The hall was crowded with white-shirted, neck-tied, black-suited men talking to round-shouldered, thick-legged women in tight dresses and stiletto heels. The place had become a potpourri of high-pitched hysterical screams, large glasses of Guinness and swift looks at clefts and crotches.
And then you walked in. Crooked and crippled, wearing an anorak and a pair of jeans, you waded seamlessly into the midst of the black swamp of Christmas party goers and emerged unscathed on the other bank.
