Too Posh for Frocks

I tell you what, ladies and gentlemen, I am really posh. Seriously – yesterday, I went to… the “Biggest polo day in the world” (their words, not mine). International Cartier Polo – first The Prince of Wales Team v.s Hurlingham, then England v.s Chile at the Guards Polo Club in Windsor.

Yes – I am that posh. It’s just unfortunate that I wasn’t quite dressed for the occasion. I went with my sisters and brother-in-law and the two kiddies of the self-proclaimed “older and wiser Ms Jones”. I phoned up in advance to check on whether or not I should be dressed up all fancy-like. Nope, jeans will do.

So on Saturday night, I went to a friend’s birthday doo (which included much drinking of bubbly, plenty of eating, a spot of gyrating body around under the title of “dancing” on the roof in the rain and some giggling at the naked people in their bathrooms in the hotel opposite). The relevance of all this is, of course, that I had packed a small bag of limited things (i.e. not enough for a last minute change of outfit requirement). And, for the benefit of those of you who have not yet guessed where this is going (come on – catch up), my brother-in-law’s promises of turning up in my jeans were thwarted by the reading of the ticket on arrival at their house the next day – and more specifically, the dress code announced on the ticket – no jeans, no trainers. Hmph.

Luckily, I know my limits and the limits of my body shape – and as a lassy with a more than ample posterior, I tend not to wear jeans – however I’m not entirely convinced cords are necessarily any smarter… but they weren’t vetoed on the ticket, and that’s enough for me. In addition to which, I can only say it was very lucky that I’d had the forethought to bring a pair of pink pumps with me – just in case.

But none of this resolved the fact that our little group rocked up to the Polo looking decidedly shabby. I like to think that people were thinking we had not arrived in the dresses and suits that they were in because really posh people don’t feel the need to dress up – and attempted to put on my poshest accent in the hope of fooling them. Not sure I was convincing, but as it goes, it wasn’t necessary anyway. Everyone in the area we were watching from was too busy cooing over my sisters two little uns (who were the only two smartly dressed in the party) and therefore didn’t notice how posh we were in our un-dressed-up state.

Phew.