For some reason (which still escapes me), I grabbed a pair of shoes which I had bought back when I was first living in Boston, a pair of strappy silver sandals I had gotten from a charity shop for a Halloween party sometime in 2001. They were in my "shoe repair" bag, but I couldn't immediately see or remember what was wrong with them, so I just grabbed them and put them on.
About halfway through the walk to the Tube station, it suddenly became apparent what was wrong with those shoes when the right one completely broke. Straps snapped, heel came off, it was all just a wreck. Except I was about a 10-minute walk from home and was already running late, so what to do?
Realising that I wasn't that far from the Hammersmith shops, I hobbled along, trying to ignore the strange looks from people passing-by as I obviously struggled with my broken shoe. Thankfully before too long I made it to a Marks and Spencer's, where I dove for the shoe aisle, looking for something that might do the job (and which wasn't too expensive. I found just the thing with a pair of black patent-leather T-strap shoes for just £19.50. Not like I really need yet another pair of black shoes, but I was desperate.
So I rang them up, and had the lady at the counter help me peel off the price tag so I could put them on right away. I debated for a moment keeping my broken shoes so I could get them fixed, but I realised that was a truly pointless exercise, they were goners. So I told the woman at the counter to put them in a rubbish bin if she had one (I probably bought them for $10 over 12 years ago, I think I got some good use out of them!) and raced out of the shop, moving much quicker in my nice new shoes.
My shoe disaster meant that I only arrived at the Caledonian Club right at the end of the champagne reception, so I didn't get to catch up with anyone I would have liked to. I was just able to grab a glass and then head straight up to dinner, where I found in the disaster of a seating plan, I was seated in-between two girls. I spoke to the man in charge of later, pointing out that when you've got more girls than guys, having a girl on one side is allowable, but on both sides is inexcusable.
Particularly harsh was the fact that I'd been informed earlier that they were having trouble balancing the seating plan, and I was asked if I would be okay sitting with people I didn't know. I had put in the cheeky request that as long as I was seated with a cute boy, I'm sure I would be fine. Sadly, on my table was Joe Ansbro, a former Scottish international professional rugby union player, as well as a nice young man I'd met and gotten on well with at a dinner at the RAC a while ago. But instead I found myself inbetween two girls, who sadly didn't even have good chat to recommend them, they were both quiet and mousy and challenging to talk to.
Which is why I found myself playing a game that I sometimes do, called, "Let's Drink Until You're Interesting." Please note, this is NOT a very smart game to play. The unfortunate thing about it, as I told Kellogg Boy the next day while we were at Henley, it IS effective. Somewhere around the 3rd glass of red wine, the dull conversation of the people around me actually started to seem interesting and entertaining, even though I knew on some level that it was still the same tedious drivel as before.
The more I drank, the quicker the dinner went, until thankfully the speeches were over and it was time to get up and go downstairs to the bar. When I stood up, I realised I was in trouble (there's something about the swaying of the room that only happens when you stand up to alert you to how much you've had to drink), but was also too far gone to really care about it at this point.
Down in the bar, the crowds were all celebrating because a couple who is well known to our group had just gotten engaged, and everyone was buying them champagne to celebrate. Very funny, as the man is one half of a set of twins, who both started dating lovely girls at the same time. Now that one set is engaged, I'm sure there's going to be a lot of pressure on the second one to follow suit! The announcement didn't come as a surprise to anyone really, except perhaps the bride herself who noted that despite how they've been living together for a year, the chap managed to make it a complete surprise and catch her off-guard. They are a really lovely couple though, and they are one of the few where I have no doubts they will have a long and happy life together. They just suit each other so well.
My memories of course become very fuzzy at this point, except to note that I did find myself deep in conversation with the American, where he surprised me by announcing that he thought to run for office (his long-term ambition is to be a politician), he thought he'd have to run as a Democrat. Given that he usually stands for all the Republican, flag-waving, chest-thumping cruelty that I abhor, this announcement came as quite a shock. He explained it as his liberal social views (pro-gay marriage, abortion and the like) were very Democratic, even if his small government views were very Republican. But without the social issues he realised, there was no way he could manage to get elected as a Republican, so being a Democrat it would have to be.
Somewhere around 3 AM, it finally occurred to me that I had to be on the 9:12 train from Paddington in the morning, and so I really needed to go home. I'm not sure if I said my good-byes to anyone, but stumbled out to the night bus (I really should have gotten a taxi), and made it all of the way back to the Hammersmith Bus Station. Where, in a sign of how intoxicated I was, I decided that I needed to go to McDonald's at that point for a hamburger.
Imagine my surprise then, when at 3 AM I ran into someone at the McDonald's who I knew! Charming chap from the club, and we had a good time teasing each other about how we had just been out at fancy dinners, both of us at different events, and now here we were at McDonald's at 3 AM.
We both knew we had to be at Henley in the morning, so we ate our burgers and then big each other adieu, while I walked back home. Once I got there, in my drunken state I was very tempted to write to the Irish Boy, but some teeny rational part of my brain made me write out the e-mail and leave it unsent on my desktop. And then I took a shower (why?) and collapsed into bed.
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