How the other half live

'More Vodka'?

'No that's great thanks'. And it is. It's my first drink in three weeks. A perfectly mixed Bloody Mary and its going down a treat.

Nousha is a friend of a friend from Dubai who lives in the shiny Northern suburbs of Tehran and has kindly invited me up to get a taste of another kind of life in Iran.

'Canapé'? And she hands me a tray of beautifully arranged nibbles containing quails eggs, asparagus, French cheeses and proper pork salami. Iranian food is good but this is such a welcome diversion after two weeks of eating nothing else.

'Sorry there aren't more of us this evening, but some of my friends, well, how shall I put it, are on the other side, for being caught drinking at a party last night', my host explains.

Suddenly my Bloody Mary is not going down too well after all.

'They are trying to pay their way out at the moment but the fools tried to object initially – you have to know when to play the game – they were too arrogant to play it. They were probably flogged...'

I choke on my drink.

'Too much Tabasco? …But don't worry, you are perfectly safe here, I never hold large gatherings which attract the attention of the religious police'.

I'm introduced to her friend who comes from a family that used to be one of the biggest wine growers in Iran. They had all their land and assets confiscated in the revolution. But she seems unfazed by history and is happily slurping her way through a bottle of someone else's Shiraz. Now she spends her time between private parties in Tehran and the club scene of London and, well into her 50s, delights in telling me she can out-party any twenty something.

Including the twenty somethings who have also been invited this evening – a group of male socialites who have just been to the launch party of something though none of them have any idea what was being launched. They talk instead about their many girlfriends and the challenge of finding a good one, and given the fact that most live with their parents, where to go with her when they have one.

An immaculately dressed lady hands me another canapé – she owns a Montessori school nearby. Doesn't she have to get up early tomorrow for school? 'Own sweety, own - not manage'.

We are in a stunning three level apartment nestled in the foothills of the mountains, towering over the city below – and the walls are adorned by an amazing collection of Iranian contemporary art. It feels a million miles away from the Tehran where I am staying in the downtown, and indeed it was quite an adventure getting there…

We hurtle up the hill away from my hotel at breakneck speed as the idiom obsessed taxi driver looks at the address. 'It's a pieces of cake' he assures me.

A car somehow manages to overtake us on a blind corner. 'More hasty less speed', he shouts through his window.

'Why do people drive like that?' I ask after taking a deep breath and recomposing myself.

Does the leopard change his spots? He replies taking both hands off the wheel to seemingly express that the question is ludicrous.

Shortly afterwards, a motorbike hurls up the road towards in our lane. 'Everything good in its season', he remarks as it pulls out of our way just at the last minute, missing us 'by the whisker'.

He misses a turn on a dual carriageway and reverses back to it. 'When in Rome do as Romans', he winks.

We have been driving round perilously for more than an hour when I begin to recognize some of the places we have already been. We are clearly lost. But the driver is unfazed and we continue to drive around the hills blindly. 'Don't worry, I know Tehran like back of my hand', he claims shortly before slowing to ask directions.

We are nearly there apparently, but I shouldn't 'count my hens'...

…Inside I recount the journey there and ask the other revelers why it is that everyone drives so badly in Iran. I observe that mirrors are used only to check beard growth and indicators are only ever used in tandem, as hazard lights, to aid rubber necking. And that people will spend minutes arguing over who should go through the door first but are quite happy to cut up their fellow road users and put their lives at risk without a second thought.

Someone suggests that it is their way of letting out their pent up frustrations – an outlet for the severely restricted way of life. An expat I met the previous day working for a European trade commission, told me it is precisely because they are so suffocated by their politeness in company, that when they are driving it is totally anonymous and people feel free to behave how they want. He added that if you manage to make eye contact with anyone driving badly on the road they will snap out of it as the connection has broken the anonymity.

A guy on the train to Turkey however told me rather cynically that this is the real Iranian, red in tooth and claw, and that all the niceties you see in a social situation are purely a façade.

Whatever the reason, all I can say it is the most unnerving part of being in Iran – every other supposed threat is seemingly a gross exaggeration – but the roads are a very real danger with one of the highest mortality rates in the world. However you just have to get used to it and admire their skill as they carve out five lanes where there are three marked and weave in and out of each other with, for the most part, deftness and skill, and a lot horn honking.

It is two o'clock in the morning and the vodka has run dry. But not a problem; a quick phone call and minutes later two huge bottles Grey Goose miraculously arrive at the door.

'You can get whatever you like here, darling, as long as you know where to look – we need it – it is our means of survival'.

Most people talk about the political situation with a mixture of frustration and helplessness. It is clear that there is huge resentment and frustration but there is little at least in the short term that can be done about it. They are expecting demonstrations on the anniversary of the election last year but after the brutal treatment of the protesters they aren't imagining very many will turn out. Everyone from taxi drivers to students to the professionals (and professional partygoers) I have met will immediately air their views on the situation vociferously, and there is a widely held view that as long as the religious and political agendas are so interconnected nothing is really going to change. So many seek solace in the finer things in life…

I was told, never talk about Politics, religion or sex, especially in Iran. However, I've been here three weeks and rarely been able to talk about anything else. Apart from the driving of course.