The quest for fruit

Truly glamorous parties where care and attention is taken to ensure a perfect venue, a theme and whatever libation your heart desires all night long are rare, and when the opportunity arises must be embraced for the maximum enjoyment that such generosity affords.

As I walked in and noticed the grand spiral staircase, I realised I’d been here before but not for some years.  A myriad of rooms followed with Prosecco and gin gimlet bars, hog roast, other delectables and waiters dressed as Bavarians.

I met V at the bar.  We chatted. He offered me a cigarette. ‘I haven’t been out for months, this is a big night for me, and I’ve got to do the Ideal Home Show in the morning’.  I sympathised as a gentleman in Lederhose and hat sporting a feather topped up my glass. I looked around the room to see if there was anyone else I knew.

Black tie and blazers for the men and in some cases the girls too.  The occasional flash of old-school Hollywood glamour by way of a floor length bias cut mink gown or a shimmering silver one.  My gold dress and purple snakeskin heels longed for some more company and I set out to find it.

‘Just go for it’ said N pointing to the mounds of Globe and Jerusalem artichokes at the vegetable bar.  Next to these a vibrant plate of seaweed nestled, surrounded by platters of baby radishes and carrots with stalks intact, stacks of peppers, white asparagus and any other hard to get legume you could imagine.

My purple shoes ascended the staircase carefully and entered the large drawing room packed to the rafters with smokers – cheroots, cigarettes and cigars.  V appeared again and offered me another.  ‘What are these though V?’ I asked, peering at the packet and trying to decipher the obscure brand.  He shrugged pointing out that he only had two left and wanted me to have one. I was touched.

Perky introduced me to Flo. We talked about life and love and how the latter was as hard to find as a red orange. ‘And, don’t forget when you do – there might be other problems’.

The dance floor beckoned.  On my way there I ran into an ex and his beautiful Russian girlfriend. ‘She tried to break up with me tonight – I had to really persuade her to come’.  ‘Oh! Flowers?’ I said.  She looked a bit sad, ‘He’s never given me flowers’. ‘I bet he will one day’ I replied, smiling.

At 12.30am, mindful of a full Saturday ahead, I decided it was time to go. ‘How was your evening?’ the coat check girl asked. ‘Fabulous’ I replied.  ‘It had everything – but the quest for red oranges remains’.


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