Sainsburys. Savoy. Surreal.
Tomorrow is RNA lunch at Savoy. Am spending today in a frenzy of disorganised last-minute preparation, which should involve lovely things like painting nails in elegant, springlike pink, having split-ends snipped off and selecting uplifting reading material for train. However, am way behind, so shall be mainly tearing around trying to beg/bribe someone to take daughters 1 and 2 to swimming lessons and work out exactly how I'm going to get to Crewe station for 8.34 and also get children to school.
Preoccupation with these issues is preventing me dwelling too long on the event itself, which is a good thing, as when I do think about it the thoughts tend to be of the Doom-Laden Panic variety. Feel utterly unsuited to London on every level, coming as I do from a Small Town, filled mainly with people I have at some time been at school with/shared breastfeeding nightmares with at toddler groups/sold cushions to during the Laura Ashley years. The very word 'Savoy' sends out messages my wardrobe is unable to interpret. Hence, in a gesture of passive fashion-avoidance, I shall be wearing a dress purchased from Sainsbury's last week while buying milk and catfood. Oh dear.
However, on the other hand, lunch at the Savoy will certainly compare very favourably to cheese on toast in front of the computer, and how fantastic will it be to meet people whose names I have seen on the covers of beloved books, and whose characters are as familiar as old friends? Am also secretly delighted by the prospect of two hours suspended from reality on the train, with nothing to do but read and pretend to be ultra-efficient business person on the way to glamorous power-lunch.
Which, in effect, I will be.
Weird.
Preoccupation with these issues is preventing me dwelling too long on the event itself, which is a good thing, as when I do think about it the thoughts tend to be of the Doom-Laden Panic variety. Feel utterly unsuited to London on every level, coming as I do from a Small Town, filled mainly with people I have at some time been at school with/shared breastfeeding nightmares with at toddler groups/sold cushions to during the Laura Ashley years. The very word 'Savoy' sends out messages my wardrobe is unable to interpret. Hence, in a gesture of passive fashion-avoidance, I shall be wearing a dress purchased from Sainsbury's last week while buying milk and catfood. Oh dear.
However, on the other hand, lunch at the Savoy will certainly compare very favourably to cheese on toast in front of the computer, and how fantastic will it be to meet people whose names I have seen on the covers of beloved books, and whose characters are as familiar as old friends? Am also secretly delighted by the prospect of two hours suspended from reality on the train, with nothing to do but read and pretend to be ultra-efficient business person on the way to glamorous power-lunch.
Which, in effect, I will be.
Weird.
Labels: conferences, India, RNA
posted by Unknown at 10:00 am
9 Comments:
I don't know what all the fuss is about, India. You and your Sainsburys' dress will fit in perfectly well at a hotel that's named after a hardy cabbage with wrinkly leaves.
Also let me clear up the confusion occurring in your last two paragraphs. Quite clearly this should read: 'Weird. Which, in effect, I will be.'
Have a lovely, lovely day in the smoke, Provincial Princess.
Can I come too? Pleeeeze, Indy!
Which came first, the cabbage or the hotel? (Hope it wasn't the hotel, which gave the name to the cabbage because it famously serves it with every meal. Am having unpleasant flashbacks to school dinners...)
Very much wish you WERE coming, Eva. At least you have a good excuse, whereas that Annie....
I'm coming late to the ball. Guessing the lunch has already taken place and you were, as usual fabulous (or should that be (according to Annie) weirly fabulous, or fabulously weird?
Adjectives don't matter. I know you wowed them all in your Sainsbury dress, witty intellect and brilliant smile.
And I do hope that when they served you the cabbage, it was with appetizer or entree, and not dessert.
What was Annie's excuse again?
Far too busy writing my best seller, Eva. Obviously.
I hope you had a good time, India. it was really nice to meet you - and you looked really glamorous, so stop worrying!
All the best,
Fiona
Had a fab time, Fiona. Could get seriously used to that level of luxury, couldn't you?
It was lovely to meet you, too!
I see Fiona's written a glowing account of The Savoy. Where is yours, India? Come on, don't hold out on us.
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