G is for Great Expectations.
Hmm. Anyone who knows me of old will be aware that I have made great strides in the cooking department. However, those same people might also raise an eyebrow at the thought of me catering for about 20+ people. Expectations of my culinary efforts in the past have been modest. Any one who came to dinner in London would expect me to open a bottle of Cava and a jar of pesto. And er, perhaps another bottle of Cava.
Yet, this Saturday I have invited about ten kids and their parents to a birthday party for Bibsey. The theme is Fairies and Dinosaurs. I have approached the party planning in much the same way I approach a bikini diet. I start planning so far in advance that I tell myself that I cannot possibly fail and then do nothing NOTHING until days before the event.
You see, I always have great expectations of myself. I am after all an intelligent, resourceful women who comes from a long line of great cooks. Why wouldn’t I be able to cope? No reason except that no body should try to run before they can walk.
There is much bravado on the blog about what a rubbish housewife I am. I find more mileage in my blunders than my successes on the domestic front and I have a reputation to maintain. I have never for example been tempted to post a recipe on the blog. But come back for the letter M next Monday and you will see how the mighty clueless in the kitchen have risen. I’ve made some rather spectacular marmalade you see.
If only I could just feed the party guests marmalade, then I would have nothing to blog nor worry about. This is not a cry for help by the way. I am awash with advice. All of it solicited and welcome. But now I am at sea with too many great ideas and a thousand lists of the shopping, cooking and to-do variety. I have cakes to bake and decorate, music and games to organise and as if all this weren’t enough to keep us in employment Bibsey is unwell, pobrecita, and I need to dye by effing hair. Rant ranty rant.
It’s rather as if I was the first woman ever to have had to pull her finger out isn’t it? I am blogging from A to Z throughout the month of April and pulling my hair out at the grey roots. Please ignore me.
