So our book didn’t win. The seemingly effortlessly intelligent Rose Tremaine had that honour and apparently it was a star-studded event with impressive canapés and rivers of champagne. Gerry Halliwell was there as well the chap from How to Look Good Naked and em… Vanessa Feltz. I mean, hey, we’re talking serious glamour here.
So while the rest of the staff were chatting with the likes of Helena Kennedy, as anticipated, I stumbled flat-footed to The Portobello Gold and had a very large glass of wine which I necked like I was on a Club 18-30 holiday. It was an analgesic, believe me. Why did I think that Sex and the City would be fun? What’s fun about watching people get jilted and seeing their marriages fall apart because of a one night stand? Try a year and a half Miranda, and get off your self-righteous high horse and give the guy a break. No, it wasn’t exactly a cheery evening of escapism. I think we were supposed to gasp over the clothes and coo over the shoes as the four women tottered hither and thither in spikes and skimpy frocks, but, sorry, it just doesn’t resonate. I’m the same age as the Kim Cattrell character and while I can walk in heels like the rest of them, it’s unlikely that I would be able to lie on a table with sushi strategically placed across my body without eating it in the first five minutes. My own close friends idea of a night out is a BYO restaurant, a pair of Birkenstocks, big knickers and an heirloom bra.
Still I could have gone for the whole lying in the bed with the shutters drawn being drip fed vodka looking devastated. As it is, my devastation merely prompts people to tell me I’m looking tired.
So, yes, I needed that glass of wine. I needed another when the red-faced man began leering at us delightedly from the other end of the bar with his tattooed knuckles clutched around a pint of Strongbow. He smiled at me and raised his LOVE fisted glass to me revealing one large white tooth and a gap next to it.
Sadly, there’s a distinct dearth of Mr Bigs in the hostelries of Ladbroke Grove.
