last night, mark took me to a lovely french restaurant in the city, and we proceeded to eat our way through two and a half courses - entrees, mains and a shared desert sampler plate - each. the food was quite exquisite. i panicked initially when he told me we were going french - being the ultra-casual (read: daggy) chick that i am, i was afraid of snooty waiters and the like - but he didn;t let on till the last minute, so there was no time to think too much about it. as it turned out, the ambience was quite different to what i was fearing. it was a more casual environment, though we were probably the youngest couple in there. it seems the tables behind us and to my left were taken up by members of parliament, and members of their families - not that i knew who any of them were, mind you. i couldn't work out, when a couple of them held my gaze and smiled at me, whether they were looking to secure my affections, or my vote. it was funny to observe, as they all went to extreme pain and distance to ensure that surrounding diners were quite aware of their status; through their loud, name-droppy conversations, their ability to attract the attention of wait staff stationed across the room with the mere twitch of a finger, their unfortunate decision to pair their charcoal and pinstriped suits with light pink shirts and wide, light blue and lemon striped ties, and the sheer volume of oysters they consumed. mark had unwittingly planned the perfect birthday dinner for a writer-girl like me - fine wine, fine food, fine company - coupled with the opportunity for much discrete eavesdropping.