Time to take off the make-up

Well, its over. The thing I'd been planning for a year is finally over. Never to go into that beautiful room again. (see above - only there wasn't any tables and chairs). Well unless I fork out another £500 anyway.

I was still laying out cheeses and crackers wearing my driving shoes and glasses when the first guest arrived. Luckily it was a close pal. In the end, it all got too overwhelming with serviettes and whatnot and olives that She took over while i went out for a fag with her husband. And that seemed to be the most I talked to someone.

Mates from Ireland and Berlin turned up especially for the event. Which was a little pointless as I spoke to them as much I did to the woman from down the road. Neither did I get my mitts on any cheeese - especially that Yorkshire Blue I'd got from the Waitrose Deli counter.

I seemed to be constantly outside greeting people and smoking. Keeping half an eye out for any new arrivals. The next thing I knew it was 3 o'clock and Husband was making a speech and step mother in law was cutting the cake. (The speech I made him do that is.) Where did that time go? I had barely been in that beautiful room.

My brother was over the other side of the room effing and blinding amongst the posh in-laws. He was trying to embarass me. But I had one valuable weapon - I was too pissed to care.

Going to the Ladies with my Mum, father in law appeared desperately searching for glasses to put away. I gave him a sweet look which said Sod Off You Old Fool. Ungrateful I know. There are natural taker-overs at parties - sometimes they're welcome, sometimes they're not.

By the time the out-laws had thrown away the last plate and packed up the wine (10 bottles left) I said to the remaining stragglers (my mates) that I was going to sit in this lovely window seat in this room of my dreams and actually relax. The moment I sat down I saw it was five to four! I panicked. If you stay over 4 o'clock you get charged another £150! We all legged it out of there. It was a cross between Cinderella and the Big brother House. But there was no Davina McCall to greet us - only a disgruntled father in law and hyperactive children.

Got home and unpacked the remains of the cheese and cake - whatever was i going to do with it all. My head spun from daytime drinking and my mouth tasted of sand. Two pound down because of 2 missing glasses, not to mention the best part of a Bag of Sand. But I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

The Big Day (nearly)...

This is a picture of me and how I will look at my party on Sunday. Before and After. I won't tell you which one is which. Ideally anyway, if things go to plan. Stopped worrying about the paper plates looking common. Half the room (in-laws) will think its a step down and the other half (my relatives) will see it as a step up. And how far I have come in life.

How in Gods name am I going to get all this stuff to the Town Hall? Crackers, cheese, serviettes and watnot. Let alone the 30 bottles of wine - with glasses. All of these things I never want to see again after Sunday. Well, the possiblity of wine maybe. On the dot of 12 when we're allowed in , there will be a supermarket sweep-esque rush to the main tables and with the aid of selotape and paper tablecloths (also common) we , or rather I, have half an hour to make it look approachable.

My in-laws will arrive on the dot of half past twelve, if not before. They're very early people. I've got to get a few cheeses out by then, surely! And as for that bloody cake! I can barely lift the thing!

Husband useless as usual. Who is going to supervise the cake? He asks me this morning. You are, I tell him. But i'm supervising the children, he exlaims. And you're also doing the cake as well I tell him sweetly. I paid for the thing, I paid for the parking meter outside the bakery, i carried the bloody thing to the car, the very least he can do is light a candle on it.

I know its my party but Husband has been really tight about it. I still need soft drinks and i'm going to ask him to pay for it on the credit card as opposed to my tired old switch card. And i'm going to ask him to pay his nephew for serving the wine. I cannot believe how he hasn't helped out.

My Mum will be bloody late. She always is. So she'll be useless too. What a carry on! Think I'll just get pissed.

The other night I went for a birthday supper at my mate's in London. She can't come to the party so we had an intimate supper instead. Driving back through Knightsbridge - as long as I see Harrods, i know the way back home - I realised I had been in central London more times in the last 3 months than I had for the past 10 years . I realise this was mostly due to childrearing but I constantly seem to be in this City lately. I'm bloody fed up with it.. Its alright for that stupid sod to have said A Man Who is tired of London is tired of Life. How many traffic lights did He have to go through eh? How many taxi's had cut Him up? How many places had He been ripped off at ? I tell you, he knew sod-all.

Will have Christmas then will go out in the country somewhere. Sod London.

The Big Day...

A week tomorrow I will be 50. A little more than that I will be having a big party at one of the town hall rooms. I have been arranging this thing for so long I can't believe its really here.
Mind you, the £275 wine bill gave me a sharp reminder. And so did the £250 deposit against damages. And the fee for the room itself, a mere £ 384. And then there is the food, cheese and wine - oh, and the soft drinks and stuff for the kids. (They're getting a cheese football each!)

Three things I have learned in life. Never live your life through your children, never ever kiss a baby with gastro interitous and never, and i mean never book something you can't really afford.

Thank God for the Supermarket. I know its a sweatshop but thank god it gave me a home. And thank god its not Woolworths. Thank God for my pathetic paypacket every month. And for the childminding i do once a week. And the Child allowance.. Oh Lordy ! i'll be glad when its all over!

And in bed I toss and turn. Suppose no-one turns up! Suppose one of the kids breaks something!
Suppose I get bored! I have that room from 12 till 4, I'm bound to get a bit bored. And I can't keep going out for a fag! ( I ought to get a discount for that inconvenience). And when am i supposed to buy that cheese? I know nothing about bloody cheese, why did i put cheese and wine on the invitations? I only know Tesco value cheddar!

Tomorrow going to see Annie Lebowitz's exhibition God Knows where with Husband. It won't remotely take my mind off things but never mind. Would rather be going round a supermarket looking at cheese.

Beating the Zombies

To overcome my stupid irrational fear of zombies, what was the best thing i could do? yes, thats right. Have a birthday party with a load of 10 year old boys. An hour with them would make me gladly welcome any passing Undead. Although it would have to be a pretty foolhardy zombie to enter a room full of wild boys.

Son was 10 in October. So this Sunday we had a swimming party at the local pool. This seemed the best idea, an hour in the pool would exhaust any boy so I planned out the sitdown meal up in the party room with confidence. You didn't think i was going to get in the water, did you???

Exhausted, my right eye! They were up for more action the minute they'd changed. And trying to get the little buggers to sit down to cheese footballs and limp sandwiches, i tell you! It was 5C all over again but without Bernard Hedges and Potter. Although even Doris Ewell would be hard put to keep this little lot in order! The naughtiest boy suggested a food fight immediately. Husband put a complete stop to that one! Although, confidentially, if He hadn't been there, i would have let it go ahead. It would keep them occupied . And I would clean it up afterwards of course.

The way these kids speak to you! Honestly! Some kid yelled at me, I want more sausage rolls now! Pardon??? I blared at the little sod. Er - please, he mumbled. And another kid spoke to me like dirt and i shouted right at the little git. The annoying thing is they know how to behave really. I know there are some kids who have been dragged up and really don't know how to speak to people. But not these over-privilleged little bastards. But i mean really, would you have spoken to an adult like that? I mean i don't want my own childhood back, where i had to be seen but not heard, but kids are encouraged far too much to mouth off these days.

This is a disaster! Son pipes up as they fall on each other all around the room. But personally i didn't think it was. They seemed to be having the time of their lives!

And now for a really sad moment. Rose my cat. She's a beautiful creature and has given us joy for the last two and a half years. But lately she's been growling at us and she scratched me so badly today. And she's been hissing a lot too. We're almost frightened of her and we can't be under siege in our own home. Will take her to the vet on friday morning and see what she says. We don't want to lose her, she's a part of us. But we can't go on like this.

I know its wicked. But i would rather she was put down. I can't bear the thought of dumping her in some RSPCA centre and walking away from her. She would never get another home. RSPCA would be obliged to tell people why she's there.

Mustn't think about it anymore. Will wait to see what the vet says.

Farting About

Extremely spoilt Son is going to be 10 next Monday. First of all he agreed to going to a Chelsea Match and not having a party. (Have you seen the price of those tickets??) And then we were going to have an impromptu party on the local Green (football!). And then we had a big row. Finally I booked a swimming party and to hell with the consequences.

The thing about those parties is that you literally can invite the whole world (up to 25 anyway) and can really have a good splash about and a bit of cake afterwards in the room upstairs. So it was with this in mind I am writing out nearly 20 invites.

Gave the first one to his closest friend's mum, who is also Son's childminder on certain days.
"Oh no!", she says, "is that the last Sunday of half term?"
Certainly is, I tell her, knowing whats coming.
And I was right. She is going to be in Devon for that last part of half term.
Me as patient as ever, tells her to forget it. And she exclaims that her Son will never forgive her if he misses out.
Come then, I reply , an edge to my voice.
She will never be able to make that long journey in time.
Forget it then , I say
Oh, she says , But her Son couldn't bear it if he missed it.

I walk away. She's a good woman, her hearts in the right place, she was lovely to me when Dad died (her own sadly succumbed to cancer) but God Forgive Me, she is so unbelievably scatty! You're either coming or you're not. Stop pissing about and umming and ah-ing! But how can I say that to the poor cow. I guess there's just some people in life who make things difficult for themselves.

There was a woman once in my daughter's old year who, when my mate was moving away, was asked by me if she wanted to come with us for a Goodbye drink. Well she told me at least 4 times why she couldn't come. And apparently she told my soon-to-be gone mate 3 times. And she also wanted to know how long we would be there that night in case she DID come. For Gods sake! Say Yes or you say No.

Is it me? My last born is now in year 5 so is my tolerance of scatty mothers running low? Or have they just got scattier!

Went out last night with my mate whose Dad was over from Mexico. Asked me to pick him up from where he was staying in Fulham. Just off the Munster Road she said. Well, that could have been in Carlisle for all that meant to me. Where the hell is Munster Road? She thinks I go and hang out in Fulham at weekends or something? The only time I knew Fulham was when I read Up The Junction and then it was dead rough and no-one would touch it!

Eventually found the place and picked up mate's Dad who've i've always had a semi crush on (he's gay!). Told him straight out I had no idea how to get to this resturant. Well, he directed me straight there. Some people are so good at London! I mean the man lives in Mexico for Gods sake. Although he did spend 20 years here when mate was born. Why is everyone better at London than me! Its not fair.

Had a super time tho'. Gave me a chance to get all dressed up for a change. Although he criticsed me for not wearing stillettos - bless!!