The perils of pink

Well, I decided that to satisfy the eccentric dress code of Vere’s 21st, I’d borrow my colleagues pink jersey. I’m not saying anything specific about the colour pink, but it’s not me, so therefore it fits the theme. Donning a really big-collar cream shirt, a smart black suit, Jan’s fluffy pink scarf and some seriously big hair sorta rounded the whole thing off, and off we all went to the party. My observations follow as cautionary tales…

Rule 1. Know where you’re headed
When dressed strangely, plan ahead. Do not be caught in situations where questions like “Um, where is the 21st” need to be asked.
Rule 2. Remain calm when ordering drinks at the bar
When dressed in pink, it is important to look determined and unswayed as you order your wife’s ‘light’ beverages.
Rule 3. Remove all evidence of pink prior to a pitstop
Under no circumstance visit the Brass Bell loo in pink. I cannot imagine what might happen.

Anyway, these perils aside, we had quite a laugh. I ended up videoing most of the evening for Balckman, and the footage was fun. Speeches were really great, and it was heartening hearing all the positive things said about my brother. Captains don’t cry, but I was proud.

And I guess the food was pretty good too, despite ordering what must have been a starter portion as a main. Two slivers of trout with cucumber didn’t quite level with the quad-portion burgers which my table-neighbours ordered. Sigh. Damn jersey.

Sunday was spent editing and recovering, rounded off with the Hungarian F1. Great race. Hilarious commentry.