"The reception was on the lawn, with pheasants, before guests moved to a glass-walled space behind the house (|The Gillyflower) for dinner........the wittiest speeches ever...........it was all a rose-filled dream...............October was euphoric................an absolutely beautiful humanist ceremony.......stained glass family crests (Beauchamp and Belknap).......Oh, the Belem waterfront along the Tagus and the Gulbenkian Museum!......Jack and Mabel Bush belonged to a supper club with parents of my St. Clement friend 'blah-blah' .....who was seeing a psychiatrist uncle of another friend...............they walked all the way past the palace, up the Mall and through Trafalgar Square to meet us for supper in Covent Garden......"
It goes on and on and on and on. This woman is demented, totally unaware of what a grotesque bore she is and sends us one of the most pompous yuletide letters ever concocted each year. Someone I would ordinarily have nothing to do with, she happens to be married to a very old friend of B's, a chap with whom he went to the London School of Economics a hundred years ago who sadly insists on keeping in touch.
Anyone who knows me knows I cannot stand pomposity, phoniness and self-aggrandisement. This broad boasts it all in spades. Why oh why do some people think we give an s-h-1-t about what they do??!! B also has another 'pre-me' friend who sends email missives from a winter get-away, filled with boring tales of all the bars they have frequented and the latest "friends" they have stumbled upon. Please. No one cares.
Sometimes I am tempted to send a letter back, detailing all the laundries I have done, the toilets I have cleaned, the meals I have prepared and the front stoops I have swept. Sadly, these writers-of-nothingness would not even get the message. In fact, they would think there was something wrong with me!
Please people, have a proper conceit of yourselves.
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