It's a bank holiday, we are British, that clearly means 2 things, 1 - it will rain and 2 -we will attempt at a BBQ. That's the joy of us Brits, one ray of sunshine and we are outside, shorts and sunnies on firing up a BBQ quicker than you can say sausages. So as the bank holiday weekend fast approaches, complete with a forecast of rain, I find myself caught in a BBQ planning frenzy. The occasion, as if we needed one, was the boys birthday. Now the first challenge with planning a party of any sorts is how to invite people. Long gone are the days your mum would take you to Woolworths to pick out the invites that you would lovingly write out to every member of your class. No longer is it socially acceptable to use MySpace to grab your friends attention (sooooo last season darling!) e-mails seem a bit too formal (your boss sends emails) and texting seems a bit too informal (great for I'm running late, not so much for future planning). After much debate and discussion it seems creating a Facebook event is the only way forward in this area. This is great, unless you’re a techno phoebe like me. Now admittedly the boy created the said event on Facebook and I was merely made an Admin. A what?! Yep that was my reaction too. So having decided how to contact your guests the next step is which guests. Easy enough I thought. Lovely work colleagues, check! Great circle of friends from all walks of life, check! Fab lifelong friends, check! But when we sat down to make the list we found guest list etiquette was the next problem. Guest lists, it seems, quickly become who's who of make ups, break ups and fall outs. After several fraught evenings compiling a guest list with me secretly wishing for an era where Woolies and your favourite felt-tip ruled the process and the boy trying to get the lap top to work we looked at the final cut. Most of who we had invited weren't even on Facebook. The irony. So eventually invites were sent and we could relax for a few days. Or so I thought. After the invites are sent comes an anxiety that no one will reply. A dread grows that these carefully selected friends can’t make it, that we will look like we have no friends, that we have accidently invited people mid feud. It’s exhausting! Finally the replies slowly trickle in and the list of confirmed guests grows, phew!
Next comes the super market sweep, a mad dash grabbing as much as you can, whilst you’re completely consumed with a total fear that there will not be enough for everyone to eat or drink. Suddenly the bumper pack of 12 different types of hummus seems an essential buy as are the bread sticks, peanuts and funny little cracker tings. Why is it always as your piling on enough food to feed a third world country on to the check out that you realise you have forgotten a vegetarian option? This leads to another panic and it’s the 2 minute dash in stilettos to try and find something veggie that is slightly more inspiring than a Quorn sauage.
Home and alone with the super market haul, it’s a quick attempt to decant said hummus et al into dishes and bowls in some feeble attempt to pass off the shop bought stuff for a homemade effort. Salad is thrown tres casually into a pretty bowl and even the most kitchen challenged of us can throw crusty bread into a basket. In another attempt to appear like a domestic goddess, I donned my Cath Kidston apron and made desserts (actually from scratch!) and managed to rustle up a quick brushetta. With the kitchen table heaving with food all that’s left to is to have a quick outfit change in to a pretty Whistles number and the first of the guests arrive. And breathe....
Later as I sit among friends, large vino in hand everyone is laughing, eating and chatting, I look around, reflecting on the past few hours and feel content. Despite the chaos, shopping trauma’s and a cake with a sunken centre (thank goodness for icing!) I’m with friends who I know would be here however sunken the cake is. It’s not about the amount of money the food cost, the hours it took to make it or the stresses of organising causes, it’s the quality of friends that matters. The type of friends who kindly push the wrappers in the bins down so no one can see the hummus isn’t homemade, who politely eat the cake and declare its lovely even when its clearly not, but most importantly the kind of friends who will help you bring it all in from the rain! Bring on the British BBQ!!
Happy Bank Holidays Ladies xX
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