PHIL BROWN

There is one thing worse than not being invited and that is being invited. Oscar Wilde? No, me. I often get miffed if I’m not included. There have been opening night parties that I haven’t got a guernsey for and I have sulked for days afterwards. I hate seeing people heading off for some exclusive interval affair or after-party that I haven’t been invited to. And yet, here’s the rub … I don’t really want to go anyway. It’s a conundrum.

The idea of being in a room full of people drinking and hobnobbing isn’t attractive and even when I do get in I just want to get out. Particularly when speeches are involved. As soon as the speeches begin I excuse myself, say that I have to go to the bathroom and I never go back.

I was so annoyed about missing out on a function at QPAC some months ago that I complained and made a big song and dance about it. I’m not one for holding back.

Anyway, come the next big show, I managed to get into the interval drinks, as I should being the Arts Editor and all. I went along with my wife but when we got there it was, how can I put this? BORING!

So we left not long after we arrived but I felt chuffed at least that we managed to attend. Even though I didn’t really want to attend. Does this make sense? No, I thought not. I remember being invited to a swish launch at QPAC years ago and it was rather special. Speaking to the organisers I asked what the dress code was. “Black tie,” I was told. “Really? For an early-evening cocktail function?” Yes, I was told, definitely black tie. So I drove across town, parked and walked into QPAC adjusting my bow tie.

Funny thing is I couldn’t see anyone else in black tie.

But I guessed they had gone in to the function already. It was being held on stage so I went into the theatre and as soon as I did I could see that no one was in black tie.

I felt such a goose and I hightailed it out of there as soon as I could, hurling abuse over my shoulder at the person who had told me I had to wear my penguin suit. It makes you wonder why I go out at all.