23 May 2020
Saturday. Opening night. I have hosted my first dinner party and I was not, strictly speaking, present for it.
The guests arrived at the venue on Lake Street in good time, every one of them over eighteen, a few of them asked for identification, which I thought very proper. They came round on the locker floor in the dark, as arranged. I, as arranged, was at the shops.
Here is my difficulty. Nobody sells a decent bay leaf after seven. I went to three places. By the time I returned with the bay leaves, the parsley and a very good loaf, the locker was empty, the chairs were askew and a gamesmaster was cheerfully explaining that my guests had left early and enjoyed themselves.
Enjoyed themselves! At my table, without me.
I have sat down with this diary and a glass of something red, and I have decided to take it as a compliment. Next week I shall shop earlier. I say that now.
— B., your host
