Perhaps the reunion was a failure because it was organised by a black and white border collie?
I felt uncomfortable from the moment that I arrived. Two girls from my sixth form English class, N and C, were the first to greet me. While N held her baby tight to her chest, C launched into a full-blown analysis of the shocking state of my dress. What displeased her most were my burgundy pop socks worn inside out, and how they drew attention to the pale flesh of my stocky legs. Why on earth did I put on a short second-hand White Stuff tunic dress for an event such as this?
The next person to approach me was much more friendly. Although we had been contemporaries at the University of Birmingham in the 1980s, I didn’t recognise him. He told me that he had read Spanish, and had spent his year abroad in South America where he had learnt to dance. He asked me to throw off my tunic dress and bra and join him in a bare-topped tango. I grinned over at N and C as they looked on with envy.