I unpack the shopping bag in which are crammed the various white table cloths I loaned for the purpose of Our Jack's Family Party. Literally hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces of black and silver confetti shower out
all over my kitchen floor. "18" winks up at me from here, there and everywhere. Plus a few "81s" which have, incongruously, landed upside down.
It is a lovely reminder of Sunday's special occasion - though
experience tells me I may find myself remembering for several months to come, party confetti being amazingly resistant to dustpan and brush.
As well as the laundry, I have arrived home with a few more important
tasks to perform. Foremost among these is to book pantomime tickets for my (Not So Little) Welsh Boys, now that I know for sure when we will be seeing them over Christmas. Unfortunately the local pantomime is "Cinderella" (oh, yes, it is!) which I just know
would not be the boys' Pantomime of Choice. These boys of mine are not keen on anything which could be considered even vaguely "girly" - that modern favourite, "Frozen", for example, leaves them, well, cold.
year we took them to see a Christmas Show which was magical enough to appeal to the Darling Daughter-in-Law and me, but with enough laugh out loud moments to please the boys. One of my favourite memories of that occasion was the very end of the show when "snow"
- properly cold and wet - floated down from the ceiling of the theatre. My son, daughter in law and I all had our smiling faces turned upwards to catch the falling flakes; all three boys, by contrast, immediately busied themselves pulling on hats, coats and
Before I can get down to All Things Christmas, however, I have an interview to attend. I am a member of a team of three who need to convince the powers that be that we are the very best organisation
to deliver a contract to provide infrastructure services to local voluntary and community sector organisations in the future. "What's that?" I hear you say, "Haven't you given up being a Working Gal?" There's work, and then there's work - that's all I can
say. It's strange, indeed, to find myself on the other side of the fence. Tomorrow we will know if we have been successful or not but we Did Our Best which, as my dear Mum would always tell me, is all anyone can do.
It doesn't leave much time for everything I'd planned to do today but I have (i) packed up two parcels ready for posting; (ii) ordered eight musical crackers to enliven our Christmas Dinner; (iii) displayed almost all the Christmas cards which have
arrived so far on colourful string stretching across the ceiling; and (iv) printed off letters to be enclosed with Christmas cards whenever I get round to writing them. Everyone else at Sunday's Family Party had come prepared with cards to distribute, cleverly
saving 54p per card in postage. Why didn't I think of that? I, who pride myself on Being Prepared?
Just before I leave for a meeting to prepare for the interview, I receive a text from the Middle of the Darling
Daughters. The younger of The Twinkles, Lilia, our Sweet Girl, is in A & E struggling with bronchiolitis. I feel such a very long way away. "Let me know if you need me to come..." I text back.
prepare for a party, for an interview, for a pantomime outing, for Christmas Celebrations. It's the unforeseen which you can't prepare for, which takes you unawares like a blow to the heart.
Our Sweet Girl
seems a little better tonight. Her mother is watching her like the proverbial hawk. All I can do is to be at the end of a phone.
Prepared to be wherever I need to be. Christmas or no Christmas.