Okay, now that the Madness song with the same title is flowing through your brain, I have to tell you that this post has to do with an actual house. Tonight, I attended a holiday reception with several hundred of my closest friends from work. As is typical for these events, I walked around trying to find someone I knew and then making an effort to meet some new folks.
Mine of the new people I met tonight wa entertaining several of us with stories from several other recent holiday receptions he attended in the past week. Most of his tales had to do with food or beverages or an occasional overlubricated colleague who should have left the party early. One of his stories stuck with me and now it bothers me.
Our ambassador and his wife hosted a reception last week while I was out of the country. According to my new acquaintance, the party ended early because the ambassadors wife was tired of people being in her house. Apparently, she actually said it was her house. The ambassador in each country lives in what is generally the finest residence of any nations ambassador. This is the case here as his residence is a luxurious estate in Regents Park called Winfield House. Contrary to Mrs Ambassador’s opinion, the house belongs to America. Each of us owns that house along with every other ambassadors home and every embassy. They are legally American property as well.
Heres what bothers me: I only have one data point about Mrs Ambassador and I already have a very strong opinion about her. She’s wrong—no question. But I am too.