DAY SIX: Bad blogger. Bad, bad blogger.

So there I was yesterday afternoon, still recovering from my reading (and the massive Random House party on Sunday night, which left dock at Jamie Kennedy's at the Gardiner Museum, tore through Avenue at the Four Seasons and eventually smashed up onto the rocks of the Hospitality Suite), when I suddenly realized there was another festival party about to start at Harbourfront.

"Ugh," I thought, as I crawled from my bed to the couch. "How can there be another party? It can't possibly be as big as last night. I'll just show up a bit late."

Turns out I missed the biggest party of this year's IFOA.

The IFOA/Hello! Magazine Opening Party went down in the Enwave Theatre last night, and it was a veritable who's who of who matters in publishing. I am a bad, bad blogger for missing it. When I showed up at about 7pm (yes, 7pm, people... this blowout started at 530 in the afternoon), the room was packed and wildly overheated. Speeches were over (I heard from a number of people that Geoffrey Taylor gave a great one), 150 people had already left and Hello! had already taken down their photo booth (get this: you could have your photo taken, and then through some whiz-bang printing they'd give you a personalized Hello! cover. I rue the moment on Sunday night when I switched from wine to scotch. Rue it, I tell you.)

Anyway, because the inimitable Becky Toyne decided not to rip my head off for being late (though it was well within her right to do so) and instead recently handed me a CD filled with photos from the party, forthwith, I will pretend I was there.

Actually, better to start with Hello! Magazine's party diary.
Ok, onwards!

Team IFOA. Finally, their turn in the limelight. Well deserved!

Guest curator, feted novelist and all-round lovely bloke, Colm Toibin (right) with artist Micah Lexier.

Globe Book Review editor Martin Levin stumping Booker-winner Anne Enright with some arcane piece of trivia.

Two members of the IFOA Royal Family: Ben McNally and his son Rupert (pretending not to be admiring Kim McArthur's passing ponytail).

Bad blogger, arriving late. That is a look of contrition on my face (accompanied by a frisson of indigestion and a soupcon of a migraine).

Playing squash with M.G. Vassanji

Upon arriving last night for the PEN Canada 25th Anniversary Gala reception, I found myself surrounded by faces I recognized but didn't know why. There were the two tall, elegantly dressed women who clearly knew everyone in the room (editors Ellen Seligman from M&S and Louise Dennys from Knopf). There was the small man of South Asian heritage with a perfectly trimmed beard and a cozy sweater on (M.G. Vassanji). There was the slim Sri Lankan man wearing a gorgeous baby blue tunic (Shyam Selvadurai). There was the equally slim but twice-as-tall guy who seemed always to be smiling (OK, I knew this was Evan Solomon right away).

Il Fornello was jammed with a who's who of Can Lit, and I knew nearly nobody. And then my lovely editor, Dinah Forbes from M&S, showed up out of the blue with a certain small, bearded, besweatered man on her arm.

"Andrew, this is Moyez."
Moyez? I thought to myself. The "M" actually stands for something? Of course it does. I wonder what the "G" stands for.
"Hi Moyez," I said calmly.

Dinah was very gracious with her introduction. The problem was, her intro was so good that she'd left nothing for us to say. We stood in silence. My mind flicked back an hour or two, when I'd made the terrifying discovery that most of my dressy clothes were now too small for my slowly expanding waistline. Writing this book has added at least two inches of flab to my gut.

"So Moyez," I said, "How do you stay in such good shape while writing?"
Moyez, by the way, seems like a terribly healthy man.
"Squash," he said. "Once, maybe twice a week. And when it's nice out, tennis."
I immediately pictured M.G. Vassanji rushing the net and placing an effortless drop-shot just inside the forecourt lines, while I lay breathless on my back in the rearcourt, having tripped over my ridiculously long legs. I'm willing to bet M.G. can run like the Dickens (and not because he writes like one).
"I play squash, too," I said, telling the first of many half-truths for the evening. "I have played squash" is what I should have said. In fact, "I have heard of people playing squash" would have been most accurate.

Don't worry, people. I did not ask Moyez Gulamhussein Vassanji for a game of squash. Give me a little credit....

Anyway, here's a few other things I learned last night:
a) Martin Levin knows more about monkeys than I do.
b) If confused as to which gourmet buffet item to choose from, follow Antanas Sileika around the room. The man knows his food. And his sausage. And his condiments.
c) You can eat more hamburger than you ever thought possible if said hamburger is served in mini-hamburger form.
d) Martin Levin knows more about birds than anyone I know.
e) PEN Canada deserves everyone's attention, donations, and praise.
f) One of the bartenders at Il Fornello must really like his boss, because that's what he calls every man who orders a drink from him. "Sure, boss." "Right on, boss."
g) Martin Levin is like that friend of ours (we've all got one) who kicks our asses at Trivial Pursuit. He actually knew that Suriname used to be called Dutch Guiana. Who is this guy?