- Untitled
- The season begins
- Jan 2010
- Feb 2010
- March 2010
- April 2010
- May 2010
- Ski Pictures 2010
- June 2010
- July 2010
- August 2010
- September 2010
- October 2010
- Late October
- November
- December 2010
- January 2011
- February
- The European Youth Olympic Festival
- March 2011
- The season ends
- May and June 2011
- End of June
- July
- August in Yorkshire
- September 2011
- 28 October 2011
- November/December 2011
- Season 2012
- February 2012
- March and April
- June
- 'Summer' 2012
The after prom party
I blame the inaugural Book Club meeting. And the rain. There’s usually rain. Six years after arriving in Richmond my plans for my new life are taking shape. The Book Club is just one of three new things I have started this summer. The others are teaching Chinese Cooking and jumping a horse again (it’s a pony but I think that counts).
The good news is that I am doing things for myself which is what mother of a certain age should do so I am told. The bad news is that my time management has not improved at all. My days, which anyway end abruptly at around three thirty when I ferry Honi to something somewhere, seem to be getting shorter and my kitchen, now open to public scrutiny seems to be getting messier.
On this particular day I had wasted time I didn’t have trying to make sushi (which I eventually binned, because I had forgotten to soak the rice and it was stodgy). As I opened the door to the first arrivals I noticed that Millie, the gorgeous but delicate pony that I inherited from Honi, because it kept going lame until I bought Sooty since when it hasn’t been lame at all, was looking seriously miserable and it was starting to rain. I still had work to do in the kitchen topping melba toast to substitute for the sushi, but noticed that Sam was taking a much needed break from his revision.
‘Would you do me a big favour and put a rug on Millie?’ No reaction. I closed his computer and tried again. Serious lack of connection.
‘I’ll give you fifty quid’.
Light switches on in brain: ‘You’re lying’.
‘Yes I know… will you do it anyway?’
‘I might…. If I can have an after prom party?’
Did I really say yes I mused as we discussed seriously heavy sounding books for the reading list? Millie was looking warm and cosy in her Joules striped rug, I noticed, so I guess I did. Why, I still don’t know.
I also don’t know why my children want to have parties in the first place? The argument (always the same) is that we have a big (relatively) house in walking distance from town – what dumb parents would manage a thing like that? Then we have the same conversation about no spirits and no gatecrashers and some out of bounds areas. Then they fret all week about how they are going to enforce these rules, worry all night about how effectively they are being enforced (usually not very) then spend the next day clearing up the mess created because the unenforceable rules were not well enforced.
And in this particular instance I couldn’t see why they shouldn’t all just get dressed up smart, go to the prom, enjoy a glass of punch and a little bop, then make their way back to their beds, but I was in a minority of one. Okay I said,’ I agreed you could have it but I never offered to organise it’. Anyway I was on a riding course for the first three days of the week and teaching a full day on the fourth.
In a move in my direction Sam did agree to limit the list to 35, hand-picked, kids, and Christian made my week by offering to come home from Oxford in time to be chief bouncer. That was the good news. The bad was that Tim volunteered to collect him, which in the event involved a 36 hour round trip, and suddenly I was in charge of operation party after all.
With twelve hours to go all I could offer was a trip to Sainsbury’s to buy some sausage rolls and lemonade (yeah right!) and a stop at the music shop (not exactly the 20 minute hop that I was led to believe) to rent a light. The furniture had, it appeared, already been stripped from the house, and the smoke alarms disabled (?) so as not to be set off by the smoke machine. At four o’clock I left Sam and his mates to their own devices as Honi had a riding lesson in Bedale and two friends staying for the night.
8 p.m We return from riding lesson. Girls very happy mucking about with ponies. House ominously peaceful. I leave them to it and lay out crisps and make punch for kids and pasta for non party members. A few parents arrive with clothes for the girls to change into and give us pitying looks
9 p.m Tim and Christian arrive home. Honi and her friends bring small Shetland pony into the house for no particular reason.
10 p.m Honi and same friends perched on the manure pile wall hoping for glimpses of the prom dresses
11 p.m Sam arrives home looking very suave in Paul Smith suit with pink shirt, already nervous about gate crashers. Christian flexes muscles and prepares to make his way to the gate carrying a dining room chair. I suggest he might use the Joules folding chair from the horse box instead as it is not part of a set!
12 pm All legitimate guests installed. With years of party experience behind him Christian has deflected gate crashers with style. He can do this and be cool. He has had his moments but tonight he is Saint Christian. I go to bed.
2 a.m I get up again as riot on landing (upstairs is out of bounds). Honi’s two friends are wide awake. I wish one of them was not a teacher’s child. I also reflect that if these 35 kids were handpicked I am glad that I am not spending the night with the remaining 215.
5 a.m I am dozing fitfully when Tim comes to bed. He says that he and Christian have cleared up –yeah!
8.30 a.m I get up. Tim and Christian have done a pretty amazing job. Things could be worse. The doorbell rings, it is Honi’s friend’s father – not ideal as we are not exactly ready for open house.
8.45 a.m Two bleary eyed girls clutching croissants and orange juice make their way out of the front door. I stand making idle chit chat, trying to divert attention from the Joules deck chair which was used by bouncer Christian, as it appears to be covered in vomit.
10 a.m I am trying to put all thoughts of after prom party behind me and prepare for Honi’s tetrathlon competition. Honi and I have planned to ride but the tack is in the horse box and I can’t find the key.
11. a.m. Still no sign of key. I ring Honi’s friends as the last time I remember seeing it was when I handed it to girls before going to get ready for party and cook pasta.
1 p.m I have looked in every pocket, on every hook, under every bed and rung poor aforementioned friends at least five times. I am going mad. We do not have a spare. I ring the garage – it will take at least a week to get one.
1.30 p.m I am still ranting about missing key when Saint Christian surfaces. It is in his room. He used it to get the Joules deck chair from the horse box. Did I give it to him?. Either way, he has been demoted back to human status.
I blame the inaugural Book Club meeting. And the rain. There’s usually rain. Six years after arriving in Richmond my plans for my new life are taking shape. The Book Club is just one of three new things I have started this summer. The others are teaching Chinese Cooking and jumping a horse again (it’s a pony but I think that counts).
The good news is that I am doing things for myself which is what mother of a certain age should do so I am told. The bad news is that my time management has not improved at all. My days, which anyway end abruptly at around three thirty when I ferry Honi to something somewhere, seem to be getting shorter and my kitchen, now open to public scrutiny seems to be getting messier.
On this particular day I had wasted time I didn’t have trying to make sushi (which I eventually binned, because I had forgotten to soak the rice and it was stodgy). As I opened the door to the first arrivals I noticed that Millie, the gorgeous but delicate pony that I inherited from Honi, because it kept going lame until I bought Sooty since when it hasn’t been lame at all, was looking seriously miserable and it was starting to rain. I still had work to do in the kitchen topping melba toast to substitute for the sushi, but noticed that Sam was taking a much needed break from his revision.
‘Would you do me a big favour and put a rug on Millie?’ No reaction. I closed his computer and tried again. Serious lack of connection.
‘I’ll give you fifty quid’.
Light switches on in brain: ‘You’re lying’.
‘Yes I know… will you do it anyway?’
‘I might…. If I can have an after prom party?’
Did I really say yes I mused as we discussed seriously heavy sounding books for the reading list? Millie was looking warm and cosy in her Joules striped rug, I noticed, so I guess I did. Why, I still don’t know.
I also don’t know why my children want to have parties in the first place? The argument (always the same) is that we have a big (relatively) house in walking distance from town – what dumb parents would manage a thing like that? Then we have the same conversation about no spirits and no gatecrashers and some out of bounds areas. Then they fret all week about how they are going to enforce these rules, worry all night about how effectively they are being enforced (usually not very) then spend the next day clearing up the mess created because the unenforceable rules were not well enforced.
And in this particular instance I couldn’t see why they shouldn’t all just get dressed up smart, go to the prom, enjoy a glass of punch and a little bop, then make their way back to their beds, but I was in a minority of one. Okay I said,’ I agreed you could have it but I never offered to organise it’. Anyway I was on a riding course for the first three days of the week and teaching a full day on the fourth.
In a move in my direction Sam did agree to limit the list to 35, hand-picked, kids, and Christian made my week by offering to come home from Oxford in time to be chief bouncer. That was the good news. The bad was that Tim volunteered to collect him, which in the event involved a 36 hour round trip, and suddenly I was in charge of operation party after all.
With twelve hours to go all I could offer was a trip to Sainsbury’s to buy some sausage rolls and lemonade (yeah right!) and a stop at the music shop (not exactly the 20 minute hop that I was led to believe) to rent a light. The furniture had, it appeared, already been stripped from the house, and the smoke alarms disabled (?) so as not to be set off by the smoke machine. At four o’clock I left Sam and his mates to their own devices as Honi had a riding lesson in Bedale and two friends staying for the night.
8 p.m We return from riding lesson. Girls very happy mucking about with ponies. House ominously peaceful. I leave them to it and lay out crisps and make punch for kids and pasta for non party members. A few parents arrive with clothes for the girls to change into and give us pitying looks
9 p.m Tim and Christian arrive home. Honi and her friends bring small Shetland pony into the house for no particular reason.
10 p.m Honi and same friends perched on the manure pile wall hoping for glimpses of the prom dresses
11 p.m Sam arrives home looking very suave in Paul Smith suit with pink shirt, already nervous about gate crashers. Christian flexes muscles and prepares to make his way to the gate carrying a dining room chair. I suggest he might use the Joules folding chair from the horse box instead as it is not part of a set!
12 pm All legitimate guests installed. With years of party experience behind him Christian has deflected gate crashers with style. He can do this and be cool. He has had his moments but tonight he is Saint Christian. I go to bed.
2 a.m I get up again as riot on landing (upstairs is out of bounds). Honi’s two friends are wide awake. I wish one of them was not a teacher’s child. I also reflect that if these 35 kids were handpicked I am glad that I am not spending the night with the remaining 215.
5 a.m I am dozing fitfully when Tim comes to bed. He says that he and Christian have cleared up –yeah!
8.30 a.m I get up. Tim and Christian have done a pretty amazing job. Things could be worse. The doorbell rings, it is Honi’s friend’s father – not ideal as we are not exactly ready for open house.
8.45 a.m Two bleary eyed girls clutching croissants and orange juice make their way out of the front door. I stand making idle chit chat, trying to divert attention from the Joules deck chair which was used by bouncer Christian, as it appears to be covered in vomit.
10 a.m I am trying to put all thoughts of after prom party behind me and prepare for Honi’s tetrathlon competition. Honi and I have planned to ride but the tack is in the horse box and I can’t find the key.
11. a.m. Still no sign of key. I ring Honi’s friends as the last time I remember seeing it was when I handed it to girls before going to get ready for party and cook pasta.
1 p.m I have looked in every pocket, on every hook, under every bed and rung poor aforementioned friends at least five times. I am going mad. We do not have a spare. I ring the garage – it will take at least a week to get one.
1.30 p.m I am still ranting about missing key when Saint Christian surfaces. It is in his room. He used it to get the Joules deck chair from the horse box. Did I give it to him?. Either way, he has been demoted back to human status.