|Forty Forty Forty Forty Forty etc.
||[Nov. 22nd, 2009|11:42 am]
So it happened. Just after midnight in late 1969, Mum was being urged by a maternity nurse not to push yet, because the doctor hadn't made it from Rose Bay to RPA Hospital yet, and Mum was, "I am not waiting." And out I popped. On Friday we had a family dinner to acknowledge the actual day before last night's larger affair. Catering and family and friends from different periods of the last four decades.|
I've been somewhat apprehensive about the coming party. For some reason it felt more like a looming exam. Silly of course, but then people have a habit of praising one's entertaining (or bitching behind one's back). That's why having very rare parties and getting them catered is the go. And European Catering Service is (IMO) the best of all the companies I've sampled (of course that's mainly for parties at which I've been a guest). They're friendly and professional. They're not snobs. They know that hosts are often nervous. They were all, "We know where everthing is. You're all set up. Leave everthing to us. Relax, take a shower and get changed for your guests." What a relief.
The judgment of guests: they all think I'm an alcoholic. Presents of bottle after bottle of champagne. Also, all the food was eaten. Lots of booze was drunk. Nobody got too trashed. The party packed up at a civilized hour when the catering was finished. The house was clean and not turned upside down. We got to bed and slept the sleep of the well sated.
So now I'm on the other side of forty. Soon enough, fifty. See you there.