Prudence, in a former life, spent a little time in Parliament House, but was never there enough to consider going to the Press Gallery Midwinter Ball.
By all accounts this year's bash was as decadent as ever.
Right down to a male staffer staggering from woman to woman asking if he could feel their breasts.
Prudence supposes, if there is any sort of consolation to this story, it is that he had sufficient manners to ask first.
Furthermore, no-one availed herself of his request, and he's resigned.
Prudence wonders idly what his job prospects are like now.