Oman: no more balls

Mrs M had been preparing frocks, shoes, bags, hair and makeup for several days, while I scrubbed the crust off my jacket from the previous event with a couple of hours to go before our last ball in Oman, The Thin Red Line.

After a bit of a flap and some emergency panic tailoring, we left Ann and John with an Indian takeaway and the challenge of interacting with the DVD player.

The food was first-rate and copious amounts of a rather pleasant Rioja threatened to provide the usual post-party hangover. After the band had provided the highlight of the evening, the floor was left to those who feel no sense of awkwardness or shame jiggling around to old fashioned music. A trip to the cheese counter included a compulsory sampling of whiskey from George’s hip flask which, despite saying it had a hint of carbolic soap in the past, I think is growing on me. We’ll see in the morning........