Kishore Singh: My tipsy-turvy quest for food

It had been a busy day at work that had stretched late into the evening with no breaks for lunch or snacking, even though coffee at least had been in plentiful supply. At some point in the evening, a few bottles of wine had been procured, providing a little heady sustenance. Exhausted, I hoped to go home to bed but the office team, and my wife who had now joined me at the venue, wanted to go partying. Only trouble was, it was past 10 p m, and the soiree we intended to attend was halfway across the city. "There'll be dinner," said my boss, and the thought of food was a happy one, enough to a have us heading for our cars and a drive through streams of fog to get there.
 

It was late by the time we got to the party where most guests were exiting. A stern notice above the bar warned us that it would shut in 15 minutes. The dinner buffet, though, had been removed - unless we wanted only desserts - so, to fortify ourselves, we asked for quick doubles that we held somewhat greedily in both hands, dignity be dammed. A friend ordered a tray full of wines and whiskies delivered at our table, so it was a while before we got up to leave, much to the relief of the staff who had stood around deferentially waiting for us to end the party.

Hallucinating about a hot meal, I called home to ask the cook to make sure to leave us a bite on the dining table before he retired to bed, only to have him grumble that he had already turned in but would rustle up some toast and omelette. "But you can't go yet," cajoled my boss, "the night is still young." It was also very ghostly with the fog having got denser, so my driver, who had been luckier finding himself a meal, called to say it would be a while before he navigated his way back to us. "There's a party right next door," suggested my boss, "they'll probably have food."

They didn't have food, or hors d'oeuvres, but the bar was full and in no danger of closing, which was just as well because the party, which was still swinging, was outdoors in the lawn. Not only was it bitterly cold, it was also difficult to see your way through the fog. Friends floated through the mist like apparitions, holding drinks in their hands, essential if you wanted to keep warm. By the time the driver was back, I admit to feeling a little more snug, but the drive home was nothing short of a nightmare with visibility reduced to almost zero. Feeling peckish, it was the thought of food that kept us going, though the driver did take a turn or two wrong, so I was grateful my wife had thought to sneak two tumblers of alcohol into the car.

Maybe because I was a little tipsy, I might have dropped the keys somewhere. It meant I had to climb over the gate to ring the bell to summon our son to open the door. It earned me a lecture on parental responsibility which I didn't comprehend too well because, picking up dinner from the dining table, my son proceeded to help himself to it, sharing the remaining spoils with the dog, who had woken up and joined our little party, leaving me, no longer surprisingly, without food yet again.