Tales of daily life from a 20-something Student from London.

Wednesday, 29 June 2011

"It'd be rude not to..."

As far as formal do's go, I've not exactly got a good track record. When I was at the premier for 'The Dark Knight' a few years back, I took the free champagne to a new level (that level being 'Nobody should have this much champagne and then watch a film in the iMax as it will have disastrous effects on your viewing ability). During my year 13 prom, being one of only two people on a table of 6 that enjoyed a glass of wine with my meal (and, coincidentally, without a meal too) I felt it my civic duty to not let such wine go to waste. After all, wine isn't wasted when your getting wasted, or something like that. Last night, fate was set to intervene yet again.

Whilst sitting in Waxy O' Connors, a nice Irish pub just off China town, and watching another enthralling game of tennis, Empire Magazine sent out a tweet for a competition for five lucky winners to watch a VIP screening of gritty prison drama 'The Escapist' at the Soho Hotel. Winners would be greeted with a canap√© reception for them and their guest and a QnA session afterwards. This sounded to good to miss and when Pedro arrived to meet me, I received a reply letting me know I've won two tickets. Fantastic.  

Now bear in mind, this was around 4pm. I had already had a couple pints, and more were sure to follow before the showing. We arrived at the hotel looking a tad more casual than most other people and immediately I became incredibly self concious. I was not in my element here. Waiters were darting around the room offering us beers, duck spring rolls, mini fish and chips, and a strange paste that I decided not to touch, or eat for that matter. I had had a few of the delicacies (note: a lot more than few) when the waiter joked 'It'd be rude not to' when I was opting to take a further duck spring roll. Oh god, I thought, now I had to. I don't want to offend this guy, he had a waistcoat on, and all I had was a little badge that said 'admit one' on it. No way out. There he was, tray in my face, glaring me down with his simply quacking food luring me in. I'd had a few beers, how much more can a man take? I'm on the edge here, I thought, but valiantly battled on for just one more spring roll. 

Then it happened. In the plush arrival room of the plush hotel on the plush carpet, I had dropped an entire pot of tartare sauce off his tray, ruining the carpet and peoples condiment choices in one foul swoop. Pretty much everybody saw, too. I was ashamed, not only because I quite fancied the sauce myself, but I'm pretty sure a dab may have gone onto a mans shoe, which I opted not to notice.

"sorry..." I muttered
"...it happens all the time" lied the waiter.

In a moment of clarity, the Irish man from Film 2011 began to talk, and dragged everyone away from Tartare swamp to the screening room. Thank god for that.

So there I was. Drunk, but full, in a posh hotel in Soho. The curse had come true yet again, and had fulfilled its destiny. Safe to say though, the film was fantastic, and they gave us copies of the dvd, so I can lend it to anyone who wants a watch, which was lovely of them. So yes. To sum up, don't do what I do and get drunk at posh events. It's never smart. But then again, neither am I.

Over and out. 

Or maybe I should say, Tar-Tare?