It has been a Day.
I am just having a quick write at this before the ball, because I suspect that afterwards I might not be in quite such a state of vibrant creativity.
Mark is standing at the end of the bed, busily trying to pin himself into cuff links and wing collar, my job will be to tie the bow tie in a few minutes. I think I can remember how to do it, it will be embarrassing if not.
The girls have just rung from their room wondering if I have got any hairspray. Obviously, since my hair is about an inch long, I haven’t, and they told me I was a failed parent.
I think I can live with myself.
We seem to have been drinking and talking all day. I am very relieved to discover that my ball dress is bigger than I thought it was, because I do not have the emotional energy left to squeeze myself into anything like a corset, and would just have hidden under the bed or better, put a dressing gown on and spent the evening playing Call Of Duty with Oliver and Ritalin Boy. They have been issued with crisps and pizzas and apple juice and lemon muffins and told that they are on their own.
Speech Day was, as always, ace, but probably the best because of it being the last. We started the day with the obligatory bellowing of Jerusalem, and some words of wisdom from the chaplain, who always makes me laugh, and then it was the speeches.
This was lovely, in the gorgeous flower-filled marquee, We sat in the front, in the special section reserved for Upper Sixth parents, and watched the girls, like flowers themselves, smiling in their beautiful dresses as they crossed the platform. They have been practising walking in high heels for a couple of days, and it paid off, because no necks were broken.
Mary Berry spoke, and of course we loved it, but the show was utterly stolen by the Head Girl, whose speech was just brilliant. She was the jolliest-hockey-sticks sort of girl, and she made us laugh, and then cry, and in the end received a standing ovation. I have not seen this happen to a speaker at a school speech day before, but she absolutely deserved it.
We tottered over to Cloisters lawn for lunch.
This was superb.
When a catering staff are expecting Mary Berry for lunch, they try really very hard indeed, and I have got no superlatives that will do justice to the magnificent buffet that awaited us. We filled our plates with canapés and fresh salmon and crusty bread and little pies made from sausage meat and cranberries.
On the tables were crisp white cloths, set with pomegranate and elderflower water, and lovely wines.
We ate and ate.
THE DAY PART TWO
I abandoned this there to tie a bow tie and to swirl off in a rustle of skirts, and I am now in bed.
It is all over.
I have danced so much that I can hardly walk.
There was a jazz band and drinks on the terrace, and then dinner in the marquee.
I am not as drunk as I might be, possibly because I have danced it off, but possibly because I was talking too much to refill my glass. We were joined for dinner by another family whom we like very much, and I talked so much I almost forgot to eat, which would have been a tragedy, because I didn’t actually forget to eat and I can tell you that it was ace.
It was the sort of dinner that looks beautiful on the plate because of being piled up in the middle of a swirl of sauce.This sauce was made of liquidised peas. When I told Oliver about this he remembered that for their camping trip, Son Of Oligarch had wanted to spend his entire food budget on mushy peas, which are his favourite. This actually caused the teacher to abandon his policy of non-intervention and insist that nobody was going to purchase twelve pounds worth of tins of mushy peas. No matter what.
I digress.
The dinner was ace, and afterwards we danced.
We danced until midnight, and it was lovely. Parents and grandparents and teenagers filled the dance floor, and I don’t think I have ever seen so many truly smiling faces.
My feet hurt so much that I can hardly bear to stand up.
I am desperate to sleep.
I will see you tomorrow.
