The Summer Ball Season

Let's go to a summer ball, Alex said, and so went to Stonewall's, a fundraiser to support the eradication of homophobia. The venue was the swish Roof Gardens in Kensington and the evening was balmy. Stella Duffy opened proceedings with an empassioned reminder, that Martina and Billie Jean apart, out sport persons are a rarity. Gareth Thomas was given a cheer by us all, in abstentia, but Stella's words did make us stop and ponder the fact that in the midst of the World Cup, there is no out and proud premier division footballer. The roofgarden made a refreshing change from some of the dives wherein I have attended fundraisers in the past. The last time I was that close to a flamingo I was in the Great Rift Valley. We enjoyed our bbq alongside the two lovely Patricks. They make a habit of attending as many of these events as possible. The previous evening they were at Elton John’s White Tie & Tiara Ball at a cost of three mortgage payments for us mere mortals.

Alex’s parents came for the weekend and we ate al fresco at our local Italian on Saturday evening. Italians are great maitre d’s and can make such a drama out of the simplest things. Straightforward statements become the grandest pronouncements of authority by virtue of hand movements combined with a facial expression fused with a slight shrug of the shoulder and a raised eyebrow thrown in for good measure. “The chilli sauce must be hot,,, but not too hot...”.

Sunday was England’s big day and two Irish friends came out to the suburbs for the occasion. It was officially the hottest day of the year and there was a palpable air of excitement building up all morning. BBQ proteins were flying of the shelves and beer stocks were rapidly depleted. We were lucky to find ice in the third outlet we tried. We repaired to the pub to lend our support to the three lions. The hope which was very much alive in the first half vaporised as the second half progressed and twenty minutes before the end the writing was on the wall. I am no football expert but was amazed that such a good team (allegedly) could be beaten by what is on paper, a lesser team, so comprehensively. The three lions became the three minnows but for one Italian it was always a win-win situation. Fabio is one of the few in Britain, the Patricks, celebrities and footballers apart, who could now afford to attend the Elton John Ball.