Supper Club
I am not a big fan of Twitter. I was, when it first started. I became completely obsessed, and after a while found myself standing slightly on the outside of my life, as if looking through the lens of a 140-character quote that could manage to be witty, warm, pithy and wise.
Until a few years ago when I found myself the subject of another’s Twitter rant, and the level of vitriol and nastiness was so unpleasant, it scared me off Twitter altogether. Now, I have linked my Facebook and Twitter, so whenever I write something on Facebook, it automatically appears on Twitter, but I rarely look at it, only when I get alerts and respond to someone.
A few weeks ago I happened to open it up, and noticed that the lovely Emma Freud, English broadcaster extraordinaire, all-round seemingly decent person, and now transplanted New Yorker, had posted this:
Dear Anybody in New York Who I Don’t Know… do you want to come to a supper club dinner at my house in January. $50 a head. Will be larks.
Bear in mind that my own son describes me as a recluse. I barely leave my house. I have horrible social anxiety around people I don’t know. And yet…Emma Freud! Who is married to Richard Curtis, who directed Notting Hill, Love Actually, Bridget Jones’s Diary (amongst others), AND Four Weddings and a Funeral, which might be one of my most favorite films ever.
And surely she would be vetting the people interested – they are going to her house, after all – so presumably I won’t find myself in between a stalker and a serial killer. Before I had too much time to think about it, I found myself tweeting back.
Does Connecticut count? If so, I’m in.
The supper club is tomorrow night. I’m guessing almost everyone there will be English, because Americans don’t know what supper is, and they probably aren’t entirely clear as to who the lovely Emma is. The lovely Emma emailed me this week asking me if there is anything I don’t eat. With two days to go, I didn’t think it fair to tell her the truth: that the list of what I don’t eat may take her two weeks to get through, and will end with her having major regrets over including me.
I settled with telling her it is just gluten that I don’t eat.
I shall keep you posted.
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