Saturday, 19 April 2014

The stuff of nightmares

So, I'm taking part in a sitting of the Geneva Convention (?), which is in session in a hall inside a shopping mall (??). 

I'm with my team from the pro-EU org I now work for, and our job is to debate persuasively against UKIP's Nigel Farage, who is sitting not far away with his team. We have several papers with killer arguments to present, although there is some confusion as to which will be debated in the hall (???).

All along the horse-shoe table at which we delegates sit there are little dishes of nibbles: nuts, olives and so on. I'm nervous so, true to type, I'm absent-mindedly stuffing my face. At one point Nigel Farage leans over and asks me to pass him some food. Disaster! I've hoovered everything within reach! Farage looks upset and like he's about to make a huge fuss. 

I scramble to my feet and offer to go and get something for him but there are no more nibbles anywhere I search in the hall. Soon I'm scouring the rest of the shopping mall for a bag of cheese puffs, pork scratchings, anything, like a woman possessed , while my colleagues ping me increasingly frantically on the mobile to say that our paper is up for discussion next, and where am I, and what are they to do? 

I return to the Convention Hall empty-handed to find out that we have missed the chance to present our paper and the UKIP team, which we were there to expose, have turned me into the story. 

So to recap: I've disgraced myself, let down my team and become the focus of attention at the Geneva Convention (the Geneva Convention, people!) for nibbling on Nigel Farage's nuts.

And then I wake up. 

It's a gloriously sunny morning (!) of the Easter bank holiday week-end (!!) and Mild mannered Intellectual Husband is snoring gently by my side (!!!). I have not screwed up and I am not disgraced. 

But I am giving up bar snacks forever, just in case.

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