In the past year, Oliver has attended over thirty children’s parties. With presents costing such a lot this has proved an expensive pastime. Not only that, but it seems that every weekend a large slice is taken out of either Saturday or Sunday while one or other of us accompanies our little ‘it’ boy to yet another social event. At any one time a whole kitchen cupboard door is covered with invitations. Obviously I am delighted that Olly has such a busy social life, but as his Personal Assistant, the thrill of attending yet another church hall to jump up and down to the frenzied commands of the entertainer, is wearing a little thin. And as for the entertainers, well that term really should be used advisedly. Though I have seen two or three great ones, the dubious chaps that parade their talents before our dazed little darlings seem to break down into three categories. First there are the ‘Whip ‘em up into a frenzy’ brigade, then there’s the ‘I’m doing this because I didn’t make it in showbiz’ crew, and finally the ‘this is what I learnt to do in rehab in prison’ fellows.
To my mind the ‘frenzy’ chaps are the worst. They usually seem to be employed at the parties with the most kids and the least space. You can tell there’s going to be trouble because insults are usually exchanged from the off. These comprise smelly socks references and kids behind told they look like big bananas. As soon as you see an entertainer with several kids hanging off their arms be prepared for a manic moment or two. The children surge around en masse, generally with the smaller ones getting trodden underfoot. More cautious children stay on the periphery, clinging to parents, making entreaties to depart soon. Others join in but watching their faces you can see their uncertainty. And in the middle of the mosh pit are the real thrill seekers. Often hanging round each other’s necks. Once a complete riot has been incited, the kids are filled with the obligatory number of additives and chocolate and sent packing. I return from these parties feeling jaded and resentful, as if there isn’t enough aggro in my house already without Oliver being jettisoned into commando mode for the rest of the afternoon.
Then there are the entertainers who feel that they should be at the London Palladium not having to deal with a bunch of kids with no appreciation of their talent. They always sport a hang-dog expression and moan a lot during their act. I’ve seen them complain about the noise of the bouncy castle, moan at the kids for not sitting still (these are three and four year olds mind) and make excuses for the failure of their tricks. These miseries are interestingly, often the ones with the sunniest sounding monikers.
Lastly are the roguish, rehabs. I’ve seen two of these, both resplendent in tattoos mentioning either their mum or some dear and no doubt deceased mate, and a good smattering of cockney patter. To my mind these two chaps were reasonably entertaining, but you did wonder about their ‘previous’ and whether the kids would come away with stuff lifted from parents’ pockets rather than balloon animals.
I know I shouldn’t complain, because the parties are often beautifully catered with lots of food and drinks for the mums and the children are occupied for a couple of hours, but I wonder at the sense of having such big parties for such little children. I’m sure we didn’t start having parties till we were 7 or 8 and even then they were modest affairs. With these tiny children having parties with 30 odd attendees, entertainers, discos, helium balloons, themed teas and fabulous going home presents, how are the parents going to top it?
Meanwhile we have Princess Billie’s birthday in December and I wonder what the alternative to a party might be. I fancy a doll’s tea party (at least it would be quiet), but I suppose I will have a few smalls round to pop balloons and smear jelly on the sofa. And since Bill has joined the party circuit I now enjoy the dubious pleasure of being regaled by various shapes and sizes of Fairy entertainers; who genuinely expect you to keep a straight face whilst standing there, fifty if they’re a day, resplendent in laddered tights and crooked wings. Most of the children sit in appalled silence as these creatures from the fairy kingdom cavort about sprinkling glitter, sorry fairy dust. Still at least when these dear ladies start singing you really know that the party is over.
Quote of the week:
My sister phoning me after her 12 week nuchal scan (she’s due three weeks before me, second baby)
“Jules, hi, it’s identical twins.” ….to be contd.
NEXT INSTALMENT: MORNING SICKNESS DEPENDENT
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