The Young Dutchman's 24th Birthday

This evening was the Young Dutchman's 24th birthday, and he'd invited me to join him and a few friends for dinner at the Carlton Club. I was running late for the 6:30 PM start time of pre-dinner drinks, but figured I could make up some time by cutting through a back passage near the Savoy Hotel.

When I came through the passage and turned the corner however, I was unprepared for what I saw: A full-blown riot was going down. There were lines of police blocking the road, people were blowing whistles, and the entire scene was madness, with camera flashes going off and people yelling everywhere. I looked to find a way around it all, but a policeman near me, quite firmly told me, "You're going to need to go around."

I was annoyed at this, but so focused on how late I was that I didn't even think about anything other than how annoying it was. Particularly given that the riot had been taking place down this side street, I assumed it was relatively small and nothing I needed to worry about. So I raced through Green Park, found my way through a side gate near Marlborough House that was still open (hurrah!) and raced up the street towards the Carlton Club from the other direction.

You can imagine my shock and horror then, to realise that the protest was actually centred around the club! There were hundreds of people, all chanting and waving signs, pressed up against a police barrier at the front of the club. I fought my way through the crowd, and then went right up to the police officer at the front of the club, explaining, "I'm actually supposed to go to an event in there."

I suppose given my pretty dress and done hair, the police officer assumed that I probably wasn't part of the protesting masses. Plus, they always keep a guest list at the Carlton, so the police knew I would be turned away if I wasn't supposed to be there. Still, it was all rather frightening to have to battle my way through the shouting and chanting crowds... You can bet that once I went in, I didn't want to come back out!

At the front desk, they told me that everyone was gathering in the bar, a place I never really like to go, as women have only been allowed in the Carlton bar for the past year or two. Even when I did go in, I was the only woman there, making me feel as though at any moment somebody was going to come up to me and say, "A woman! What on earth are you doing here? Get lost!" Thankfully however, that did not happen, and I saw three boys I knew, who immediately beckoned me to come join them.

The birthday boy had yet to arrive, but Pompous Lawyer Boy bought me a G&T, which I thought was very nice of him. We gathered a few chairs together, and watched the crowds outside for a bit, as they were chanting and playing reggae music. Eventually they started turning their cameras on the crowds indoors however, so we quickly decided that we'd had enough of that, and closed the curtains.

Slowly, the other boys arrived, including the birthday boy himself, who we had fun ribbing about the crowds that had shown up for his birthday party. I was surprised however, as the guests kept arriving, to see that while I knew everyone (I'm one of the Young Dutchman's best friends, after all), I was the only girl. Already being in a traditionally men's-only club, it was quite the hilarious twist. I felt much like Margaret Thatcher, who since every Conservative Prime Minister is automatically a member of the club, was made an "honorary man" so that she might join. (And yes, I am quite looking forward to seeing the movie "The Iron Lady"). I later learned from the Young Dutchman that it had originally been intended to be a male-only dinner, but he just didn't feel right about excluding me, one of his best friends. Hence, it was me and a whole load of boys, which was quite good fun!

Particularly as I like most all of the Young Dutchman's friends, and count many of them as being among my own best friends.

There was one almost incredibly embarrassing moment, when I was greeting people alongside the Young Dutchman, and there was a boy who looked incredibly familiar. Good-looking blonde, who I couldn't quite place, but I swore he looked incredibly like this guy Andy who I had gone to Magdalene with. Hence, although I couldn't think of why on earth Andy would be there, or how on earth the Young Dutchman knew him, I greeted him enthusiastically like an old friend.

Thank goodness I didn't get much of a chance to say anything (did the guy even notice I used the completely wrong name? As you should know, his name was NOT "Andy"!) because a few steps later in conversation I realised I had it totally wrong, and the guy in front of me was the Norwegian I'd met two months ago at the Lansdowne after a port tasting evening. Ooops! No wonder he had looked familiar, however...

I'd now made a huge error though, because my incredibly enthusiastic greeting meant that the guy assumed I was thrilled to see him. Which in truth, I wasn't, because a month after our meeting, I'd heard about me kissing him from third parties. He must have sensed my sudden hesitation, because suddenly he started apologizing about not calling me. All the usual excuses ("I lost your card! And I was going nuts because in all of the business cards I had, I couldn't find the one I really wanted!") but as you might remember, I hadn't really wanted him to call anyway, because he smoked. So the truth was, I wasn't annoyed about his lack of calling at all, but rather his gossiping. One of the things I've really learned from the Young Dutchman is the value of discretion.

Still, he was so convinced I was annoyed because he didn't call, that I didn't really get a chance to set him straight. Oh well, no matter really, because he'd already dug his own grave. The particular reasons why were moot.

Finally, the call came for us all to head into dinner, where there was open seating (ugh, I hate that), so I grabbed Kellogg Boy (who you might remember I bonded with at the Wolfson Ball) to sit with me, as he's quickly becoming my new favourite person ever. Everyone else filed in around us and found their seats, until I was left with an open seat to my left, which was filled by the Norwegian. Oh dear. An entire evening of conversation with a guy I was miffed at? Still, I have to admit that he's incredibly good-looking, and obviously still into me, so I suppose there are worse fates in life...

For the first half of the evening, I ended up chatting with Kellogg Boy and the table at large, as I was having a good time just relating tales of the Young Dutchman and engaging in the usual merry battle of wits and telling funny stories. At one point the Norwegian commented to me about how close I obviously was with the Young Dutchman, as I think he was suddenly realising his error, as he'd probably never thought he would run into me again, and here he was discovering I was very much the "insider".

Still, as I certainly couldn't ignore him all evening, I got chatting to him. Turns out his English is so good because his mother is actually Scottish while his father is Norwegian, and he was born in New Zealand while his family was sailing around the world for three years. His father wrote a book about the experience apparently, and a bit of quick Googling turned it up. He was now living in Cambridge, attending Fitzwilliam College, studying computer science. Apparently he was trying to decide whether to take up his place on the course, when Fitz offered him a parking space for his car, so he was planning on flying home to Norway for the holidays and then driving the car back. Yet, I couldn't shake my disbelief that a guy who had lived such an interesting life was so insufferably dull. Despite all of these interesting things that came up in conversation, he really just wasn't much of a conversationalist.

Still, by telling such fascinating stories, he had won me over a little bit, so when he had to leave early to head over to meet some friends at the Lansdowne, he gave me a kiss on each cheek and held on to me a bit too long when parting, saying he would see me shortly. Rather sweet, actually. (Okay, and yes, despite all of my other objections, he still was quite good-looking).

Due to the protests at the start, the dinner had run long, so the Young Dutchman had to run off over to the Lansdowne (along with the Norwegian) to greet the additional friends who were gathering there, although he encouraged all of us to stay and drink more wine. He left me in charge of making sure everyone got over to the Lansdowne, so about a half-hour after he had left, I tapped on my wine glass, made everyone stand and finish their drinks, and then led the crowds out and down the street.

As we were walking, I discovered I had about three missed calls from the Wild Welshman, which was a pity. The Slightly Pompous Lawyer gave me a clementine (where on earth had he come up with that?), which I stuck in my pocket, and got everyone over to the Lansdowne.

It turned out that there had been a reeling ball taking place, so the place was packed with people in ballgowns. I found myself immediately caught up in crowds, including with a few older guys who really seemed insistent on talking to me, saying I looked familiar or some such thing... All I could think of was that I needed to fight my way through the crowds to find the Wild Welshman to let him know I was here.

I found him in the bar, and given that he was looking parched, got him a drink. I handed that off to him, and then found myself chatting to the American Guy I Once Hooked Up With, who I've rather become friends with over the years. Still, as I talked to him, I couldn't help but think about what the Young Scotsman had told me about him last week. Apparently the American Guy has a habit of dating really beautiful, really wealthy girls who are just lovely and perfect, and then he cheats on them constantly. (I did feel particularly badly for his last girlfriend, who by all accounts was a very nice person, and yet it was he who broke up with her and broke her heart, even though he had been the bastard who was compulsively cheating on her). And now he is once again dating another nice, beautiful, wealthy girl, and cheating on her constantly too. According to the Young Scotsman, he quite simply says he "can't help himself". And in a weird way, that almost makes me feel badly for him, as you know he's going to destroy every relationship he's ever in, due to his inability to control himself.

I then got into a very random conversation with some guy who told me, from the way I stood up and made announcements and led the crowd on, he predicted I must have a very good singing voice. It was such an unexpected compliment, but reminded me of when the Young Dutchman and I had been out at the fairgrounds on Sunday, and he was telling me that he could imagine me doing voice-over work, as I had such a lovely voice. What a weird thing to compliment, but rather nice too.

The rest of the evening was basically spent in conversation with various people, with either Kellogg Boy or the Blonde Dutchman, a friend of the Young Dutchman who is most noteable for his (surprise, surprise) shock of blonde hair. He looks like this impossibly good-looking surfer dude, and is without a doubt the most attractive man I've ever met in real life. Hence I am always a bit wary of how ridiculously good-looking he is, but he's always actually been super-nice to me and a wonderfully friendly guy. So as the evening went on, I found that as we talked to people, he always had an arm wrapped around me, and I certainly didn't complain.

I even bought a drink for the Norwegian at one point but then just walked off and ignored him (not on purpose, I was distracted), but I do think he was beginning to get the point that he may have mis-played me. And Kellogg Boy and the Blonde Dutchman were just so wonderfully attentive to me, I was much happier hanging with them.

Finally the night drew to a close, where as everyone gathered coats and tried to figure out what to do next (everyone is always in a debate about what nightclub to head on to), I found myself peeling the clementine in my pocket and feeding pieces of it to the Blonde Dutchman. Incredibly flirtatious and cute, which even though I don't think there's anything there, what girl doesn't enjoy feeding fruit to the most ridiculously handsome man she's ever met? (Seriously, that boy is unreal).

At last however, I was out of fruit, I was tired, and everyone was heading on. Time to head home!