It was TG’s birthday on Sunday so in a fit of madness I decided to take him to a fabulous restaurant on the Island. Now, if I told you that the menu let alone the wine cost the equivalent of the national debt, that would be no great exaggeration. They aren’t open on a Sunday during the Winter so Saturday night it had to be. I hadn’t told him where we were going because I always think that the element of surprise adds to the frisson of the occasion and also because I couldn’t quite remember how to get there and didn’t want to look like a complete idiot! So this is where we went
with this view
And this decor
(I hasten to add that I didn’t take these pictures but have ‘borrowed’ them from the website…). We had a wonderful evening, the food was matchless and the service excellent and it was so lovely to do something ‘posh’ for a change.I love dressing up and we don’t always get the chance here so it was great to don a sparkly top and some heels. A lovely, lovely evening to be talked about long into the future.
I was trying to remember the last time I went somewhere posh and it was last year to a gentleman’s club in London. It was a very odd experience, not least because I was under instruction. These instructions came via e-mail – directions which I suppose, even though I worked in central London for 15 years, were thoughtful, a precis of the Club itself and then, right at the bottom, a sentence which should have warned me of things to come. it said “I looked up the dress code because I can never remember it”. There then followed, beautifully cut and pasted from the ‘rule book’ a diatribe about what one could and couldn’t wear.
I am 43. I am not a chav, teenager, idiot or simpleton and have been let loose on polite society on numerous occasions and I think that I KNOW that one doesn’t attend dinner in jeans. Furthermore I was asked what sort of dress I would be wearing. Would it be ‘suitable’? Was it long or short? I assured him that it was perfectly appropriate. I wondered if at some point he was going to ask me if I knew how to behave myself. Patronising didn’t even begin to cover it but so blown away was I by the burgeoning romance that I didn’t look beyond the end of my nose. And the real irony of the situation is that I have recently returned an item to this person that I discovered long after the event. I posted it back with a note, exactly as I did when I returned his son’s baseball that I found in the garden and has he even acknowledged either return? No he hasn’t. Now that really IS bad manners. As the mantra I trot out to my children says – if someone can be bothered to put something in the post to you and put a stamp on it then you can be bothered to thank them for it! Manners cost nothing, but so many people just simply don’t have them.
All of this came back to me on Saturday night as I sat in The Hambrough with the whole restaurant singing happy birthday to TG, much to his embarrassment. It was easy. Easy Peasy. There was no nervousness about whether I was ‘behaving’ appropriately. I had been told how nice I looked. We had lovely food, horrifically expensive wine and the sort of evening that has been missing for quite some time. If we save up we might manage to do it again before we’re 80!