STICK the wig on. Go on put it on. It'll be fun. Fun. Now there's a word I've not heard for a while and there I was being cajoled to actively take part in some.

Had this question been asked of me a couple of years ago, I would had told her exactly where to put said novelty wig. And it wouldn't have been on her head.

But that was then and this is now. Then was surrounded by people I had grown up with and with whom I had a reputation to protect.

Now was a hotel lobby full of strangers in Chicago on our way to the World's Largest Sock Hop -- a 50s themed dance America style. Just think of Happy Days. The girls in our group had gone to the trouble (much to our surprise) of dressing up as the Pink Ladies from Grease, complete with bobby socks. And they had even gone to the trouble (even more to our surprise) to buy Elvis-style wigs for the boys.

And the lovely public relations girl who had organised the trip was doing her best to get us to wear them.

Like I say, a couple of years ago, I would have point-blank refused. But -- and I have the photos to prove it -- I said yes. I offered no resistance and found myself vying for space in front of the toilet mirror vainly attempting to perfect my quiff, which had flopped. Mine wasn't so much as Rock 'n' Roll Elvis, more "just woke up after a heavy night on the cheeseburgers" Elvis.

It's not that I have mellowed in my more mature years, or become more open to the concept of fun. It was just a case of adapting. Like Darwin reasoned (the naturalist not the town) it was all about evolving and surviving. I needed to be accepted by these people much more than they needed to accept me.

And it worked.

For the first time in more than a few years I belonged. I was part of a crowd having fun. I had friends. The fact that I had to travel eight hours across the Atlantic to get some was secondary, we were here having a great time. I even went as far to swap wigs with one of the girls -- again I have the photos to prove it, but you'll never see those!

There was Vicky Lawless the PR girl who made Absolutely Fabulous look Absolutely Realistic, the archetypal Scouser with his tales of Jimmy Tarbuck and the Beatles, the girls from the national magazines, the Yorkshire man with the cutting wit who had us all in stitches .... the list goes on.

For six days and six nights we had a riot, swapping tales of our home towns (West Yorkshire 'invented' the illuminations you know, only to have the idea pinched by Blackpool!), and getting to know each other with the tried and tested ice-breaker that is alcohol having a good old time in the good old US of A.

Now those friends are gone. Landing at Heathrow Airport we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways with me back to Lancashire and a lonely existence. But I have learned valuable lessons.

Joining in is the key to winning friends. Sounds simple but it took me so long to realise. I was always the one content to stand on the edge looking in, and that's why I end up going to the pub in my own in the hope of sparking conversation, only to leave hours later uttering no more words than "pint please."

But the other side of it is, you can't be embarrassed if you never see them again. I don't mind that these people have seen me make a fool of myself, because they can't remind me of it. They will never be there in the cold light of sobriety to point the finger and laugh, and that's the way I like it.

So I'm not adverse to donning wigs in the name of fun and having a good time. It just won't be in this country or with people I know!