Plastic ware, plastic hair

My first blog of the year. That's shameful. Although I haven't really been doing a lot of Tupperware recently, life has sort of got in the way.

I did recently respond to a party request from Syd, a transplanted Iowan who is now settled in London. She and her friends love any excuse to dress up, and so I bussed it over to Shoreditch one Sunday evening for a glamtastic Tupperware shindig.

Syd and her friends really make an occasion of it, with a dress code that is pitched somewhere between Desperate Housewives, Tales of the City and Valley of the Dolls. I am not sure which was more synthetic, the Tupperware, the outfits, or my wig.

Thanks to Syd's other half Kate, who has allowed me to pinch all these photos from her ravishing selection on Facebook, and which mean I don't need to write much.




The buffet was eye-popping and would have made Fanny Cradock proud:

Even I joined in the dress-up fun by dusting off my "Elton" wig, which last saw action at a (non-dress-up) party thrown by my friend Michael. At that party, no-one had batted an eyelid at my preposterous hair-don't, even when I took it off at the end of the night when my newly shorn head got a bit itchy underneath. I heard later that people assumed I was having chemo, and they were too polite to laugh.