The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 978 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

When morning deigned to show up, it was in a better state than I was–I was tired–not to put too fine a point on it. I dragged myself from my bed leaving Miss Sweet-Sixteen still asleep. Then it was get the chores organised, kids to school and sort out Livvie’s birthday.

As if life was agreeing with my choice of present for her, her watch strap broke as she was doing it up before going to school. I managed to repair it with some sticky tape, but it was only a temporary job–which didn’t worry me. She was probably old enough now to have something better than the Care Bears.

I got them to school, then came back and dug Julie out of my bed and sent her off to shower, especially if she was coming shopping with me. Stella suggested that Julie babysat for her and she would come shopping with me. I left Stella and Julie to discuss the level of bribe required.

Maureen came, measured up some things and disappeared; presumably to get whatever it was that was required. I reminded Julie that her primary responsibility was Puddin’ while we were out, not chatting to Maureen. She assured me she would do her duty, I left a note for Maureen asking her to make sure Julie did.

Then after making sure there was something for lunch–some curry in the freezer which they’d only have to defrost and warm in the microwave, and boil some rice–hardly good enough to win a basic badge in the Girl Guides, we left.

Talking of which, it seems we have a local branch of the Guides and Brownies not too far away, however, I’m not at all sure what their attitude to transgendered children would be, so I’ve pooh-poohed any suggestions for any of the girls to join. If they persist I might have to tell them why, which I’m sure they’d understand–the girls, that is. The Girl Guides, I’m not so sure about.

As we were two ladies who lunch, Stella and I dressed up just a trifle–okay we left off the mink and the Gucci dresses and wore jeans and jacket. Stella’s was red leather mine an embroidered denim. Underneath I wore a long sleeved tee shirt top and a scarf. It is only April after all, and despite the sunshine, still cool enough to raise goose-pimples.

I got the watch in the second jewellers we visited, it was thirty pounds–as I’d decided, good enough to make an impression, but not enough to worry about if it gets broken or stolen.

Stella bought her a silver bangle which was diamond cut and shone beautifully in the sunshine. We bought the trainers I thought she’d like, and a new bag for school. I also bought a hair care set, with Alice bands and brushes and combs which I thought Tom would like to give her.

I’d texted Simon to remind him and he replied he’d buy her something himself, so I told him what we’d got.

Over lunch, a rather nice tuna jacket for me and a small pasta dish for Stella, we decided if we were going to have a party, it would have to be on the weekend, and maybe I’d ask Si to see if the hotel would be available for half a dozen screaming kids, plus our own half a dozen. I sent him a text to make the enquiry.

While we were in Knight & Lee, which is actually part of the John Lewis partnership, my mobile beeped. Simon said the hotel was happy to see us, could I contact them to give them details. Even with my left wing leanings, it comes in handy being part of a family who own a hotel complex.

I mentioned this to Stella who suggested we called round to the hotel as we were already in Southsea, so that’s what we did.

We wandered into reception and were recognised immediately. “Lady Cameron,” said the receptionist and nodded to both of us.

“Good afternoon, my husband contacted you to enquire about use of your facilities for a children’s party–use of the swimming pool and gym, that sort of thing, plus some sort of snack meal.”

“Of course, Lady Cameron, I’ll ask our events coordinator to come and speak with you.”

“Events?” I queried.

“Yes, any sort of booking is regarded as an event, whether it’s something as simple as a birthday party or dinner, or a wedding reception with all the trimmings.”

“Okay, I was thinking formal situations, but I suppose a birthday is an event for a five year old.”

“I thought she was coming up six?” Stella corrected.

“Yes, she will.” I answered and Stella nodded.

“Five or six, a birthday party is such a social occasion, isn’t it?” offered the receptionist.

“It was in my day.”

“Well you’re so old nowadays, aren’t you, Cathy?” Stella mocked, “An old married woman.”

It would have been so easy for me to retaliate by suggesting she was both older and unmarried, but I bit my tongue. She had enough problems being a single mum, which was another slight I could have tossed at her.

The Events Coordinator turned out to be a very attractive blonde, who was nearly six feet tall and towered over both of us. She wore the unofficial uniform of lower/ middle management of a suit and blouse, which fitted her quite nicely. In fact I felt almost scruffy to this well turned out woman, who was probably about my own age.

We got down to the nitty-gritty straight away after minimal formalities. What date, time and how many attending? Which facilities? Did we want them to do goody-bags: how many boys/girls attending and age group, and finally how much did we want to spend on each bag. Then, did we want toys or sweeties, vouchers that sort of stuff?

Did we want music and some space for dancing–“Girls like to dance after their teas,” we were assured. I hoped they weren’t so full of pop that they were all sick.

The food menu was discussed, sandwiches, sausage rolls, jelly and ice cream, a birthday cake–all this was considered plus countless other things. We opted for the Saturday afternoon and early evening, with a party organiser/entertainer to amuse the children, and for them to do the food and the goody-bags–I was to confirm numbers, ages and sexes of the children.

Could she take a deposit? Stella’s eyes widened.

“Do you realise who we are?”

“Lady Cameron, is I presume the person organising the party, I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are, madam.”

“This is my sister-in-law, Lady Stella Cameron,” I introduced Stella. I began to blush, Stella was going to make an issue out of this.

“I’m sorry, I don’t see the significance,” our coordinated coordinator began to look slightly uncoordinated.

“How long have you worked here?” asked Stella.

“A couple of months, I suppose.”

“Do you know who owns this place?”

“It’s part of the High St group, why?”

“Do you know who owns them?” Stella asked.

“Not off-hand, it’s a bank isn’t it?”

“Yes, and...”

“Stella’s family own the High St Group,” I interjected.

“Oh, I see,” she blushed profusely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry,” I tried to smooth over the wrinkles. “I’m happy to pay a deposit,” I said, and Stella snorted.

In the end, she decided she would speak with the manager and she’d get back to me. So I left without having spent any money there at all.

Stella moaned about it all the way home, and how she was going to get her shot at dawn. I told her to stop being such a fantasist and we called by the school to collect our three waifs and strays.

I asked Livvie if she’d like a party and she practically leapt out of the car with excitement. She had apparently never had a proper party before, when she learned it was to be at the hotel, she was so excited she was nearly sick. What I wanted was numbers of the kids she wanted to come–she could have up to six school chums. It turned into nearly twenty–she invited the whole class. So for her nerve, I made her write out every invitation herself or with Trish’s help. I printed them off from the computer and she wrote names on them and addressed the envelopes.

Oh boy–what hard work this raising children is.