The sun was shining, it was a still summers morning and we had a party to go to at 09.30am!! Held by someone from Australia, where parties are early to avoid the heat of midday. My daughter brushed her hair in front of her mirror, which we have put down near the floor for her. She looked at herself in her party dress, twirling around. I said to myself, ‘this is where it starts….. feeling good about yourself.’
We left our house and walked across the fields to the party. My son, who used to be very small and is now very tall , strode ahead of us, clutching a packet of cup cakes decorated with smarties on top, my daughter held the birthday present.
The three wise men, bearers of cupcakes, presents and a pram with spare pants and some emergency nappies
We arrived and before really taking in the other mother’s I glanced at the party table. As normal eating rules do not apply at parties Boris had the following before 10.00am in the morning: 2 bags of crisps, a chocolate crispy cake and about 3 chocolate cup cakes with Smarties on top. I wanted to say to them, 'stop, you’ve had enough’ or ‘rest a little,’ and then I remembered myself at parties when I was a kid.
The best parties were excessive parties where there was too much food so you didn’t know what to eat first. Which sandwich to have first? There would be egg, mayo and cress, which was smooth and creamy, with blobs of white egg in it and green cress that would get stuck in your teeth. Then there was diarylea cheese spread sandwiches which would stick to the roof of your mouth. My little hand would clutch a hot sausage roll that would come out of the oven after the sandwiches were on the table. The pastry would be flaky and leave a film on my hands. If the sausage meat inside was hot I use to hop it around my mouth and, in dire circumstances only, would have to resort to spitting it out. After sandwiches there were crisps, so many different varieties. I would put hula’s on my fingers and thumbs, twiglets up my nose, if parents weren’t around and ready salted and salt and vinegar crisps would just go on my plate. I remember the pleasure I took in eating a supermarket own brand of crisps, which always seemed to me to have a stronger flavour than Walkers. The vinegar in salt and vinegar would make you want to weep as the flavour soared up my nose. Cheese and onion would repeat on you later on while playing musical chairs and ready salted would give you a thirst that you could only quench with lashings of birthday lemonade that made your teeth furry.
Then the cakes would come out, Butterfly ones, chocolate crispies, chocolate penguin bars and then just when you thought there was no room left the cake would appear with candles on top. The host would blow them out then the cake would be whisked away to be cut into slices and put in paper napkins to be taken home, along with the party bag. My mum always said that taking your cake home, was a crude American thing to do and she wouldn’t have anything to do with it at my party. But she had no control over other parents. As soon as I got in the door though she would have to prise the ‘going away’ cake out of my hands because, despite complaining that my stomach was aching, I would still try and eat the cake before bed. Instead it would be saved for the next day, when all the cake would be stuck on the party serviette but that wouldn’t deter me.
We left our house and walked across the fields to the party. My son, who used to be very small and is now very tall , strode ahead of us, clutching a packet of cup cakes decorated with smarties on top, my daughter held the birthday present.
The three wise men, bearers of cupcakes, presents and a pram with spare pants and some emergency nappies
We arrived and before really taking in the other mother’s I glanced at the party table. As normal eating rules do not apply at parties Boris had the following before 10.00am in the morning: 2 bags of crisps, a chocolate crispy cake and about 3 chocolate cup cakes with Smarties on top. I wanted to say to them, 'stop, you’ve had enough’ or ‘rest a little,’ and then I remembered myself at parties when I was a kid.The best parties were excessive parties where there was too much food so you didn’t know what to eat first. Which sandwich to have first? There would be egg, mayo and cress, which was smooth and creamy, with blobs of white egg in it and green cress that would get stuck in your teeth. Then there was diarylea cheese spread sandwiches which would stick to the roof of your mouth. My little hand would clutch a hot sausage roll that would come out of the oven after the sandwiches were on the table. The pastry would be flaky and leave a film on my hands. If the sausage meat inside was hot I use to hop it around my mouth and, in dire circumstances only, would have to resort to spitting it out. After sandwiches there were crisps, so many different varieties. I would put hula’s on my fingers and thumbs, twiglets up my nose, if parents weren’t around and ready salted and salt and vinegar crisps would just go on my plate. I remember the pleasure I took in eating a supermarket own brand of crisps, which always seemed to me to have a stronger flavour than Walkers. The vinegar in salt and vinegar would make you want to weep as the flavour soared up my nose. Cheese and onion would repeat on you later on while playing musical chairs and ready salted would give you a thirst that you could only quench with lashings of birthday lemonade that made your teeth furry.
Then the cakes would come out, Butterfly ones, chocolate crispies, chocolate penguin bars and then just when you thought there was no room left the cake would appear with candles on top. The host would blow them out then the cake would be whisked away to be cut into slices and put in paper napkins to be taken home, along with the party bag. My mum always said that taking your cake home, was a crude American thing to do and she wouldn’t have anything to do with it at my party. But she had no control over other parents. As soon as I got in the door though she would have to prise the ‘going away’ cake out of my hands because, despite complaining that my stomach was aching, I would still try and eat the cake before bed. Instead it would be saved for the next day, when all the cake would be stuck on the party serviette but that wouldn’t deter me.
The picture is of me returning from Simon Harold’s party. In my right hand I am holding a box containing ‘going away’ cake. In my left hand is a balloon and on top of my head a home made red Indian that Simon’s mum made for every child. I think my mum felt a bit jealous or even inadequate about the homemade hat but she needn’t have worried because she made the best birthday cakes ever, something I will go into later on.
We left the little party and made our way home across the field with party bags. I put the buggy outside the house. My daughter took off her party dress, took to the sofa to look through her party bag and ate her sweets, leaving a trail of sticky chewy saliva on my chenille. It had been a good morning.
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