The Day After

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Well. My dears. What a swellegant, elegant party that was. The strains of that song have been running in my head since I woke up. I have been wandering about the bathroom singing: have you heard of Mimsie Starr, she got pinched in the Astor Bar? And: that French champagne, so good for the brain. (Are you all running to find your old copies of High Society?)

Anyway, it was lovely. Almost the moment I walked in, I was introduced to a historian. This is the kind of thing that makes me very, very excited. Oh, I shouted, can we talk about the repeal of the Corn Laws? He looked very slightly panicked. It is at times like this that I realise my social graces are rather rusty. Which is a polite word for it.

Luckily, he was very happy to discuss the Battle of Cable Street, so we talked of that instead. Also: the true meaning of fascism, and why people use the word so loosely these days. (This happens most particularly in relation to Barack Obama, whom his critics accuse, oddly, of being both a fascist and a communist.) Then we talked of why everyone insists there must be a one-word answer to the riots, when it is patently clear there is not. There is hardly a four hundred word answer. 'Nuance,' I kept yelling. 'COMPLEXITY.' Poor fellow, he was very brave about it.

Then I drank a lot and was quite camp. Which is my second favourite thing after discussing the Second Reform Act.

There were a lot of glamorous and interesting women in outrageous frocks. There were actors. That is always a huge treat for me. I don't get actors, where I live. There was paella, and jokes. It was perfect.

Now, probably to your relief, I am going somewhere where there is no internet. I am going to sit quietly and read that papery old thing that is a book. There will be no blog, no Twitter, no breathlessly checking what Michelle Bachman is up to, with those great staring eyes.

Forgive the break. I shall be back in a week.

PS. Suddenly realised you may be wondering why I was shouting and yelling. This is part of the problem of not going out very much, and living six hundred miles north, surrounded by hills and sheep. When I come back to the smoke, I get very over-excited, and start shouting. Also there is a lot of talking very, very fast. And, I hate to admit, occasional shrieking. I really am amazed I get asked anywhere, ever.