Excuse me sir, but I don't like the cut of your jib...

Well, here's a first - somebody told me I wasn't dressed appropriately for the first time ever in Vietnam. I've turned up in sandals to embassy dos and bantered with Ambassadors, I've strolled into weddings in jeans DEVIL-MAY-CARE and worn shorts to every bar and restaurant in town, not because I'm some kind of wild maverick who plays by his own rules but because it's really hot and socks are for October to April only with the exception of when I'm playing football, you see. I'm innocent.

But, regardless, my seven-year-streak of casually-dressed derring-do came to end, well nearly, when I went for a fancy pants dinner at the Metropole's Le Beaulieu and after sitting down I was interrupted by a fairly embarrassed waitress (her manager didn't have the bi (Cojones) to do it himself I'd wager) who said that she was sorry, aren't we all for something, but there was a dress code and sandals weren't allowed. I explained that I was just off the plane direct from Bali and had lost my suitcase somewhere along the way. She smiled, not getting the joke, and said as long as I remembered next time then scuttled away, exit stage left. We laughed for a while. The other "gents" at my table had very nearly done the same. One was only in shoes and trousers because he went straight to the bia hoi (pour un ou deux aperitif) after work. The waiter ignored us all night. My friends started to blame the sandals.

Next time I'll throw on the Crocs and really spoil them.