There's a black bow tie lying on my desk this morning.
It's a reminder that last night I was in a tux. I don't usually dress up in a tux of an evening. I was lucky enough to be at the closing night gala of the London film festival.
Yes, I walked up the red carpet, past mystified onlookers mouthing 'Who are they?' to their mates. I sat (right at the back of the balcony) through the closing film - 'I Love Huckabees' - and made no sense of it whatsoever. Then I shimmied my glittering way into the party to rub shoulders with such stars as, erm... nobody. That's right, no stars whatsoever.
I had spent all week planning what I was going to say to Dustin Hoffman ('Go on - do Tootsie') only to find that the only 'name' there was David O. Russell - the director of the strange Huckabees film. My girlfriend even had the guts to tell him what she thought of his film - 'I didn't get it' she said. I think that summed up the reaction of the whole audience.
Anyway, there was enough champagne for everybody to be enjoying themselves and I spent the evening shamelessly chasing the canapes.