George puts me in my place

By the way I know that last post was very self-centred of me so I want to reassure Coffee House that lots of people up here are putting me in my place including fellow blogger G. Osborne. At the hammam-temperature Telegraph party last night (bacon butties, warm white wine) I kissed the shadow chancellor and asked him where Frances (his lady wife and a friend of mine) was.

The sweat was dripping from his brow and his face glowed like a Halloween ghoul mask through the throng of dark suits.

“Back in London,” he snapped, “Where you should be.”