Monday, 26 March 2007


It was my first ever grown up party, the pressure of catering for a grand total of ten people had addled my brain a little and my perception was ever so slightly distorted

I could see people enjoying the food, I could see their lips moving but I couldn’t quite hear what they were talking about. I tried, harder, to take the chat in, so that I could do the same. To my horror I (mis) heard :

‘Will there be a buffet at the next party?’

WHAT? Another party? More to the point ANOTHER BUFFET?

I’d been planning this buffet for a month. I’d carefully sourced the ingredients and components to ensure that the highest standards were achieved. I’d made numerous trips to various stores and supermarkets that morning, ensuring that everything was as fresh as it could have been. I had considered the cheese board in minute detail, the presentation of the food was just as important as the flavors, and one too many cheeses of a similar hue could render the whole course bland. And nothing would disappoint me more than an overlooked cheese board….except for all my guests departing for ANOTHER BUFFET at another party.

I drifted out of the room for the privacy of the kitchen, where I stood, gazing out of the window so that no-one else could see my quivering bottom lip.

No amount of cajoling would convince me to go back into the party. No amount of reasoning or rationality would ratify the emotional hubbub brought on by the pressure of the occasion itself and my confusion about the OTHER BUFFET at the other party. Tears had to be shed for me to regain some clarity and to rejoin the party and shed they were.

Now back to my usual self. We gathered together to play ‘PUB QUIZ’.

Neither team were doing particularly better than the other, the pace was slowed considerably by the quiz master having to do some fairly extensive research to find the answer to each question once it had been asked. My interest in the game wavered slightly and I went to pay a visit. However, once inside the loo, I heard a question that I knew the answer to. I could hear my team uhming and ahhing and potentially loosing a point so I pulled myself together as quickly as I could a ran back in to the party shouting ‘Chekov, Chekov, the answer is Chekov’. My feet, now deliciously soft from the reflexology, were still very slightly slippery. As my oily feet made contact with the nylon carpet the force of my enthusiastic entrance sent my feet sliding out from underneath me and straight up into the air. In slow motion I seemed to hover for a moment, now horizontal, four feet off the ground. The people in the party slowly turned towards me, registering what was happening there was silence and a stillness, their mouths hung open in a mixture of horror and amazement. An anticipatory moment passed… and then I plummeted to the ground.


my mum winds me up something chronic said...

that was a good one - me liked

Anna said...

oh that was the funniest thing ever - we all felt awful for laughing in case you had hurt your bottie but all was well as you were laughing like a drain your self. I do feel rather guilty though cos it was me that I had rubbed the oil on for your reflexology - mind you, it was YOU who drew YOUR OWN NAME out of the hat we used to decide who would be the lucky recipient of said reflexology! Thank you very much for the tea and bun this afternoon - it was a particularly smashing cup of tea and the bun was similarly marvellous. The fish and chips at Nash's were fantastic but a might overpriced we thought.

Anna said...

oooh, hee hee - I should have read that before I published it cos it reads as if I as in me had rubbed the oil on MYSELF for the reflexology, har har. For those who were not there I mean: it was ME that had rubbed the oil on NORTHERN CREATIVE's feet. Lordy lordy lordy