No Excuse

I find myself at 6pm blipless and desperate, sitting in my gladrags waiting to go to another party. I do not much like parties (although I like being asked!). I find it hard to circulate and find someone I really want to talk too. Glass in one hand and a plate of finger food balanced in the other, I wonder how soon I can slip away to the safety of my own house.

I have always been like this, ever since I was 5 and asked to the parties of my class mates. I remember being forced to disrobe in tears and put on a cold party dress ( parties always seemed to come about in winter) before being dragged reluctantly to the party address by my long suffering mother. Once there, there was the horror of standing up and doing a party piece, perhaps a poem or a song before the sandwiches and ice cream and jelly appeared. I didn’t like the latter, so would stick with the sandwiches.

So with no excuses for being blipless, I have had to fabricate the blip of a magnum ice cream which I brought out to eat while watching the Ladies’ final at Wimbledon , but thought better of it and put it back in the freezer.

My extra is of Simona Halep holding aloft the winner’s trophy.