Beaker, Joy Of Man's Desiring

Last night I went to a drinks party held by a schoolfriend and her husband. They are a great couple and their new house is everything I'll never be able to afford. The party was a huge success and their beautiful living room was packed with merry Londoners celebrating the first evening of December in style. It wasn't all smooth running, sadly, as Simon and I were (albeit briefly) the victims of a very specific discomfort: that unique sense of panic experienced when you are the only members of a sizeable group who are wearing fancy dress. The invitation had stated that the dress code would be 'Nativity' and although we had not originally planned to make any effort, I had spoken to another friend during the day who had bought several elements for her and her husband's costumes, including an inflatable sheep and a rosette, and it became clear that we too should step up to the mark. I cobbled together a Mary outfit from a long blue dress and purple chiffon headscarf, and grabbed my beloved Beaker as a worthy substitute for the infant King. Simon wore my mother's green ethnic dressing gown over an Indian shirt, jeans and sandals, and completed his Joseph look with a long walking stick from the Lake District and a pair of terrifying sunglasses. Thus armed, we arrived at the house and walked confidently into a room filled with grown-ups and strangers, all of whom were dressed in a manner that could be described with many complimentary adjectives, none of them 'fancy'. Simon used the envy-inducing Roaring Log Fire complete with Enormous Wooden Mantlepiece as an excuse to remove the sarong from his head almost immediately, but I kept my head-dress on for a while longer, buoyed by our hostess' gargantuan plastic angel wings and white smock. Eventually some other characters recognisable from the synoptic stories arrived and I felt slightly less exposed.

Last night's event was also significant as it was the first time I have been to a party given by one of my peers where there has been a waitress. There is no doubt that her presence greatly assisted our hosts, but nonetheless, when the best I can do at my own gatherings is blindly panic that no one has had enough food or that my ice cream and butterscotch sauce dessert isn't classy enough, attending a house party where there's someone handing round smoked salmon and tiny quiches was a new experience. Initially, I must admit, I felt slightly uncomfortable, but after a seventh glass of champagne I found myself fully adapted and keen to secure the services of a similar assistant for any events I organise in future. All being well, I will find an extremely lucrative and socially worthwhile job in the next few days and will be able to employ permanent staff before the year is out.