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This summer I'm not planning to go anywhere, so I'll be having a purely English summer.

It began with some very institutional 'English' events like Royal Ascot and Wimbledon and may possibly end with the ³ÉÈËÂÛ̳ Proms.

You know, I've got a good friend. A very decent person. She is an extremely nice character and lives up in Cambridge.

Before the days I knew what it was to be to do an English summer and I had just arrived in the UK, she invited me for an audit dinner. I didn't know, what the audit dinner meant, but agreed to come to Cambridge for it.

She even sent me a card, which said in Gothic letters that I was kindly invited to the audit dinner at so and so college at Cambridge University and that the Dean of that college looked forward to seeing me and enjoying my company.

In the small print there were the letters RSVP and something about a tie, which I never wear anyway, so I put the card into a drawer, and made a note in my diary.

That day I put on my smartest suit with a flowery tie, laced my new orangish shoes and took the train to Cambridge from Finsbury Park.

I was pleased with myself for finding my friend's room at college half an hour early.

But when she opened the door, her face fell.

When I went in I asked her: "Am I late?"

"No" - she said and asked me: "Did you receive the invitation?"

I said: "Yes".

"Did you read it?" - she asked impatiently.

"Yes!"

"Did you read about the black tie?"

"Yes... nno-o... I've got all kind of ties, but unfortunately not the black one..."

"Do you know what black tie means?" She lost her patience.

"Yes... nnoo... Apparently black tie... Black by colour... Isn't it?"

"No, black tie means... have you seen conductors in the orchestras? Do you remember what they wear? That is black tie..."

"...And can't I go like this?" I pointed my finger vaguely at myself.

"No!" She cut the conversation short. "I don't know what we are going to do..."

Her husband entered the room and we shook hands.

Having heard this discussion from the other room, he said "What if he wears my black tie?".

He is twice as big as me, but I immediately grabbed upon the idea. "And I can leave my clothes with you..." It was stupid of me to suggest that he should have my clothes, however new, because of his size, but he understood my good intentions.

"Just hang your stuff instead" and I got changed in his room.

I coped with the trousers, using my own belt and rolling them up several times inside.

I also sorted out the shirt, though the sleeves were far too long.

I felt a bit like a diver in a diving suit, but nonetheless it was all right until I put on the jacket.

The suit proved to be the most challenging item of clothing that I've ever worn.

The shoulders came to my elbows, but when I raised the elbows my arms disappeared in tunnels of my sleeves.

Another problem was the buttons: when they were undone, the jacket was wrapped round me like a scarecrow almost twice, but when they were done up my body was like a clapper of a bell, hitting the sides of the suit.

Finally I struck a compromise: I found a position for my elbows in the shoulders and my hands were hardly coming out of the rolled up sleeves.

As for the buttons, we wrapped a sweater round my belly and did up just one of the buttons.

The black shoes were much easier than the rest: we just put lots of cotton wool in the front part and I experienced an unfamiliar feeling of standing on the skies.

So I was ready for the swift march to the dinner. I don't remember how we got there, because I was mostly preoccupied with the outfit hanging off me: I was afraid to lose my shoes on my way.

We entered a hall, where my hostess introduced me to a Principal, who was a Nobel Prize winner, and to his spouse, a spouse of a Nobel Prize winner no less.

In the gathering crowd I spied another two or three dozen Nobel Prize winners and contenders and shook hands with the Principal.

The shoulders of my jacket were jumping on my elbows, but the dim light was in my favour and the Principal didn't pay any attention to my look, I think he thought I was just eccentric.

After the introductions and essential chat I chose an even darker corner of the room, where I stood as a single scarecrow, allowing my hostess to entertain herself among her educated colleagues, some of whom she brought to me to introduce from time to time.

There was a Sikh fellow among them and he was in his traditional turban and usual outfit, no black tie at all, I tried to get upset with my hostess, but there was no way back: the Sikh treated me as if I was eccentric.

He asked me whether I was a Nobel Prize winner. I was about to say something like: "No, just in waiting..." but at that time a bell rang out and everyone was invited to sit.

I made an excuse and headed towards my hostess with a warm feeling inside.

The feast had started. But not an ordinary one, no, there were a lot of rituals.

The Principal made a toast in Latin, we should have repeated it word by word, then he took a sip of the silver cup, wiped it with a white napkin and passed onto the person next to him who did the same, saying some Latin words and looking at the portraits of the Founders on the walls and passing the cup to the next person, and so on until the cup reached my hostess, who did the same and forcefully articulating the Latin formula, passed the cup onto me.

Struggling with my sleeves and shoulders I said what I thought was the Latin that everyone else had been saying and wiping the cup half with my napkin and half with my shirtsleeve and passed it onto my neighbour.

"O, God, what a burden to be an Englishman!" I thought for the first time in my life and added to myself: "But a double burden is to be an educated Englishman..."

I wouldn't tell you that we drank the best of French wine, ate great lamb and wonderful cherries, thanking God and the Founders of the college and singing anthems in medieval Latin.

After all it was a lovely evening, but just the form was a bit weird...