It’s hard to admit, but yep, Tom was right. At the tender age of fifteen, he knew straight away from the title – The School Of Life – that something was awry. (see Tuesday’s Blog)
Being a huge fan of the author and philosopher Alain de Botton, Fletch had learnt that a branch of this wise man’s school was opening in Melbourne and thought it would be nice for us to go along to an event. It sounded fascinating. A chance to discuss interesting topics with a bunch of smarty-pants types over a feast of food. Maybe I would walk away with new insights into how we live our lives and how to make the world a better place? Surely I’d absorb some of the scholarly vibes through osmosis and magically transform into an intellectually superior being?
It didn’t start well. The floral chair covers sounded warning bells straight away. We arrived after most of the guests were already seated and were told to find a place. Anywhere. Sit with anyone. No nametags and no place names on the tables. Big shared tables. Now, I don’t mind meeting new people, but I’d thought we’d have our own table and the discussions on the night would be mediated by the MC. In a public forum.
Dinner with Epicurus
