One mini-hitch occurred at the party downtown Saturday night: the hotel shuttle stopped running at 11:00 p.m. but the party ended at 2:00 a.m. David called for a taxi at 1:00 a.m., which arrived about 2:30 a.m., and reached the hotel about 2:45 a.m. The driver said there was only one taxi available. The other one was busy elsewhere.
David also said the music was so loud that he and the two friends who were with him couldn’t hear each other speak.
I couldn’t hear them either because I didn’t attend. After insufficient sleep the night before, I didn’t feel like partying. Furthermore, my father returned from World War II profoundly deaf from bomb concussion, and I see no reason to play games with my possible genetic inheritance by allowing myself to be bombarded by zillions of decibels.
So I partied back at the hotel, lying on the bed, eating vanilla crème cookies from the vending machine across the hall, and reading Elizabeth George’s latest mystery. [Insert smiley face here.]
I’m sharing some pictures I snapped at the festival. Most were taken before and during the red-carpet ceremony on Friday afternoon. They demonstrate, among other things, that I was right to abstain from shopping for new clothes. Jeans and sweaters were just the ticket.