He was dressed in a beautiful black dinner jacket and white tie, while everyone else in the crowded lobby was scruffy, including me. He was huge, fat, tall, plain of face, and he looked marvelous, cummerbund and all. I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask.

“What’s the occasion?”

He stared, first at me, then at the sky.

“I’m sorry,” I added quickly. “None of my business. I hope you don’t mind my asking.”

He smiled warmly. “I don’t mind in the least. Nice to get a compliment. It’s just…” His accent was British And Frightfully Posh. “It’s just I can’t remember the name of the damned thing. I know it’s a dinner. The Glasgow – something  – Dinner. Oh damn, what was it?”

“You’re not the keynote speaker, are you?”

“I certainly hope not.” He sounded rather drunk.

“Well, you look splendid. Have a wonderful time.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Then there was one of the moments, where one chooses either to advise, or not to. I did.

“Perhaps you should zip up your trousers?”

He did. We went in different directions. I got my cheap takeaway meal, to bring back to my room.