But I'm soldiering on, as we women do, finding the strength to go to yet another local hostelry for more celebratory munchies. This time is was for my nephew Wormy's birthday. He was 27 this week, and although now a strapping young man with a gorgeous girlfriend and a place of his own, I still remember those lovely days when I was very involved in his very early years. I used to babysit for Miss R on occasions when Wormy was very small, and I have fond memories of teaching him to point out a rather large gorilla in a book after I'd asked him which one was mummy. All this in the space of an hour, so you can see he was a very quick learner.
I had suggested a birthday lunch just after Christmas tailed off. It's always good to have something to look forward to, which is why I am glad that his birthday is in January, as it gives us an excuse to all get together and eat more food. There were sixteen of us at the pub yesterday. I'm not saying that the table was long, but the husband and Mrs Jangles, who were at the opposite end of the table to me, were in a different time zone which made conversation a bit tricky.
There were no balloons this time which was a bit of a relief. If you'll remember, I got the job of carrying the large numerical balloons last year, and got mistaken for a 62 year old. At the age of 53, I can sort of cope with that, but as he is now twenty seven, any misinterpretation of my age would be a cause for concern. Never mind '10 Years Younger', I would be more like '10 Years Older and Looking every Minute Of It'. But it was a lovely lunch surrounded by those I love, and ended in the obligatory manner.
With a couple of Colins...
Now, if you have no idea what I am talking about, Colin the Caterpillar is an institution in our family. A chocolate caterpillar with a white chocolate face and feet, he's the 'go-to' cake for any celebration. Miss R had to buy two yesterday, as one would have never have been enough, and the two of them sat side by side, with enough candles burning to ensure that the pub could turn the thermostat down a couple of degrees if they close to.
For some reason, I always get the job of cutting the cake up. This is probably down to the fact that I used to make cakes for a living, and there's the crux of the matter.. I MADE them, I never cut them up. Anyway, this explains why there were big bits and small bits, some with feet, some without. I must have done something right though, as all that was left at the end of the meal was one of Colin's bottoms.
The Father polished this off when the rest of us were ensconced in an interesting conversation about trapped wind. We are a classy lot, but as Terry Wogan used to say 'It's not the trapped wind you want to worry about, it's the other stuff'.
Coming back home, I wondered whose birthday was next. It is the husband's, but as that's not till March, I may have to invent another celebration to get us all together again.
Better get thinking...