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.