Just a Formal-Ity

I got through it. I didn't cry. I really surprised myself. I thought I'd be a sobbing mess last Friday night at my son's Year 12 Formal - especially after shedding a few tears at the assembly - but I was okay. Of course, my breath caught when I beheld him in his suit, tie, and dress shoes. I had to drive him to the venue early for pictures with the classmates, and on the way, I repeated how great he looked, and how much he looked like his dad in a photograph from years ago, also wearing a suit. As he walked to the RSL, I saw his classmates milling around the entrance. The girls were in their long gowns and looking just stunning. I actually did tear up a bit then, and thought I was going to be a wailing wreck later, but - and I reiterate my surprise - I managed to keep it together. They looked so elegant, which is the result you want when you've bought-borrowed-hired a formal gown, and had professional hair and makeup done. It took me back to the day of my own Year 12 Formal, when my self-titivations and preparation comprised washing my hair, and running outside to rinse with the tap at the tank because the water was soft. I wore a nice dress purchased from David Jones during previous school holidays. It wasn't quite what I had in mind; my original thoughts was a dress I'd seen on Krystle Carrington in Dynasty, complete with shoulder pads that could have doubled as helipads.

Mr Bingells and I arrived an hour later (after having a few quick snorts, along with other parents, in the bar downstairs). My speech appeared to be on a loop: 'Wow, you look amazing!'. I repeated it over and over, every time I encountered on of the students. Some of the more creative boys had put their own personality into their choice of attire, like fancy waistcoats, and in one case, a rich red jacket in a shiny fabric - a personal favourite of mine, maybe because I've know the lad in question since he was a toddler. Anyway, I'm going to share a picture of the three of us inside the venue. I don't know if Mr Bingells and Mr Eighteen want to be shared in my blog, so I've done a line over their eyes to give them some privacy.

And aren't we all looking faaaaaaabulous!

I'm still to organise some publicity for my latest book; all the rushing around on Friday and getting ready - I didn't ring libraries etc. If any of you readers are in a book club, what about having a read of my latest, Howling on a Concrete Moon? Here's a link to the first chapter here.

I cannot leave without making some snarky comment about the dumbest thing I've read today. Some people think Jenny Morrison, wife of our Prime Minister, is doing the White Power symbol in photographs. Her thumb and forefinger are often curled in a circle. Look, people, do you seriously think the woman would be that stupid? Some people have pointed out she has irritated fingers, so she's possibly a nail-biter, and this could be a ploy to hide the bitten keratin. It could be an idiosyncratic quirk. Whatever it is, it's highly unlikely that she would be a big enough jackass to do an offensive symbol in photographs, okay? Fer chrissakes, peeps, she's married to the frigging Prime Minister, so do some sensible thinking, okay?