A LADY AT LEISURE
‘I am slowly but surely becoming what I vowed I’d never be... a lady who lunches’
A lady at leisure T
WORDS FIONA ARMSTRONG ILLUSTRATION BOB DEWAR
he eating has to stop. In the last month my waistline can attest to the fact that I’ve become what I vowed I’d never be.
Yes, I am slowly but surely becoming a lady who lunches; at the Perth Races, at the Edin- burgh Tatler Great Girls Lunch, at an Angus girlie gardening day. I ask you, how many mouth-watering grilled aubergine parcels can a girl take before it starts to show? Then there are the delicious lemon chicken
dinners. The Great Scot awards recognise inspi- rational people who do courageous things, often in the face of tragedy: a mother trying to stop gang violence after her son was stabbed to death; parents setting up a charity after their child was killed in Afghanistan. I felt honoured to be asked to
present an award. My daughter and I set off for Glasgow, prepared for an emotional night, but fi rst was
the small matter of fi nding the hotel. The Hilton is a smart place. You can see it from the motorway. But getting there takes a man’s mind, or at the very least, a decent sat-nav. We had neither. After going
round in frus- trating we
circles eventually
stumbled on the right road. Hot and fl ustered I drove my jeep gingerly the
into rather
cr a m p e d underground car park. Then I took a wrong turning. The next
thing was, a car was coming to wa r d s us.
’Aha’, I thought,
through by FIELDONLINE ’I’ll let him
backing into that 210
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disabled space.’ But the place was simply too narrow. Try as I might I just couldn’t manoeu- vre us out of the way. By now there was a great queue of cross people waiting to get by. Horns were pomping. My daughter was wailing, head in hands. After what seemed like hours we fi nally managed to let them through. Now a gibbering wreck I made my way up
to reception. ‘Did you manage to get the car parked, then?’ said an amused voice. ‘Oh, were you behind me in the car park?’ I asked inno- cently. ‘Yes, I was behind you, by the side of you, in front of you – for quite some time...’ I then recognised the rather handsome and patently patient man. He was a politician – not a breed known
recently for tact and diplomacy when stopped from going about their very important busi- ness. ‘Is that Jack McConnell?’ I whispered to the receptionist. ‘Aye, that’s him’, she said fondly. Lord McConnell, as he now is, was also attending the dinner. We presented an award between us and he was delightful. But why, if you have to do your pathetic-woman-parking- thing in front of anyone, why does it have to be an ex-First Minister? Two days later came another dinner – and
another hero. This time it was the prestigious business leadership awards; same city different hotel – and, mercifully, car park. I was comper- ing the event and approached the conference hall with complete confi dence. A few minutes later I was a nervous wreck. The journalist and author Max Hastings has always been one of my favourites. If I could choose a famous dinner compan-
ion, he’d be right up there. And so he was, guest speaker and on my table, too! I really can’t remember what we ate or drank. I do know he was very tall, with a shock of dark hair. I also know that he likes fi shing, that his
great-grandmother was a MacDonald, but he does not wear a kilt. Yes, I must stop the eating. Who knows who I might meet when I am next in a car park, or casting a line across streamy Scottish waters?
If you are going to lunch or dinner with ex-First Ministers and top-class authors you need to learn two important lessons: how to eat less and how to park your car
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