Tonight:
9°c
I'VE been to some terrifying parties. I remember once, at Donatella Versace's, being so shell-shocked by the sight of Madonna, George Lucas and Prince in the same room that I was too scared to pee. But no party could ever be more terrifying than the one I am throwing for my daughter's third birthday. At home!
Vague memories of my own childhood parties conjure musical bumps and wonkily iced cake. But that was in the Seventies. Now, according to just about everyone, I should be hiring a children's entertainer, a bouncy castle and a chef. It is not enough for our Pass the Parcel to have one present nestled underneath the final layer: now every layer must spawn a gift. Who knows: perhaps the Government has passed a law claiming that Pass the Parcel discriminates against those children not blessed with the psychic powers to know when the music will stop.
I am determined not to spoil my child but already I worry that my daughter may not be able to distinguish between her birthday and any other day. Gifts seem to arrive throughout the year: a result, perhaps, of both sets of doting grandmothers living so far away. To stop the madness, and with apologies to our guests, this is one party that is going to be a humble affair. We have capitulated on Pass the Parcel, but the entertainment will be amateur (some singing/some funny hats) and the food will be sarnies and a wonky cake. God, I wish I wasn't so nervous.
* “RAZOR throat” is the latest bug to strike London. After suffering for five days, I did what any sensible person would do, and went to the pub. Everyone knows that beer is just a throat sweet in liquid form. Unfortunately, my pint tasted like rather like one, too. What is this trend for four per cent lager? I rejected Becks Vier (geddit?) some time ago, on the basis that it tasted horrid compared to the five per cent original. But I thought I'd give Stella four per cent a try. One word: eeeeew. As a drink, it's vile. As a way to curb binge drinking, it's genius. One pint and you'll be dying to head home for a refreshing cup of tea.
* I'M too old to be dancing around the playground to Umbrella, but if I was 12, I would love that song even more than I do now. But isn't it funny how a singer can put you off a song? I never could listen to Beat It by Michael Jackson in quite the same way once the dark heart of Neverland was revealed, and now, whenever I hear Umbrella, all I can think about is a silly girl who thought it was cool to get a gun tattoo. Oh, Rihanna. A Celtic symbol, I could have countenanced, but a gun? That was a move almost as stupid as staying with your boyfriend.
