Party queen...

So let's do the checklist for the perfect party, shall we?

Birthday Boy - Very excited about bagged presents on specially assigned table. 
Venue - Beautifully presented.  Cold when we arrived, husband turned all radiators on, temperature perfect for seventeen minutes after which room took on the feel of standing at the front door of hell.  Husband sallied forth to turn all radiators off, and much time was spent on the balcony cooling down
Speech - Funny, emotional and short (as requested), even though Miss R decided to ad lib somewhat
Cake - A feat of magical design which tasted as good as it looked
Disco - Not so brilliant as on a volume restrictor. Interesting choice of vibes (1970's glam rock)
Karaoke - Veered between astonishing and excruciating.  Could've done with volume restrictor (see Disco)
Drink - Too much, too often, too free.
Dancing - Frantic with an element of 80's throwback (Miss R), Tiger Feet (also Miss R) and lap dancer (yes, you guessed, her again).

So a success all round I think, thanks to the organisational prowess of Miss R.  We had a great night, and so did our dad, who loves to be surrounded by his family, especially when they are carrying gift bags.

At the end of the party, our four decided to 'go on' to a club.  When they realised that an element of queuing in the torrential rain was involved, daughter number two who has hair which definitely doesn't count the wet stuff as a friend, decided that home was a better option.  They all trundled into a mini bus and headed home, getting to our front door about five minutes before the husband and me.  The picture which greeted us was one I shan't forget in a hurry.  Daughter number two, who was so worried about getting her hair wet, was hopping from foot to foot, screaming at the top of her voice that we needed to open the door as she needed a pee.  Silly girl, she'll realise as she gets older that all journeys are planned around a comfort stop.  I went before we embarked on the seven minute drive home.  Well, you can't be too careful, can you?

I was up bright and early on Sunday morning and looked around my house in despair.  You see, the trouble with having visiting adult children, is that they turn up like mini tornadoes, wreaking havoc wherever they go.  There were clothes, coats, shoes, empty Jaffa Cake tubes (drink=munchies with daughter number two in particular) and half drunk glasses of water everywhere. But the upside is that they tend to take everything back with them (except the empty Jaffa Cake tubes, that would be stupid) so once the general exodus started early evening, I was able to see the worktops again, which was reassuring.

I always gauge how good a night was by the amount of pain I'm in the following morning.  Although my head was fine, my knees were hurling abuse at each other and overnight, someone had swapped my legs over, such was the way I crabbed down the stairs.  But it was my feet which were the worst.  Every step felt like I was walking on glass, and two toes on my right foot seemed to have fused together overnight.  Oh the joy of a stiletto heel...

It must have been a good night, that's all I'm going to say...


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