The six-year-old girl didn’t know what to make of me, judging by the look of amazement/horror/disbelief on her face. Must have been the eyeshadow; I never CAN get that right.
It’s been a bit tame ever since then, to be honest! To counter your nerves, you can ask yourself what the worst that possibly could happen is. Also, having a really plausible cover story helps. You’ll not need it, but it will make you feel as though you have a right to be there exactly as you are (“Yeah, tarts and vicars party, mate.”). I understand that eventually, you realize that nobody is going to say anything negative anyway and start to really enjoy it. Haven’t yet got to that point myself!