Everyone might arrive for a formal banquet in tailcoat and bow tie, but you can take it that the more grand the event, the less edifying the food and wine are likely to be - and that's the least of your troubles. I've found myself seated beside dowager European princesses and creaky old aristocrats where the conversation has been as stultifying as the Stilton cheese. An American worthy, who bought an Italian castle, spent a rare evening in Switzerland droning on about its plumbing - not the wittiest conversation with someone you're unlikely to meet again. In these days of enforced diversity, you might find yourself seated between a Slovak diplomat and a Chinese entrepreneur with no language in common and can only hope that the service will not be as miserably inefficient as it's guaranteed to be at these affairs.
In Vienna, I've seen my steak leach all over the plate because do you think the waiters seriously care about your preference when serving meals to a hundred diners? In Frankfurt, I suspect I've eaten more raw things than can be healthy, so forgive me if I swallowed instead of chewing as I've been taught to do. And once in Korea, our sophisticated group was gobsmacked by an unrecognisable menu, and we had no way of knowing whether what we were being so elegantly offered consisted of swine entrails or stunned eels. In the face of extreme provocation, the group maintained supreme poise, it's because, of course, noblesse oblige.
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Sit-downs come with a set of rules that make the juvenile "elbows of the table" seem like child's play. No fiddling with the cutlery, no tweaking of glassware, or folding and refolding your napkin; no checking the phone surreptitiously for mails, though apparently it's okay for the grandees to show you pictures of their ghastly castles and grandchildren. And no, you never, ever tell jokes - levity and laughter are a serious offence at these joyless events.
You can, of course, drink yourself silly and no one will mind, perhaps because it's the only way to survive these dreadful occasions. Sit-downs have probably the largest concentration of the rich and lush, who carry tags with their names and addresses so the driver will know where to drop you off when you're slurring so much, you can't remember your own name because you've spent the better part of the evening memorising that of the bore whose family lost its fortune -and only because it spent its best years identifying blooms at a banquet table instead of putting in an honest day's work.