Thursday, 14 February 2019
Tea at the Ritz
Does anyone else detect the merest hint of spring in the air? The birds are singing before sunrise and after sunset, the frogs are sploshing into the pond in the evening if I venture into the garden and there are crocuses and even the odd daffodil. Also, the middle boy had a birthday (13!), and that signifies the end of the winter around here.
The littlest boy's class had a tea party for parents today to raise money for toilet facilities for communities in third world countries. Scones with jam and cream, ginger cookies with ALL of the decorations on them and, most popular of all, a chocolate cake piled high with chocolate balls, chocolate biscuits, chocolates and chocolate flakes. It had a definite theme.
The boys wore bow ties and served us nicely, although the littlest boy spoiled the effect slightly by constantly pushing himself over my shoulder to get to his giant ginger cookie after he'd served me. You don't get that at the Ritz. But it was generally lovely, helped by the thought that there are less than six months of the chaotic joy that is primary school left for him, and for me.
It degenerated happily into a balloon fight/football game between the boys, which is how it should be. None of the mums were crying yet, but I can feel it building. Secondary school isn't in the same league, although I did once have some very sophisticated fizzy orange juice on the lawn while being serenaded by the steel pan band. It lacked the unrestrained joie de vivre of ten year olds let loose with five balloons though.
The dog has been skating on thin ice again, eating things he shouldn't. He managed to get hold of a disposal glove on his walk the other morning, which impressed his friends, but me, not so much. I flushed it through with an oily sardine and thanked my lucky stars when it, well, I won't lower the tone, let's just say all is well, for now.
He had his hair cut today, so he is all velvety and smooth. His bestie will be surprised when she sees him tomorrow morning. She'll be all, 'Bert, is that you? For the love of dog what happened?' And he'll be all, 'I know. But don't worry, I'll roll in something in a minute and it'll all be good.'
Hope all is well out there. Any spring where you are? Scones? Or are you flushing yourself through with an oily sardine?