Bird for Busker

To His Excellency the Danish consul's to celebrate some scandiwegian festival involving - nay, requiring - the downing of large quantities of nordic firewater.

H.E. in top form, conversing in every language under the sun. As I pass, he comments to his British counterpart:

"I *do* admire your Tony Blair. It must take such fortitude  to contemplate such an unblemished record of failure.

He seems to have achieved everything except success."
I have an asinine haircut and look like a plucked chicken. Naturally, the night's sport is to find me a girfriend. Ha ha, very funny.

The Consul's wife is the consummate hostess and caters for all her guests' needs.

She offers me newly-arrived (and newly single-fied) hottie, Diane. I stammer thanks but say she looks rar  ther expensive. Madame Consul assures me that the delectable D's divorce settlement will more than provide. Still I dither so she throws in free shipping, much to the amusement of Olympic yachtsman Per Eitzen.

The creature in black is the exquisite Princesse de Something de Other, heiress to some shipping fortune and currently schooling in Switzerland.

I can never judge babes' ages so there I am chatting her up in my best francais and I ask her if she's married. She bursts out laughing and trills in cut-glass English, "For heaven's sake, you silly thing, I'm still at *school*."

Deep blush and stammer.

**Everyone** laughs and I am "Silly Thing" for the rest of the evening, except to Diane who is very understanding and agrees that the Princess looks oh, at least 18.

Frighteningly self-possesed young lady, also conversing in multi languages. Studying to be an international lawyer (whatever that is) and already with places at two universities. I think she said she favoured Oxford but that Lausanne was 'tempting'.

She had flown in for the party and to see her aunt and is flying out on Wednesday straight from a dinner party. I am not that easily fooled; I know the plane schedules and I catch her out by reminding her that there *are* no flights on Wednesday at that hour.

She gives me a look of non-comprehension and patiently explains that her flight is when she says it is. Because I am being so obtuse, she points out her pilot.

Burly dude in striped shirt.

I am shocked.

Since when have we taken to bringing the hired help to polite society?