Saltwater Socialite

Here in Sydney, it is quite popular for organizations to give a harbour cruise for the company Christmas party. Some are given at night, cruising past the glamorous city lights, while others take advantage of perfect summer days to see the sites of the harbour in daylight. When the professor told me I was invited to his work party and that it was to be a “harbour cruise” I accepted with delight. My experience in the past of these affairs lead me to believe that it would be wonderfully sophisticated affair, sipping cold bevies on one of the many cruise ships to be chartered in and around the harbour.

It was also going to be my first meeting with the Professor’s work mates and his generous boss (who alway sends home special samples and freebees for me) so there needed to be particular regard given to outfit choice and small-talk ammo.

Come 11:30am on Saturday, the Professor and I were to be found waiting dutifully at the Pyrmont Bridge wharf, I in a smart but casual summery denim mini with a cute top and thongs (the footwear). The sun was beating down quite fiercely but I reckoned to be tucked up under the awnings of the boat in no time at all.

It was with a strained smile that I met the first arrivals, the SPF30+ starting to melt down my face and clag up my sweaty palms as I shook hands hello. All would be fine when we got on board and chugged off into the cool harbour.

Then as one big cruise ship pulled away and our party prepared to board the next, our vessel drifted up to the wharf. A yacht! Pardon? In short skirt and thongs? Should this have been mentioned BEFORE I got dressed this morning?

Not to worry. I clambered on board with some difficulty in maintaining my modesty. I perched awkwardly on the cabin roof, where I instantly became stranded, (due to cluttering up of all other short-skirt friendly vantages by fellow mariners). From there I missed further introductions, a drink and a lot of get to know you conversation. With no shelter and no hat, I baked and sweated and generally felt furious about the whole debacle.

It was only once we’d sailed out under the bridge gliding out into the gloriously blue day that I managed to dump my pain-the-in-the-hull attitude and get on with enjoying myself. What’s all the fuss about anyway Franky? You’re usually completely at home on a yacht! (I’ve spent many a Friday night in summer scampering around my parents 11 meter yacht as it skids through twilight races on the harbour). So I ditched my thongs and handbag and adopted the legs-over-the-side, happy-gaze-over-the-water position. I was soon joined by another disoriented partner and a cold beer, both providing good company for the rest of the afternoon.

Though I missed the chatting with nice boss lady, not to mention the whole work team, I did have a relaxing sail, learn a little about town planning (care of my new friend, name forgotten) and take home sunburnt thighs and yet another nearly-postcard photo of the Sydney Harbour landmarks.