Dolly's Blog: Brideshead Revisited

I was on the train to my 30-year university reunion when I noticed that my evening dress either had soy sauce stains or the remnants of having sprayed myself with JD and Coke whilst dancing.  I don't wear black tie much these days, but when I do it's fun. 

Nostalgia casts a rose-tinted glow, but the city was looking preposterously beautiful. Bathed in sunshine, people reclined in punts and sat on grass outside pubs. It was textbook Brideshead and borderline magical. 

I'd signed up to the "pre-pre-meet", which meant mid-afternoon instant immersion into a sea of people I'd scarcely seen since graduation and who'd largely ended up in finance.  Catching up with a scientist-turned-banker with whom I’d once passed an ice cube, I learnt not only that his wife was undertaking a course of fish sperm facials (amazing apparently, if expensive) but also that our fathers had been dispatched almost simultaneously at the same crematorium.  

Still processing this information and after a quick change into my stained-yet-fabulous dress, it was time for the "pre-meet". This was getting harder. Several “You haven’t changed!  Do you have a painting in the attic?!” conversations with people I had forgotten existed, some of which were even trickier to navigate because what do you say if the person once had shoulder length hair and is now completely bald?  And despite my re-boot programme, was I one of those that had "swelled"?  As I looked around there was clear evidence of Mounjaro use and a sprinkling of surgical intervention.

Seven highly educated historians then tried to take a timed selfie to recreate a photo of graduation day.  This took a while.  And then it was on to the formal part, which involved sherry (obvs) and talking to lots of people who had sold their startup. Once ridiculed, it was computer scientist and mathematician revenge time. Less predictable was the friend who’d become a stunt man, although he too had sold various startups. There was no escape from success. This was a room full of over-achievers. But to my pleasant surprise the sensation wasn't one of personal despair; it was inspiring.  

It wasn't all good news of course.  Some of us hadn’t lived this long and one of the best of us was undergoing gruelling cancer treatment.  Always larger than life and luminescent, she was somehow finding head space not just to organise the reunion, finish another degree and look after her family but also to write a book.

A dinner of over-cooked chicken naturally followed, then it was onto the college bar (memorable mainly because of the pitying looks we were getting from the current students) and talk of… the after party!  This was much assisted by having a celebrity amongst our number, who had paid for us to descend on what's now a nightclub and used to be the restaurant I was thrown out of on my 21st birthday, one of my school friends having done something truly unspeakable in the sink.

I didn't mention sink-gate as I casually gave the celebrity friend's name at the door and Security cleared a path through the heaving masses to our VIP area, where copious supplies of free (to me) JD and Coke awaited. More Trainspotting than Brideshead tbh but this was nonetheless the life.  Or not.  It turned out to be an insight into what it’s like to be mega famous and constantly approached by strangers seeking selfies.  He was the personification of good manners, but it wasn't my idea of fun.  Unlike the dancing…

Dance like you mean it is a mantra I try to live by, and by this point some chests (male) were being bared as the dancefloor heated up and my dress emitted a ripping noise as we lurched around to Livin on a Prayer, including the friend with a stage 4 cancer diagnosis.  Leaving as the lights went up, chips were consumed, and someone was sick in a wheelie bin.  No one to my knowledge got arrested.   

Conclusions? 

We'd reached an age and stage where, whatever tribe we were in 30 years ago, we’re now just really glad to see each other.  We (I) no longer take life for granted.  I'm glad I'm not famous.  I was incredibly lucky to have attended university in such an incredibly beautiful place with such incredibly talented people.

I returned home feeling both newly invincible and more aware that the self-belief that propelled me out of university and into the world of work has been incrementally knocked out of me. Re-connecting with 21-year-old me, it struck me how much of the last 30 years has involved supporting other people.  What about me?  There's a song by James where Tim Booth says he's "Just met a girl who believes we can fly".  I want to be that person again, which takes me back to the famous friend.  His advice?  Don’t wait for someone to give you flowers - grow your own garden.

The fabulous dress died in active service having sustained a fatal injury.   

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