I am a sucker for a celebration and a chance to dress up, so when I was invited to the Lady Mayor’s judges’ dinner I obviously said yes. So, as per Gazette tradition, here is the day in the life of someone going to a very fancy white-tie event after work.
9.38am: Someone jokes in the editorial meeting about a clothing allowance since this is my third – yes, third Mansion House dinner. I know they are joking but I am considering taking this suggestion seriously. A clothing allowance would be a dream. I may not be invited to much, but white tie is arguably the trickiest of dress codes. I make a note.
11.11am: Finish a story and make another coffee while I consider how I’ll do my hair. Decide to stop lying to myself that I will have time to do anything other than brush it.
11.14am: Realise I do not actually know what heels to wear tonight. Slightly more important than the hair. Decide there must be some sort of suitable shoe in the house. That can be a fun little exercise of panic searching later. Distract myself from the issue by getting back to work.
1.24pm: My mother saves the day by offering to lend me some 23-year-old heels that I am instantly besotted by. Thank goodness for fashionable mothers.
5.25pm: I worked from home – a coincidence, I promise – so I start to get ready, which makes a nice change from previous years using the Law Society’s toilets as a makeshift changing room. As I put the dress on, I wonder why today I decided to snack on every available baked good and sweet treat I could get my hands on.
5.29pm: The dress fits. I do not regret the cakes or the sweets.
5.30pm: Check myself out in the mirror, realise I need to iron the dress.
5.47pm: Remember how annoying ironing is when I put the dress back on and see I need to go back to the ironing board.
6pm: My taxi driver whoops for me, and shouts compliments out of the open window as I walk toward her. I feel like I am in a film. Must remember to thank my sister for the millionth time for lending me this beauty.
6.03pm: Get on a train. Feel overdressed. Distract myself by watching the England-Democratic Republic of Congo game on my phone.
6.28pm: I must face one of two evils: walking in heels in London for longer than five minutes or taking the Central Line (aka the closest we can get to hell without meeting Satan). I decide to brave the central line which is – fun fact – actually a simulation of what it would be like to live on the surface of the sun. Hope the deodorant holds out.
6.30pm: A woman tells me my dress is beautiful as I struggle to tap in.
7pm: See my first tiara.
7.07pm: The carpet is thick which makes walking easier and the building is hot, which I would normally love but feels stifling when you are trying to look elegant and poised. We wait to be announced to the lady mayor. The pikemen and musketeers are looking fabulous. The gentleman who take my admittance card shouts my name. I am welcomed warmly by the lady mayor Dame Sue and her husband Gary. I think I say thank you for inviting me but it is all a bit of a blur as we are guided to the right into a grand room.
7.11pm: I have a wine in hand and have eaten about five canapes. I really like the asparagus and am grateful that the waiting staff are so attentive because I have three of those.
7.27pm: I lose track of time, we are now working with estimates, because I do not want to get my phone out of my bag. A man with a big voice tells us dinner is ready and we begin to politely head toward the door. I think I have the lung capacity to do his job.
7.35pm: Find my seat. Stand behind it. Lose count of the tiaras. The weird slow clapping begins as the Lady mayor and the mayoral consort, deputy prime minister David Lammy and the lady chief justice come in. I lose the beat which is embarrassing considering how slow it is, but I was occupied admiring the Egyptian Hall. The stained glass looks beautiful in the dying sun.
I lose all track of time after this because the food is delicious and I am hungry. To start is beetroot cured salmon with pickled cucumber, winter apple gel, keta roe, dill and horseradish cream. It is so good I take a sneaky look at neighbouring plates to see if anyone has decided to forgo the course. Sadly not, it is empty plates all round.
The main is lamb rump which was tender but there is not much time to eat and talk. I do not realise that until I notice a young gentleman politely waiting for me to finish before he takes my plate away. I decide to get my priorities right for dessert.
I am so glad I prioritise food over chat for dessert because wow oh wow. I try not to make noises of delight, but the little strip of crispy puff pastry is delicious with strawberries and a lemon sorbet. I finish eating and wish I could ask for seconds.
The port (2011 vintage) is good, the coffee less so but I will admit to being a snob over coffee. The petit fours are great; I like the little posh jammy dodger one best.
9.30pm: The lady mayor begins the toasts. There’s a lot of standing up and sitting down. Cheers to the King, the rest of the royals, the judges and the lady mayor and the mayoral consort. Then the lady mayor, lady chief justice and Lammy give their speeches. There are not as many laughs this time and I wonder if all the change in society at large is starting to weigh heavy on everyone. I eye a petit four just looking lonely on the plate so I eat it.
Around 10.25pm: We all make our way out of the Egyptian Hall. Everyone seems to be loitering in the reception room, so I weave through the crowd to make my way home.
11pm: On the train. I already miss the pomp.
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