No amount of description can really do justice to the sounds, sights, odours and fever-pitch insanity that constitutes the child's birthday party. So, here are the edited highlights of Molly's party. Think of them as frantic dispatches from a battleground littered with the remains of stood-on fairy cakes and burst balloons.
14:00 Guests assembled in artfully distressed reception room.
14:04 Locals overcome by Rachael’s shining loveliness.
14:05 Jody snaps at small child who says room needs decorated.
14:06 Parent of small child apologises grovellingly to Jody.
14:15 Games kick off with musical statues.
14:22 Richard claims his team has won despite fact that he clearly moved a bit.
14:25 Musical chairs. Candy and Richard have stand-up row over sit-down game.
14:26 Candy requests that any watching parents hand over digital camera footage of incident that sparked row.
14:27 Candy’s team independently adjudicated to have won.
14:30 Pass the Parcel. Small boy named Ronald repeatedly refuses to pass on present. Glen offers to set up team-building workshop.
14:33 Ronald sick.
14:33-14:38 Several other children sick.
14:40 Teatime.
14:41 V opens first bottle of cava discreetly in kitchen.
14:50 Lights down, birthday cake with candles brought in for Molly. Molly cries. V cries. Jody cries. Other adults go ‘ahh’. Ronald blows out candles. Molly stands on Ronald’s foot. Ronald cries. Molly told off. Adults secretly support Molly’s actions.
15:00 Face-painting corner opens for business.
15:01 Queue of 12 children forms immediately.
15:04 Realise I am rubbish at face painting. Watch enviously as V, Jody, Ian, Candy, Glen, Richard and Rachael swan around, chatting to locals and drinking cava.
15:05 Child named Sam demands that I draw cat on face.
15:15 Queue lengthens. Cat failing to happen.
15.18 Disquiet in queue attracting concerned parents.
15.20 Sam calls me ‘loser’, stabs me in face with crayon. Eye hurts.
15.22 Sam taken to corner of room by lovely Rachael, told off surprisingly harshly, made to feel ashamed, starts crying. Good.
15.24 V wanders over to help with face painting. Laughs, walks away. Returns with large glass of cava.
15.25 V befriends tiny grinning child called Mimi.
15.35 Start to get hang of face painting. Lions, spiders, Batman etc. Queue shortens.
15.37 Inquisitive child discovers bulb planting area. Demands instant help with planting bulb.
15.39 Rush over, lie about type of bulb, fill pot with earth using hands, leave child to it. Dash back to face-painting.
15.40 Get mud on Mimi’s nose while painting face. Tears bring V running over. V consoles Mimi, gives me lecture, then gives me the baby look.
15.42 More customers at bulb planting corner. Realise I suck at multi-tasking.
15.45 More games. Watch from sidelines/drink cava as small children attempt to memorise items placed on a tray and presented by Glen.
15.48 Children mutiny.
15.49 Richard suggests British Bulldogs. Euphoric children move outside.
16.00 Game begins. Mass tears. Glen offers to set up triage point for injured children. Richard wanders off smoking cigar and muttering about harsh conditions at prep school.
16.02 Concerned parents make excuses and leave with children. V tearfully bids Mimi farewell, demands that I impregnate her (V) tonight.
16.05 Richard opens several bottles of cava plus bottle of absinthe, rendering successful impregnation of V unlikely.
Once coats are fetched and designer goody bags that wouldn’t be that out of place at the Baftas are presented to departing children, V, me, Jody, Ian, Glen, Candy, Richard and Rachael gather around the kitchen table to drink and eat what remains of the party food. Next door, a hardcore phalanx of around 10 of Jody and Ian’s new local mates is chatting. There is little in the way of cross-border traffic, both groups being as isolated as mutually wary neighbouring countries.
“I think that went rather well, if I say so myself,” says Jody through a mouthful of fairy cake.
“Weren’t they cute,” says V.
“Adorable,” agrees Jody. “You need to get yourself one girl.”
“I know!” says V, leaning across the table and hugging Jody.
“So Jody. What's the deal with these new mates of yours?"
Ian is about to say something bitchy when Lorraine, the purple-favouring redhead, appears at the kitchen door clutching a glass of red wine.
“Mind if I join you?” she asks. For a moment, just beneath the general chorus of “Of course!" and "Grab a chair!”, I fancy I can discern “No! Back to your own kind!”
Lorraine muscles in on the chat as more bottles of wine are opened, sausage rolls (not actual supper: Ian and Jody are notoriously parsimonious) are dispensed and various other locals gradually make their way through to the kitchen attracted by the sound of us lot having witty, informative conversation. There is also the fact that all the booze is in here, as well as the Aga, and the rest of the house is bloody freezing.
Over the next few hours I enjoy a series of conversations about Why London is Shit Apart from Tate Modern; How the Countryside is Groovier Than People Give Credit For (they have lock-ins there, apparently, which never happens in London) and, of course, Whether or Not V and Me Should Have Children. All accompanied by the strains of the latest Zero 7 album, naturally.
At one point I find myself being talked at, at length, by a character called Charlie, who looks like a slightly stoned and sleazy Catweazle. He's telling me how great it is to take drugs. Great.
Jody comes bounding over and saves me. With her is a stick-thin woman with a rictus grin. She's fashionably dressed and consequently could pass for a 16-year-old crackhead prostitute. Rocking a vampiric vibe, she looks like something Peter Cushing would try to drive a stake through.
“Have you met Maria? She’s my editor at JOY!”
Jody is to write a column for JOY! called 'Arcadian Rhapsody', all about moving out of London to - gasp! - the other bit of Britain.
"Hi," says Maria wanly, extending a limp, cold hand.
"Hey. Nice to meet you," I reply.
"I've heard a lot about you," says Maria with a coy smile.
"Really?" I'm confused.
“yeah. You’re the ones who can't decide whether to have kids, right? You and V?”
“Um, well, that’s right. Have we met?”
“No no no. Jody's written about you in her column. Hilarious stuff. I’ve been reading a proof of the trial column. Our readers are gonna love you guys.”
I turn round just in time to see Jody striding rapidly towards the kitchen door.
Comments