wendy house

At 3.30pm, I wandered into the deserted St. Ia bar.  The young bar staff who took my order for a cream tea asked:

“are you a party?”

yes please, thankyou

It was the sort of party where the men wore ironed shirts, ties and jackets. When a new guest walked into the room everyone stood up and rearranged themselves so that the more senior people in the room were sure to have a seat, with no fuss. The host constantly circulated checking and filling people’s glasses and making sure they were introduced to people nearby. I was glad I’d taken the trouble to wear my smarter clothes, a tailored boating jacket over white Jaeger jeans

As the amazingly perky 90 year old lady next to me showed me the plaster cast of her broken wrist and listed other recently broken bones she  smiled, adding that she was glad I was wearing slacks too. The chirpiness of her conversation was contageoius, and inspiring given the clear deterioration of her body

A Magician moved from table to table, playing a range of tricks and gently encouraging guest to talk with those people near them.  He wore a black suit with pink pink shirt, tie and pinstripes. I watched the magician, found out how other people knew the hosts,  mingled…

It was a real pleasure to be part of this civilised event, so different from informal parties hosted by my peers

Today I’m carefully hand-writing the hosts a heartfelt thankyou letter

The Wendy House housewaring anniversary is always accompanied by much excitement and clucking around in chicken like chaos. This year has not been an exception. Even the local wildlife wants to get involved.

Something, or someone, has improvised a cat-door in the garden gate to prepare for the frenzied comings and goings. There will be bouncers at the gate, providing instructions on how to bounce safely, a first-aid cat will be offering first-class purring and warm poltices. A log fire will be available on demand for any freak cold-snaps and extra kettle-boiling duties incase the lashings of tea fail to keep up with guests enthusiasm, god forbid!

There’s a high risk of a break in my blogging resulting from over-excitement due to the fun and games, parking chaos in a permit-only zone and excessive bounce-related falling-over

Person At Party In Garden (PAPIG): is [chap] coming to the party?

Wendy:   I don’t know,   I think he might be out of the country,   he was in Australia on Monday

PAPIG:   is he YOUR man?

Wendy: (calmly spills drink over wasp while gatheirng composure)…no, he’s not my man…

PAPIG: I thought that was strange…   …I mean,   your man being out of the country

Wendy: Oh (signifying a brain-stall prompted by the assumption that I possess a man that is averse to leaving  the country)

Words of wisdom from  an almost stranger*.  in this case Flat Eric during an annual office party:

“Jagermeister chaser”

I didn’t follow this tip.    I’m just not ‘Kewl’ enough to be able to imbibe strong alcohol frequently over a whole evening,   night, morning… like the other dudes.   I did manage my maximum binge-drink consumption of 3 pints of the  ex-local brew  stones bitter  before taking this photograph, realising my total wobbliness,  and sneaking away to crisp white cotton hotel sheets,   much like those supplied by Jacksons to the Wendy House.   Love those sheets.   Clearly I haven’t got the English office party skill fully cracked.     I did manage not to fall over,   quite an achievement by personal standards.

* Past tips provided by Alan the hairdresser.   Lucia the hairdresser, an anonymous  manicurist, a Jackson’s sales assistant, a bus stop philanthropist, a mini salesman, Windows Network Diagnostics  and Reading Police.

Words of wisdom from  an almost stranger*.  in this case Windows Network Diagnostics:

When planning your party make sure you employ communicative DNS servers to hand-out the canopes and if your host is being a bit remote,   just ping him a bit and he’ll deliver cuddles all round.

*  past tips provided by Alan the hairdresser.   Lucia the hairdresser, an anonymous  manicurist, a Jackson’s sales assistant, a bus stop philanthropist, a mini salesman, a neighbour  and Reading Police

My Seattle leaving do was full of a hand-picked set of local characters that  I’ve met  through blogging, tea parties, being a Lecturer in a past life, and being taken to bizarre mountain getways surrounded by gnomes and melon-eating hyennas (you had to be there).   LaCroix and I were able to indulge our predelictions for Bass ale,   while others drank iced tea,   all around it was a stonker!   One of the girls that arranged this party  had also attended my ‘leaving the UK’ party in April 2000!  

By the end of the excellent  evening everything was slightly fuzzy.    I had to hold onto the patriotic balloons in order to maintain a standard  upright position.   The infamous grin was on full display all evening.