, and instead of encountering my knickers, just came across a pair of bike shorts gripping me as firmly as a chastity belt!

Still, we finally get down, and then he starts kissing me (finally!) He's using too much tongue, but it's still decent, and I've just been desperately bored and wanting to play all of this time. Yet before things can even get really interesting, the rest of the crowd comes down from the roof, and the American reveals that the room we've stumbled into at this point is not his. What on earth is up with this silly boy's resistance to taking me to his own room?

Now I'm just bored and tired of this boy, who is turning out to be a total disappointment. A bunch of people are apparently crashing in the living room, so I decide to just give up on the American and see if I can get some sleep. Dave is apparently going to be sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, which weirdly the boys can't manage to inflate. Yet he gets a blanket and a pillow, and so sacks out on the deflated air mattress. Taking advantage of his interest in me, I curl up right next to him on the deflated air mattress. I get him to put his head on the pillow, and then use his chest as my pillow, just falling asleep entirely wrapped up in his arms. At the end, there's really just something wonderfully nice about cuddling with a boy (even if you're both entirely dressed, him even with his tie still on!)

I woke up later to find myself still wrapped up in Dave's arms, spooning with him from head-to-toe, and me using his arm as a pillow. How on earth was that not uncomfortable for him? Yet even as I get up, he continues to sleep soundly, as I try to see my watch and figure out what time it is. I every so often wonder why fancy watches don't include indiglo lights, and once again I curse my fancy watch with all of its diamonds that I can't see in the dark.

Finally get enough light to see that it's about 8 AM, although everyone else remains soundly asleep. I decide I might be well served to make my escape while I can, and not end of facing either Dave (who might be wondering why I curled up with him to go to sleep) or the American (who might be wondering why I so thoroughly rejected him the night before). Yet, while I can find my handbag and my shoes, my coat is nowhere to be seen! I fret about what to do about this, before realising I left it on the couch, and realise that the random guy who is sleeping on the couch is using my coat as a pillow. I'm loathe to wake him up, but I want my coat, so I shake him slightly and quickly slip in an alternate coat, grabbing mine and making my escape. He seemed so confused, I'm not sure he ever really properly woke up. I can always hope.

As I leave the flat, I can see the sun slowly coming up over the city. Out on the streets, there are few people around at that early dawn hour, and it's wonderfully quiet as I make my way out into the still morning light as most of the city remains in slumber. Luckily I find Knightsbridge station quickly, get on the train, and get home, to finally sleep in my own bed!