On Thursday of last week I was invited to The Ball.
The Big Cheese brought me into his office and asked me if I was free on Saturday to attend the James Whale Fund for Kidney Cancer Charity Ball.
My response, without meaning to sound desperate was, "Err, yes please." Iain responded with a glance at me from head to toe and, with a look of vague concern, said, "It's a black tie ball, you know, very posh." "Fear not, I'll get me glad rags on."
The event was wonderful. I had what I deem to be only a minor malfunction in the boob department - fortunately the lights were low. There were many men in bow ties (including a couple of naked men in painted body suits plying Grant Tucker and I with vodka shots) and many women in pretty frocks (and a few not-so-pretty - some with holes where they'd have benefited from not having holes). And I met a Twitter friend. Someone I follow was tweeting from the ball during the auction so I quickly wrote to her "Oh you're here, where are you? We must MEET." There's something strange about meeting someone you follow on Twitter, mainly, if the person isn't someone famous you half expect them to look like a troll. I can tell you that @bigmouthedwoman is very pretty and doesn't look at all like she's been living under a bridge for the last decade.
There were many highlights to the evening and one of them involved a whoopie cushion. I was slightly disgruntled that only the men had been allocated whoopies - a presumptuous but accurate assumption - but that feeling was superceded when Iain Dale plonked himself down next to me with a big fat "HURUMFFFF!" "Oh!" he exclaimed to the raised eyebrows and awkward smiles of his nine guests...
Artificial farts aside.
Grant Tucker, our resident star stalker, was out in full force. Grant and I scanned the table plan together, champagne in hand(s), Grant occasionally bursting with glee as his eyes tripped over the star-studded list:
"Carol Vorderman! John Barrowman... Peter André, oh my God! RONNIE CORBETT OBE. Ooh, and Princess Michael of Kent..."
Me: "Princess Michael of Kent? Savage. She's lucky she's a Princess."
Grant: "No, that's what they call them. Kate isn't Princess Kate, she's Princess William of whatever."
Me: "Really?"
Grant: "Yeah."
When Grant and I returned to our seats I looked longingly at the name card to my left, "Grant Tucker". To my right, "Iain Dale". Ahead of me only the nameless, faceless label: "Guest of Iain Dale". There was only one solution:
More on Saturday's fun tomorrow - our antics with Eamon and Ruth Holmes included. I've got work to do.
In the meantime, take a look at the fantastic work the James Whale Fund is doing, and donate here.