Didn’t seem quite right this year when the world is still upside down and my friends in Ukraine are having a shit time to host a big birthday dinner (last years was fun, we played musical chairs. I nearly won) so instead I persuaded my Mum to host 12 perfect strangers, invited by my friend Martina G, from around the world for tea and a tour of my father’s remarkable garden, in support of Global Empowerment Mission. I would do everything, I reassured her. How difficult could it be?
Turns out quite difficult.
12 was actually 15 and 15 did not fit round her dining table. A new piece of wood was ordered to go ontop of the table. But it was too big to get through the door and had to be cut in half and wheeled in sideways. Having thought I was cool with my measurements it was actually no where near big enough. Would be hard to reach a buttered crumpet or a slice of Battenberg cake. The beautiful David Hicks dining chairs were removed and Wesley helped me bring in nasty little folding ones to fit the 15.
As I headed to the supermarket it began to rain, and I mean really rain. I persuaded myself that was good, get it over and done with. Rain cant last all day, can it? Even in Engalnd? At the supermarket I realized I had left all the shopping bags behind. I emptied out a suitcase that was in the car and used that to carry the shopping. Not sure if Wallingford was ready for this. I got some strange looks.
It continued to rain.
A worrying thought crossed my mind, I called my Mum’s house, nope they did not have any complete sets of tea china anymore. Bits and pieces yes, but not enough to impress the guests. I ran to the antiques arcade. In the rain. Apparently no one hosts tea party’s anymore so two beautiful Wedgewood tea sets were just waiting to be bought. There is no real sense of urgency in the Antiques Arcade, lovely ladies of a certain age sitting comfortably behind the counter wrapped each individual piece of china in dusty newspaper, verrrrrry slowly, verrrrrrry carefully.
“Terrible weather today” they told me.
The clock was now ticking. Guests were arriving in a few hours. But the slow wrapping continued, plate by plate saucer by saucer.
I ran back to the car, loaded in my shopping suitcase and drove speedily back to the shop . The ladies were still wrapping.
Back at my Mum’s I started to lay the table, whilst Alison put ribbon around 15 Lady Pamela books and Maria buttered bread for cucumber sandwiches, a very British tea time delight that later bewildered our global guests nearly as much as Twiglets. (Try explaining a yeast extract from beer covering little knobby wheat sticks )
The rain did not stop. It was now beyond cats and dogs.
Guests arrived early. EARLY. I was still in running clothes. I dashed upstairs. My Mum, not a hair out of place, was on her pink sofa, delighted to find Indian, Romanian, Chinese, Israeli, Australian, Italian and Egyptian nationalities mingling in her drawing room.
After a little persuasion the ladies and two gents changed into borrowed wellie boots for the garden tour. Armed with brollies and a brief moment of light rain we ventured out. Everything was dripping, everything was soggy, it was far from the perfect September afternoon of sunlight I had hoped for. But they seemed charmed by secret rose gardens although confused by the black swimming pool. They admired my fathers follie, and his ‘rooms’ of beech trees, and laughed at my brother’s cloud hedges, a rebellion against my fathers strict straight lines and avenues.
We returned to the dinning room, tea was served and my mother told her stories making her guests smile. Amory and Conrad arrived and I asked them to describe a bit about the work GEM does and what the front line of Ukraine feels like. The room fell silent, the mood dipped. Michael Capponi joined via zoom and explained further about the foundation. The guests were impressed. Of course they were.
Everyone finally left and my mum got to snooze on the sofa. My kids lit a sparky candle on a sparkly cake and I thought what a strange but happy birthday I had just had, spent with perfect strangers.
A strange but happy birthday