Guess who's coming to Brunei ...

SOME very important visitors are coming to Brunei sometime soon, but I'm not allowed to tell you who they are. I have not been released from my oath of secrecy. Who's coming is an "official" secret, which in British English means a secret everyone knows, but no one's allowed to talk about. In the last few weeks I've had several tentative conversations with people who I thought might be in the know, but I wasn't sure. In fact they all knew already. Indeed it was difficult to find anyone who didn't know about the visit — Brunei is actually just an extended tea party. "Oh you mean the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall!" Oops Now I've let it out of the bag. But yes it's true. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall are coming to Brunei ... soon.

Everyone is already in a tizz. Invitations are changing hands like merger stock on Wall Street. The lists are revised again and again. Anyone who drops out, is quickly replaced. Those who haven't been invited are taking it very personally. The assumption for such events is that people come in pairs — one imagines the butler in a George Eliot novel, standing at the door of the ballroom, announcing "Sir Anthony Willoughby-Fiennes and Lady Willoughby-Fiennes". The instruction to invite couples doesn't quite work these days. God forbid that anyone should be single or "in a partnership". It is impossible to invite everyone of course and any selection criteria are moot. Just make sure you can defend them. If the husband only is invited and if he fails to show sufficient enthusiasm, he is usually quickly replaced by his wife. On the list I was managing, I made the mistake of inviting a Frenchman. This was overruled by his own British wife on the basis that the French have a pretty dodgy record so far as crowned heads are concerned and he had no business attending. Another colleague was more direct: "Get me an invitation for my wife or my marriage is over." Should one invite equal numbers of Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians and Brits since Her Majesty the Queen is the head of state of all these countries? Let's not go there. The potential for internecine strife is immeasurable.

It's quite obvious the whole of the High Commission is on valium and will need a long holiday after this. A war or a mass evacuation would be infinitely preferable. His Excellency has bags under his eyes and avoids social contact, since all conversation turns inevitably to the thorny subject of invitations. Last week, at the Hari Guru celebrations, he shook hands and then rushed away again, before I could speak. I suppose he assumed I would angle for more invitations. He must have bust the budget for this event weeks ago; I can see there'll be no more goody bags at diplomatic tea parties and for months all we'll get will be cucumber sandwiches and chips. For a normal diplomatic event, diplomats can't give the invitations away, but for this one you won't get one for love or money.

Of course everyone is going to need new clothes. "Darling, you can't possibly wear that suit and I must have a new hat."

The hysteria is infectious. It's true I can't find a single tie which hasn't got some mark on it: sambal prawns or beef rendang or lemon chicken from the last bash. All the tailors in Kiarong and Kiulap, who thought they'd have a quiet time after Hari Raya, are beavering away into the night, trying to fashion head gear from magazine photographs of Ascot. Bruneians may not be familiar with the importance of wearing the right hat at such an event. In Britain wearing hats has largely fallen from fashion, but not at palace garden parties. It's all part of the fun, but the stakes are high. Even if ladies do not plan to go over the top with some monstrosity to catch the eight o'clock news, they still like to wear something eye-catching on such occasions. Of course it's possible to get it hopelessly wrong. I am reminded of Ilse (Ingrid Bergman) in Casablanca, who seems to be wearing a large, white lampshade, as she wanders through the souk with Rick. Out East it's easy enough to lose touch with what works and what doesn't and end up looking like an extra in Passage to India.

What does one say to such important guests? They will have been briefed of course and an equerry will whisper something as you are introduced. I feel sorry for the VVIPs. It must be ghastly having to look interested to so many people for so long. I remember the deep sigh uttered by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher at the British Embassy in Moscow, as she entered yet another room of Brits all eager to meet her. Young, thrusting post-graduates and teachers that we were, we expected some profound political comment on Anglo-Soviet relations or perestroika, particularly since she had just spent an hour in an opera box with Secretary Gorbachev watching the first act of Boris Godunov. But it wasn't to be.

"Do you think I should wear my woolly in Georgia tomorrow?" This was not quite what I was expecting, but she did touch my arm. I still have the shirt.

We did have a good chat with Geoffrey Howe, the Foreign Secretary, however. All inhibitions had disappeared by that stage since the government party was very late arriving and the waiters had been circulating frequently. We are all looking forward to the visit of their Royal Highnesses and we wish them an excellent stay in Brunei Darussalam. The two international school orchestras have been rehearsing furiously. Apparently, when Nixon met Mao, the orchestra played "Getting to know you" and everyone thought this an excellent choice.

The writer is the principal of Jerudong International School.

The Brunei Times