Last night Europe's favourite principality paid for me to get rather drunk under the guise of talking about hotels. The bash was held in the Prince's new offices just off Park Lane, each room had been converted to have a different theme and T.P. and I swanned around drinking champagne and asking questions. The canapes were excellent and they even had lines of chocolate powder for you to suck up with a straw, who thinks up these things?
After that we went to a bar for drinks to mark a friends 30th. As the T.P. pointed out it was a rather strange 30th as I was the woman's only friend who she didn't work with there which struck T.P. as a little bizarre. What a depressing thing to happen on a birthday.
It's almost as depressing as being unable to get a 95th Rifles jacket in your size, almost.
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