Inner Temple Burns Night

I spent the day texting back and for with the Tall South African, although nothing really of particular interest. Hence, it was pretty easy to leave that one in short order and instead focus on getting ready to go out in the evening, for a Burns Night dinner hosted by Inner Temple, a student lawyer's association which a friend of mine is a part of.

I followed directions right up to the point where I walked through an old, giant oak door, and then stepped into an inner sanctum of churches and buildings, where the traffic noise outside faded entirely, but then I realised, without the benefit of signs or streets, I had no idea where the actual building I was looking for was. I mean, you realise that medieval buildings are beautiful, but hideously impractical for directions, as they were all just built right next to each other without any concept of layout or roads.

It was then quite fortunate, as I stood in the still night air, that I heard the wailing sounds of a bagpipe being carried on the wind. (Good thing even one bagpipe is so ridiculously loud!) And so I was able to find my way to where I was going by just wandering in and out of the maze of old stone buildings, following the sounds of the bagpipe, until I rounded a corner and saw the lone piper standing outside the building, and upon close approach, realised that this was indeed the place where I was supposed to be.

I turned out to have arrived with perfect timing, as the Young Dutchman, the (Former) Head of Inter-Club, our hostess and a few others were all still just in the hallway checking their coats. So I greeted everyone, checked my coat as well, and got quite a few compliments on my dress (one of the first occasions I'd worn it out, and I was quite pleased with it myself).

We went upstairs to the champagne reception and I quickly fell into conversation with the Young Dutchman and the (Former) Head of Inter-Club. As frequently seems to happen these days, the topic of conversation quickly turned to Drunk Girl, who we realised was due to ruin the sanctuary of our peaceful evening out with her presence. Apparently one of her former paramours had a last-minute ticket, and she'd wormed her way into coming, to the distress of everyone else present.

Although none of us were particularly happy about this turn of events, the person who seemed most irate about it was the Young Dutchman. I was surprised throughout the evening by the vehemence with which the Young Dutchman argued against Drunk Girl's inclusion in our events. Now to be fair, I'm certainly not Drunk Girl's biggest fan. Yet, while I don't really like the girl, I'm wary of just seeming like an exclusionary snob. Hence I wasn't quite sure what to make of the Young Dutchman's rant, which he concluded with, "She just doesn't belong in this world".

Yes, we are members of high society, and there are certain behaviours that are expected, like discretion, manners, and knowing how to behave oneself. Yet even I was a bit taken aback when he cracked jokes throughout dinner about how she ate her bread (yes, to be fair, to butter it directly from the butter dish and then stuff the whole thing in your mouth is very gauche, but hardly a capital offence). It was strange, because normally I think of the Young Dutchman as being more tolerant than I am, as he includes in his friendship circle so many people who irritate me to no end, and I admire him for his patience. I guess he is really out of patience with Drunk Girl however, as he was absolutely on a rant. He was raving about how he just wanted her gone. And was determined to make sure that happened. He was pretty upset that she'd made it to this event, but had been talking to quite a few people, and was getting the word around that she was no longer welcome.

I was fortunate enough not to be subjected to the young lady's presence myself, but instead spent most of the cocktail hour chatting with the very sweet Irish girlfriend of one of the boys. I was pleased when I got a glimpse of the seating plan, which put me inbetween the Young Dutchman and the (Former) Head of Inter-Club. However, upon going into dinner, people messed it up, and to stay next to the Young Dutchman (I so did want to catch up with him), I had to sit in a spot where there was already an incredibly dull guy on my right. (The one I went on that hideous date with last year, in fact, who by some miracle now has a very sweet girlfriend. She's a bit on the shy and quiet side, but otherwise a lovely girl, so I have no idea how this chap managed to land her). The (Former) Head of Inter-Club then came up to me and expressed his incredibly disappointment at having been moved away from me (ah yes, I know you have a bit of a crush on me!), and as well I found that my new seating arrangement meant that I was a bit out of the middle of the banter conversation and thus had to strain to hear what everyone was talking about. Quite unfortunate how the dynamics of a good seating plan can make or break your evening!

Still, I was glad to be able to sit with the Young Dutchman and catch up a bit, as I do miss him quite a bit. At one point, the Young Dutchman actually asked me "And how is the Tall South African?" That really took me by surprise, as it's the first time he's ever acknowledged the Tall South African or the fact that the two of us have something of a relationship. Not like the Young Dutchman ever likes talking about my personal life anyway, but he really seems to take the tactic of active disdain for the Tall South African, or at best, he just pretends it isn't happening. So this was new. So I was able to tell him that the two of us continued to talk all of the time, but that I hadn't had sex with the Tall South African (I left out the minor detail that it wasn't MY choice), which he took incredible delight in, as he imagined that the Tall South African must be incredibly frustrated with this state of affairs. Since it was the first time he'd expressed any positive sentiment about my relationship with the Tall South African, I let it slide, but nevertheless, his interest in the topic did not continue on for long after that. Of course.

He was much more interested in continuing his rant against Drunk Girl, who at this point I could see at the next table over, often staring off into the distance, bored with nobody to talk to. It was funny yet rather sad, how her former paramour, her host for the evening, had in fact refused to sit with her. I can see that in fact this girl is horribly insecure, with no real ideas on how to make friends, even as she drives people away with her behaviour. She probably drinks to relax and drown out her insecurities, but of course then has too much and people hate her for it. She sleeps with lots of guys in the hopes that they will like her, not realising that seeming desperate and being willing to sleep with many men has the absolute opposite effect. In fact, just watching her across the room, seeming so lonely, almost made me feel bad for her. I think people like myself and the Young Dutchman, who are so supremely self-confident and have the world on a string, we can sometimes lose our empathy for what it's like for people who are shy and insecure.

And then I remembered that we've talked to Drunk Girl numerous times about her behaviour and she hasn't changed one whit. And so then I stopped feeling sorry for her at all, and remembered why I agree with the Young Dutchman whole-heartedly. I can tolerate insecurity, just not stupidity.

A group of four boys at the table then decided to buy a bottle of whiskey (ironically Jameson's, an Irish whiskey at a Scottish dinner), and then in their incrediby generous spirit, poured me some as well. It was one of those things that seemed like a very good idea at the time (whiskey at Burns Night!) but of course the next morning was going to prove to have been my undoing...

We listened to a really bad, rambling "Immortal Memory" while eating a strangely healthy dessert (who has oatmeal in their dessert?), which was followed by an even worse "Toast to the Lassies." There was no "Response from the Lassies" (thank God), and then they cleared the tables aside for ceilidh dancing.

Assuming that there would be plenty of time for dancing, I ended up sitting at the side of the room and just chatting with the (Former) Head of Inter-Club for a while. He's such a nice guy, I absolutely hate myself for not liking him more. I mean, he's exactly my age, rich, successful, kind, and just all of those things that girls say they want in a guy. And yet...I just can't bring myself to do it. It kills me. At least I'm still willing to be a little bit flirty with him, as the poor guy just really needs the attention. So at the end of the night when he asked me to "do the honours", I undid his bow-tie (he even wears real bow-ties instead of clip-ons! As I said, the guy is wonderful, so what is WRONG with me that I don't fancy him?) and the top button of his shirt. Just a wonderfully relaxed way to end the evening.

To our surprise, after only four dances, the ceilidh band finished, and it was time to move on to somewhere else. At this point, the (Former) Head of Inter-Club begged off to go home, as apparently he'd been out at some nightclub opening with the Young Scotsman, his flatmate, and had been incredibly hungover this entire evening thus far.

So I piled into a cab with the Young Dutchman and the girl who had been following him around like a puppy dog all evening (I discovered the next day to my surprise that he had NOT slept with her, although when I informed him then that she obviously wanted to, he said, "Really? Darn, I wasn't really paying attention last night!" This made me laugh, because it had been so obvious to me!) We went to the Lansdowne so the Young Dutchman could gather his things and head to the train station, where we ran into a few familiar faces, including one guy who insisted on putting his number in my phone. (Remember what I'd said about the whiskey earlier? The "why" of this is totally lost on me now).

We then sent the Young Dutchman off to catch his train, and I walked with the girl who had been following him around like a puppy dog down to the RAC to join the rest of the crowd from dinner for post-dinner drinks. We ran into the high-flying doctor guy who knows me on the way, before finally making it to the cocktail bar of the RAC.

I was glad to find a spare seat with Gordon, who I know is an RAC member (only members can pay for drinks in the cocktail bar, so I was unsure what so many people there were going to do), and I instantly earned the Scotsman's good favour by giving him a tenner straight away to cover my drinks, which he remarked on as another reason he always liked Americans like me, as they were so straightforward about financial matters. Funny how I always know how to stay on Gordon's good side...

Not like I really needed another drink at this point, but I ordered a white wine, figuring that it was the safer option. I still can't quite remember how it happened, but we somehow got onto the topic of blow jobs, which proved to be quite an interesting conversation to have with a platonic male friend. Lately I often seem to be having lots of conversations about sex and romance with Gordon, which is all that much more bizarre because it's Gordon, after all! Still, we really seemed to enjoy our conversation, although every time his girlfriend would come near us or join in the conversation, we would quickly switch the topic of conversation (the "Life in the UK" exam was a favourite one), and then the instant she walked away, we'd switch back to our original, more inappropriate conversation.

I was surprised as well when he revealled that his flatmate, the American I once hooked up with, has never been tested for STDs, as much as he sleeps around, and apparently just prefers to possibly spread disease than knowing what he has himself. I'm stunned, as there's irresponsible behaviour and then borderline sociopathic behaviour. I mean, who DOES that? (Thankfully, nothing ever really happened with us, and I've been tested since then anyway and am as healthy as a horse).

It was all a stark and sad reminder that I can never sleep with the Tall South African, probably the only guy I know who has slept around quite so much. And I realise, this is probably why he is so careful with me, as he actually cares about me, and not knowing what he has (or maybe because he does), he won't put me in danger. It's all very sweet, but therefore also entirely doomed. Which sucks.

As Gordon said, "Maybe I never had as much fun as some other people, but also I never felt like I was taking any stupid risks. Even the people I did hook up with, I knew were also not the types to take stupid risks, so it was all pretty safe. And then before I got together with my current girlfriend, I got myself tested, so it just makes everything easier to know that it's all okay."

At this point, Gordon and I now had our second round of drinks, but for some reason Gordon didn't like his mint juleip, and so insisted on switching with me. I'll admit, it had a funny after-taste, but it didn't bother me the way it did him, so I was happy to switch. Probably a bad idea however, as that thing was incredibly alcoholic, and I think was probably what finally put me over the edge that night! So it was shortly after that drink that I piled into a cab with Gordon and Sophie, dropped them off in Kensington, and made my way home too at around 2:30 AM. Great night out, and time for bed!