The ambassador’s parties are noted in society for their host’s exquisite taste, plummy accent and schoolboy gait; definitely not for his nutty confections. Shame. I was looking forward to experiencing that ‘echellent’ moment at my first ambassor’s knees-up. It didn’t quite feel the same with a mince pie in my hand.
Perhaps it was because he’s the British Ambassador? A French one would have most definitely had chocolate on the menu. Nutella crepes at the very least.
Bringing my 8 month old son along was a good call though. Cute babies are a great ice breaker, especially when they’re not screaming, pooing or vomiting. Even the ambassador himself stepped in for a few words with the boy. He ignored me of course, but then I do look like a gate-crasher at the best of times. Perhaps I should get my hair cut?
I’m guessing he didn’t bank on getting poked in the eye with a sticky finger though, otherwise he wouldn’t have come quite so close.