Why there is nothing wrong with a party sausage roll at a fancy event.

A few weeks ago, I went to a fancy event thrown by Sheridan. Sheridan make bedlinen and towels and the like. And I like! I love a good sheet. I love it when clean sheet day manages to coincide with shaved leg day. It is rare, like a blue moon, but when it happens, I am in heaven.

But this post is not about shaven legs. It is about fancy cocktail parties.

The event was held in a private residence in Paddington. As I entered the venue, I knew that I was completely out of my depth. For a start, it was a school night, and I generally do not go out on a school night. It was also very dark and had moody music gently wafting about.

This type of scenario is synonymous with an extraordinarily cool crowd, of which I am not one of. There were object der arts everywhere, like dead owls in glass domes, big arrangements of arty sticks in huge brass canisters, and other things which attract me like a fly onto dog shit, so I can accidentally push it over or break it.

The eventing people had gone all out, and decorated it is a 50 Shades of Grey Theme. Now I am one of only a few people in the civilised world that has not read the books, so the significant meanings were lost on me. But you might understand the setting better than me.

Each room was themed out. This was the live porn room. It is about the sheets folks!

My blogging pal Lexi thinking “What the fuck….”

This lad also understands the “freshly shaven fresh sheets” phenomenon.

It was at this point that I started to think I had stumbled into the wrong part. Was I to throw my keys into a bowl and cross my fingers?

So, it was quite arty. Everyone else was tres nonchalant about the going ons in each room. I was not really sure what to say, or whether I would remind these two that there were people around and perhaps they might like to take their shenanigans out into one of the dozens of back allies that ran around the suburbs.

But instead I looked up. And took a photo of the light fitting.

I had a little champagne buzz going on due to the fact that it was 6.30pm, well past dinner time at Chateau da Woog and I was getting peckish. So I went on search of a waiter. I left this room and entered another large room, missing the dark step and making my entrance in a way that sends terror and fear into anyone entering a dark room full of cool strangers watching models fondling each other while nibbling on stuffed mushrooms.

Which, of course, is a face first dive followed by a 2 metre slide.

The contents of my handbag took this opportunity to escape it’s confines, and I looked up to see a large contingent of Vogue Australia’s Editorial staff looking embarrassed for me. NO NEED LADIES! I HAVE THAT COVERED OFF.

I gathered up my handbag and it’s escapees, apologising softly and wishing for the polished, slippery concrete floor to open up a Mrs Woog sized hole so I could crawl into it. I fled to another room, and of course was greeted by another model, who was the epitome of poise and elegance, dressed in a sheet.

I asked her whether she was having a good time. She was apparently not allowed to speak to quests, so the entire exchange was very one sided and, if I can be honest, not all that interesting. A waiter appeared with a tray of unidentifiable offerings, which I stuck in my mouth and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Which brings me to the point of this post.

Why oh why don’t caterers serve up party sausage rolls anymore? I mean, everyone likes them! They soak up the champagne swirling around one’s empty stomach, they are easy to prepare and are crowd pleasers. Trying to get any satisfaction from a 1cm cubed square of raw tuna topped with roe on an ornamental spoon is impossible.


I took a quick disco nap on one of the beds while my date Sarah finished having sensible talks with sensible people. When she was ready to go, I bid my blonde model friend farewell. She stared back off into space as if I were made of glass. It was at that point that I wanted to give her a gentle poke to see if she was indeed real, but I thought I had already made quite the spectacle of myself and decided against it.

I went to say goodbye to the Public Relations girls who put on the evening. They thanked me for coming and handed me back my wallet which another guest had found under a taxidermic ferret in the hallway, the scene of my epic slide.

I slipped into a taxi and slipped away into the night. When I got home, I rolled a savoury mince jaffle and applied arnica to 40% of my body.

Have you ever made a dick of yourself at an event?
What canapés do you enjoy at a party?