Yesterday I did lunch at the Windsor Hotel in South Perth with girlfriends.

Having received the complete boxed set of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares for Christmas, I’ve been spending quite a few hours with Gordon over the last couple of days.  I’m struggling here not to launch into a kind of mini food critique peppered with lots of ‘f’ word nouns, adjectives and adverbs Gordon Ramsay style,  so I won’t tell you that the food was really very good, nor very quietly that although the waitress got two out of five main courses wrong,  she was otherwise so attentive & friendly that we didn’t mind that much.

It was one of those lunches which was a little like limp lettuce despite the fact that there was one person at the table, the friend of a friend, who was out for a big afternoon & as the champagne flowed revealed to the party with unfortunate consistency approximately half hourly that she was minus underwear.   As we were all straight women at the table, & most of us barely knew her, this held little interest for us and progressively less as the afternoon wore on.

Everybody else at the table was more than a little shellshocked from the demands of the whole December Christmas crescendo thing – & one came to the table from a sick bed the day before,  so it was indeed an odd mix of the seasonally subdued & burned out by Christmas & Ms No Knickers out for a very very good time.

We moved to a table on the Mend Street verandah for another glass of champagne after lunch, a good position for someone like our knickerless luncheon companion looking for action really.  Eye contact or more can be made with flirtatious gentlemen in nice cars stopped at the intersection of Mill Point Road & it would actually be possible to run out and stop cars,  lol, were one so inclined.

In the end, the afternoon sun became a little intense for my liking which was my cue to exit & I tottered off back to the hills for a delicious late afternoon siesta leaving Ms No Knickers behind at the Windsor shamelessly & proudly self promoting her bare au natural bottom to all of those in earshot.

Not sure if I’ll have the pleasure of having lunch with the Ms Knickers free again, but if I were to find myself at such a gathering,  I rather fancy jumping in with the whole of the rest of the table whoever they may be to steal her thunder – premeditated underwear status reports right up front – to cut her off at the pass so to speak before the first glass of wine.

“Hi.  Great to meet you.  Not a stitch. ”

“Me neither. ”

“Likewise.”