We don’t know; we weren’t born then
And so the Smith-Graham-Smith’s party was lots of
fun. The theme was 70s, and as usual Mrs and I went a
little bit over the top with costumes. Memo to self:
stop basing sense of self-worth on how well you do
any given task; no-one is awarding marks.
As the Mateus Rosé flowed, it occurred to me that nothing marked us out as uncultured heathens more than the reaction of the other guests to the little bowls of pink stuff Lise put out to accompany the Monster Munch, Twiglets and Crispy Pancakes. For us, this was, clearly, Angel Delight. But we’re common; everyone else assumed it was taramasalata. I had never heard of taramasalata before the age of 23, and it’s not hard to see why. “Haw, Jimmy; Ah canna get this tarry massey latta tae stay in wan bit lang enough tae deep-fry it.”
More photos, including one of Mrs P’s get-up, on Flickr.
Oh, and thanks, all, for the rockin’ book recommendations in the comments thread on my post below; keep ’em coming.
As the Mateus Rosé flowed, it occurred to me that nothing marked us out as uncultured heathens more than the reaction of the other guests to the little bowls of pink stuff Lise put out to accompany the Monster Munch, Twiglets and Crispy Pancakes. For us, this was, clearly, Angel Delight. But we’re common; everyone else assumed it was taramasalata. I had never heard of taramasalata before the age of 23, and it’s not hard to see why. “Haw, Jimmy; Ah canna get this tarry massey latta tae stay in wan bit lang enough tae deep-fry it.”
More photos, including one of Mrs P’s get-up, on Flickr.
Oh, and thanks, all, for the rockin’ book recommendations in the comments thread on my post below; keep ’em coming.
