When an email landed in my inbox with the subject INVITATION: Dinner Guest Jud… my instant thought was ‘this must be a mistake’. After all, I’d been invited last year to the lord mayors’ judges’ dinner and I had been told - by people much more knowledgeable about these things than I - that journalists tended to get invited once and then that was it. But it was indeed an invite to the judges’ dinner with a physical invite incoming.
I am not a fancy person and though it would be nice to have my social calendar sprinkled with events that required fancy dress (the gown kind not the Halloween kind, though that would be fun too) I did not choose the right career or social circles for such a thing. All that to say, I did not question the invite and obviously said yes.
The dress code was white tie with decorations. White tie, for those wondering, is essentially as formal as it gets. Think tiaras and white gloves – of which there were plenty – and top hats – less so, a shame really.
Luckily, I already had a dress which I had worn as a bridesmaid many moons ago. I ransacked my home looking for it. Where does one store a bridesmaid dress they think they will never wear again but also cannot get rid of for sentimental reasons? Turns out folded (I am being kind to myself) then stuffed in a bag that I forgot I owned which was in turn stuffed at the back of the wardrobe.
Shoes and bag borrowed from my sister (thank you) and on Wednesday evening I found myself trotting between evening drinkers as I made my way to the tube.
The entrance to Mansion House was already swarming with people. 'Very smart dress', one gentleman said with a nod. I was so pleased I’m surprised I didn’t hug him. I had been worried about showing too much shoulder - scandalous I know - but I figured if someone wearing tails thought it was smart then I should be all right.
I grabbed a glass of something alcoholic and tried not to obviously stare at the hall in which I found myself. It was beautiful, like something you’d see in a Jane Austen adaptation - but multiply the opulence and finery by ten. As I risked injury craning my neck up high, I noticed the pikemen and musketeers moving to form some kind of human chain.
Then I heard a shout. I didn’t quite make out what he said but it was the equivalent of ‘dinner’s ready’. The pikemen and musketeers moved closer to the crowd looking brilliant in red feathered hats and helmets as they marched us forward. Slightly intimidating to be herded into dinner in such a way but it did make me move faster.
The Egyptian Hall was every bit as impressive as I remembered. Actually, more so. The sun streaming in through the stained glass window illuminating the bright reds, purples and blues was so beautiful I considered asking if they minded me going up to the mezzanine so I could have a closer view. Speaking of the mezzanine, the salon orchestra of the Honourable Artillery Company were up there providing music throughout dinner.
I won’t mention the slow clap again, but it was just as strange as before. I lost the beat a couple of times, not because of my lack of rhythm, but because I’d find myself admiring another part of the room, my awe freezing me for a moment until I returned to reality – or at least this version of it which felt more wonderland than reality.
Dinner started with cured salmon, confit fennel, dill crème fraiche, rye croutes and watercress. I wanted to lick the plate. A good start. Main was beef which was tender and a short rib pie which tasted as good as it looked, accompanied with bone marrow mash, broccoli puree, scorched broccoli and bordelaise sauce and then a basque cheesecake for dessert. I love a cheesecake and this one was light and airy and paired perfectly with fruit and a vanilla sauce (not ice cream as I first thought).
This time, my wine kept being topped up throughout the meal so when it came to the toasts – to the King, Queen, the Prince and Princess of Wales and other members of the Royal Family, the judges and the lord mayor and lady mayoress, I still had a tiny bit of red left and enough port that the water wasn’t needed. All the standing and sitting felt like a very fancy work out class.
After dinner, we returned to the hall before heading home armed with my placename, a menu with a gloriously colourful design titled The Old Bailey Web of Crime Map and also the list of guests.
As I headed back to the unnaturally hot Central Line, I decided that yes, I would quite like to go to fancy events like this more regularly. Please take this writing as my public plea and me manifesting the invites. May my future be full of posh invites, full length dresses and free wine.
The dress is already washed and stuffed back into the ridiculous place it was before and my acquired mementos will serve as a reminder that no, I didn’t imagine wonderland, it was real.
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