Yesterday the Middle of the Darling Daughters celebrated her 50th birthday. Again.
I’m not casting aspersions because,
as you know, I am a firm believer in the mantra “Why have one birthday celebration, when you could have two. If not more.” Last week, our daughter celebrated at our house with a cake adorned with dolly mixtures, chocolate buttons and mushroom shaped
sweets by three heavy-handed cake decorators aka The Rampaging Rascals - while yesterday was her Black and Bling celebration, involving a stretch limo, cocktails, a restaurant meal and clubbing. Ten years ago she marked her 40th birthday with a Wonderwoman
theme and all her guests dressed up as that ultimate Exponent of Girl Power. Black and Bling sounds rather more grown-up and glitzy and doesn’t involve wearing knee high red plastic boots.
You are wondering where I was while this was going on because you know that I can’t abide missing out on anything. However I have to concede that my clubbing days are long gone - even though granddaughter Hazel’s
boyfriend, Harry, is constantly urging me to join him in a night spent clubbing. It would be interesting, indeed, to see his face if I ever plucked up the courage to call his bluff…
So, no, I wasn’t there in person - but I was there in, well, the form of a cake.
It’s not that the cake baked by me and decorated
with such love and complete disregard for anything approaching style by the Trio, wasn’t a triumph. The Middle of the Darling Daughters affirmed that it was quite the best birthday cake she had ever seen. It was not, however, as splendid as the cake
I bought for her elder sister, when she celebrated her fiftieth birthday a year ago - and there wasn’t so much as a measly morsel left over to feed the Black and Bling crowd.
I consulted my good friends Mr Marks and Mr Spencer and they came up with a cake with a truly magnificent amount of “bling”. It wasn’t black, don’t be silly, can you imagine a black cake, as in, would anyone
want to eat it? It was, however, a fetching shade of grey and in the shape of a hat which would grace the Royal Enclosure at Ascot though, being a cake, albeit a hat-shaped one, it might be a trifle tricky to keep it on one’s head and would be heavy
enough to give the wearer a right headache.
I plotted with the Eldest of the Darling Daughters over the collection of the hat / cake from a store near to
where she lives and she undertook to deliver the cake at the start of the celebrations which were kicking off at the Birthday Girl’s home. She sent me a photo on collection with the promise of more to follow.
So, yes, I was there in the form of a cake as they supped prosecco and chatted about the fun everyone was going to have. I was there in the stretch limo, with all the girls plus My Boy who simply couldn’t be left out,
being a guaranteed Life And Soul of the Party. We were singing along to ABBA songs. Mamma Mia!
I was there in the restaurant, too, where they stuck candles in
my bonnet and sang Happy Birthday to my beautiful girl. Then they ate me…
The Youngest of the Darling Daughters told me later that she managed to fall down
the steps into the Night Club where they finished off the evening. Everyone was appropriately sympathetic though they did all warn her that she was turning into me, that person who can be counted upon to fall up, or down, any flight of steps, particularly
on Very Special Occasions when spectacular falls from grace are least expected. I am sure I have other attributes she could have inherited - though just at the moment I can’t think of any.
I am so pleased my Birthday Girl enjoyed her Black and Bling celebration. She deserved all the happiness that only a night out with family and the closest of friends could offer.
I’m so glad I was there, in spirit and in cake.
As they say, if you want to get ahead, get a hat. Preferably cake-shaped
and splendiferously delicious.