Wow! Went off to Michael’s house last night with J. He was hosting a Eurovision party in his London house. It’s one of those Chelsea houses that looks like a beautifully iced wedding-cake. J had been invited because she met Michael through some thing the firm organised.
Anyhoo, we got there, and the place was incredible. Waiters handing round Cristal champagne and delicious nibbles, three vast flatscreens showing the contest, place stuffed with rich men and the sort of thin women that make you want to run to the toilet and slit your throat. And I hadn’t been able to wear my favouritest dress because I couldn’t get the zip up. So it was a black Prada standby. But I did have some terrific shoes.
Really peculiar watching Eurovision as there’s something strangely SEXY about the entries, isn’t there? Even though they are nearly all so silly and naff. It’s like going on holiday and getting this thing for one of the waiters…
I really wanted to see Michael, because I was so so impressed by his house, and his friends. I kept saying to J, where IS he? (Eurovision party a very good idea if you don’t know anyone as you can just smile knowingly at the screen while drinking bubbles and you don’t look like a no-friend loser.) And then, around 9, she dug me in the ribs.
She’s right about the peculiar-shaped head. And he’s bald. And at least three inches shorter than me (but I was wearing Laboutins). And he’s one of those fat, sweatyish men that makes you think of cheese. Damp Caerphilly. He hadn’t got a jacket on, and you could see wet patches. And when I took his hand it was damp, too. But he had a nice smile.
You know, he’s the sort of man I’d never even look at. But his being so rich makes a scary difference…
5 comments:
"women so thin they make you want to go to the btoilet and slit your throat?"
So glad I was not there! I only caught brief glimpses of the Eurovision thing. Enough to know that we didn't win (again). It is becoming so predictable with all the Eastern European block countries voting for each other.
Dear goodbyetoallfat, some women have got themselves SO thin that there's no point even trying to compete. I just feel like a great, fat, lardy, scarcely-femail lump next to them.
I don't usually get into Eurovision, but it was better than I'd thought. At least everyone in it was really enthusiastic.Nice to hear from you, hope you are having a lovely bank holiday. I'm just lounging around in bed with my kitten, Love scones xx
(Cow dancing for joy that this party didn't include Glenn)
Cow admits she's never been to a party like this, and her lack of designer shoes (they don't seem to provide 4, only 2, bad for Cows) would probably prevent her being admitted.
Funny how this guy (short, balding, not too attractive) is the type they tell us to date instead of the hotties. Supposedly these guys will be nice, sane, responsible, committed, all those things.
Cow would think Money doesn't make all the difference. But it is definitely an indicator that the guy isn't a total loser unless, of course, he inherited it.
Cow glad scones had a fun party and got to eat something better than Battenburg.
Moo!
Dear Topiary, I tend to assume that a guy who isn't a hottie (as you put it so well) will be just wonderful in every other way: kind, thoughtful, generous,witty marvellous in bed... But maybe they wouldn't be in reality. I was a bit disappointed that someone like that didn't fall for me, too.(Like they should.)And I was shocked at myself, for being so impressed by sheer MONEY. You're lucky you're green and leafy, and not unbearably tempted by such things.
Love scones x
Oooh. Cow thinks he should have fallen for you too.
(Cow can't claim to be immune to the siren call of the well-heeled wallet though)
Moo!
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