An Illusion Shattered

I mentioned that I had a conference for several days and a black tie dinner.  The dinner was an entirely separate event and coincidentally on the same day.  This meant packing so as I could change at the conference hotel ready to travel to the dinner hotel.

With backpack uploaded to my small frame I left the house on my second day expedition to the big city.  In my pack I had the contents of my handbag, phone, charger, shoes, evening dress, make up, jewellery and breakfast.  Yes, breakfast.  That's most important.

As Petra was on her own in the office I detoured to see her, pick up my ticket for the evening dinner, eat my breakfast, pick up my pashmina. (The pashmina was essential it turns out.)  An hour and a half later I was back in central London at the conference, with trusty back pack by my side. 

Here I listened to a scary story by a hacker. This involved all phones in the room being hacked and listed on the screen, (big, big screen) before us.

'who is Elizabeth?' asked the hacker.  A hand went up.  'Who is John?'  a hairy arm arose.   Then, there it was, for all to see, Anna Mutton Years.  Yes, literally.  My phone calls itself Anna Mutton Years. 'Who is....'  I shrunk low into my pashmina (I knew it would be useful.)   Great, all illusion of elegant lady, professonal, business like persona, shattered.


  1. But did you put your hand up?

  2. Oh how you must have blushed behind that essential pash!

  3. As as we say in the colonies, "own it!" (We also say 'please take us back and get us out of this whole election mess,' but that has nothing to do with a pashmina.)

  4. How funny! Maybe you should have just said "Baaaaaaa" instead of raising your hand....

  5. Wonderful, love it. Funny, the names you privately cherish sound strange when they're call out


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