Angst

The party arrangements are gathering pace. Wheels are in motion. We've started moving rubbish from rubbish filled rooms around the the house into emptier rooms in preparation.

A couple of things are worrying me:

1. The shopping centre lighting guy came over, an old Asian chap wearing baseball cap and sneaker's with a young guy who could have been his grandson. They were quite sweet but worried me when they started talking power supplies and started poking around in the kitchen fuse box. They also mooted the idea of red fairy lights for valentines. I'm ashamed to say, I balked. Wondered if guests would feel they were entering some sort of red light district?!

2. parking. This always worries me.

3. We plan to do the music DIY. My husband is working on his ipod play list as we speak, but has yet to buy more speaker cable or test out the dodgy amp that we vaguely remember fixing but can't be sure. We also have concerns about breaking 'excessive noise and vibration' NEMA laws which may solicit an unwanted visit by police mid flow.

4. Will there be dancing, if so where? You just can't force dancing - but it would be nice.

5. Am increasingly unable to make eye contact with various people who have not been invited. The school car park is a veritable mine field.

6. Costs spiralling out of control - now that we've got somebody to come in and do bar and bitings. I panicked that my ham and cheese would just not cut it.

7. We didn't invite our neighbours.


I also kind of messed up 'the actual birthday'. Somehow yesterday was stressful. My husband came home from work while I was making kids supper - never good timing - especially as for some bizarre reason I had decided on chicken pie with pastry (why??).
'No cake until after the kids have eaten' I snapped, so my husband sloped off for a snooze on the veranda sofa. Just has his eyes were closing my eldest nagged him about her science homework, hoping that in a weak moment he would give her examples of five things that dissolve in water off pat. Instead he got cross and shouted.

To top it off, the kids all rowed about lighting the birthday candles and picking chocolate drops off the cake so I bopped them all on the head crossly. The youngest burst into tears. We then had a snivelling rendition of 'happy birthday' after I'd coaxed my husband back to the dining table. He only got three rather lame presents as I'd given all the UK things saved up from the summer sales to him for Christmas. Of the birthday presents; he knew what two of them were and one of them had to go back to the shop to be changed.

'Please never be 40 again,' I said. 'It's all too much.' He looked downcast but I went on.. 'And not in February when we are always skint, and not in Kenya where there's nothing to buy you...'

As a tonic, we went out for dinner and ate & drank too much horrid house wine. After dropping the kids at the bus at 6.45am this morning, we went back to sleep for an hour. Things can only get better.

Julie and Julia - a blogger's luck

Who has seen the film Julie and Julia? My mum watched it on the plane and told me it was the best film she'd seen in ages. Eventually I got it from the pirate video rental place and have to agree - it was great and very funny in places. I watched it with my husband (he's a sucker for girly films fortunately).

For those that haven't seen it, it's about a blogger who hates her job but loves cooking, decided to work her way through Julia Child's huge cookbook, recipe by x524 recipes in 365 days and blog about it... Through this she gets the book deal, the film deal too. It's a lovely story and as much about the rather fascinating and resilient Julia Child as it is about the New York blogger.

My best bit was seeing Julia Child admiring herself and her sister in a long mirror just before a cocktail party.
'Not bad, not very bad!' says Julia Child before adding, 'but then not that good either' and both sisters burst out laughing.

I think both Amy Adams and Meryl Streep are brilliant, so it wasn't hard to see the appeal of the movie.

I do have just one teensy problem with it though.... I'm a blogger ergo, I'm jealous. It's terrible being this shallow. I am my own worst enemy but I just can't help it. I reckon that if we are honest, blogging brings out the nasty side in all of us - it's the old frustrated writer's naked ambition laid bare coupled with coping with the odd hurtful, mean old comments sent in from people who think you are expounding on endless rubbish (which if I'm honest again, I am). It usually touches on a raw nerve.

I challenge any blogger to post a comment saying that they are not in the least bit piqued by a fellow blogger's success. It's awful to admit but it's true. (or is it just me?). I imagine it's a bit like throwing a bunch of ambitious actors together. It gets bitchy. We all do it because we like writing and ultimately hope for a little more than writing for writing's sake.

When Julia Powell mentioned getting 54 comments on her 'killing the lobster' post, I prickled.
'54 comments! I've never had that many before,' I said to my husband. 'how come her blog got popular so quickly?' I think he stayed quiet.

We/my husband also particularly enjoyed the bit in the film that showed an argument going on between Julia and her other half that went along the lines of the husband saying,
'it's all about you and your xxxxing blog isn't it!'
At which my husband said heartily, 'Wow, I can relate to this!'

When Julia Powell got interviewed by the New York Times toward the end of the film, I thought, good for her! (Heck, my blog has been in the newspapers before, so it's OK for her's to make it too). But when, as a result of the NYT interview, I watched her answer machine go crazy with 36 messages from agents, publishers, film makers all gushing - I nearly had to leave the room. I swivelled round to my husband accusingly,
'is this film really true? They must have exaggerated this bit? Surely!! I know that the bit about Julia Child is true, but the Julia Powell bit must be made up isn't it?'
My husband, reading the back of the box says,
'No, says here, based on a true story'

You see, when my blog was quoted in the UK broadsheets, one single agent approach me (bless her). And after sweating blood for a few weeks and writing a proposal or two for her- (thanks for all your support family and friends!!), she told me politely that she might 'bow out' of the project this time. Sob. self indulgent sob.

Julia Powell is the same age as me (give or take) - started her blog one year before. She has now written two books and is asked to do countless other writing... Let's face it, she's a success.

What I think I'm going to do is take a deep breath, take the moral high ground and applaud her for being a better writer than any of us fellow bloggers aspiring to being published.

Then I will cry into my pillow and ask myself why I still bother.... (only joking!! - but doesn't it bug you too?!?)

Nerves

My 4 yr old daughter complains of anxiety when we approach the school gates.
'What's the matter?' I ask.
'It feels like I've swallowed a leaf.' she says.

Entertaining...

Have decided to blow caution to the wind and hold a party. To be honest we have reached the point where owe almost everybody we know. The problem is that living here in Africa, there is something rather distasteful about spending money or rather 'conspicuous consumption' when the huge majority struggle so hard to get food onto the table and do so with such a heroic, sunny, smiling outlook on life, taking each day as it comes. It's like at Christmas. I don't put the presents under the tree until Christmas eve when we are alone as a family for 48 hours. It's silly but I'm too embarrassed. To be honest, it niggles.

For instance, today I met our x.x.x.x. askari having agreed to pay his son's first term secondary school fees. Our friend was supposed to be earning by now but funding for his project 'Hope Life Foundation' in Kibera has been delayed yet again and he still waits to hear whether the AMREF job that he has been short listed for, will come through. I do believe that he was a bit gutted to have to come to us for help. We are all wishing and wishing that he would get on his feet and start earning, but at the same time, I have learned from bitter experience that delays are intrinsic to Kenyan life.

Initially you feel, 'OMG, we have just paid school fees and we're feeling skint too'. But then you think, 'but somehow we are going to pull a party out of the bag for my husband's 40th with booze and too much food and so how could I sleep at night thinking that I'd said no to 13,000 for somebody else's school fees.'

Then you think, 'actually, why aren't I paying school fees for the people who work full time in and around our house instead of this comparatively random guy? Probably I should, but then if I offer now, the floodgates will surely open.' And there we go. Round and round in circles. A party just seems so frivolous.

There's another thing. My track record on parties isn't exactly great. I think we've held 4 'grown up' parties in our eleven year married life - all spent in E Africa. (I guess that kids birthday tea parties don't exactly count here). Over that eleven years, the one thing I've learned is there is an art to giving good parties. The problem is that I have no grasp whatsoever on what that is.

1. Hosting the Hash House Harriers in Dar es Salaam. Rip roaring party but gave everybody food poisoning from my paella. Yes, ten years on and I'm still blushing. Paella was my brilliant idea as an alternative to spag bol, sausage and mash or curry -the usual Hash fare. In reality, doing something different was pure foolishness. Tried and tested formulas always work best. What really makes me cringe is the fact that people were coming back for more, saying how delicious it was. Extra bad, most of them were people that I didn't know very well at all. Owch. The next morning, my mobile phone was red hot with people ringing in.
'were you ill? were you ill? were you ill too?' I blamed the cheap prawns. (see previous post).
Goes without saying, my Hash career was shortlived. I did go back, but I think it took at least 6 months for anyone to feel brave enough to make a joke of it..... and this is the Hash we're talking about!!

2. House warming in Dar es Salaam. Most of the people who said they were definitely coming, didn't turn up. We made a huge space for a dance floor, got a DJ to come with lights and decks for our thirty (max) guests. I guess it was all dreadfully daunting for our scattered guests and honestly a bit too much. Again (and don't die when I tell you this!) the cook I hired to do the food this time (once bitten twice shy) poisoned the brave few people who came to the party with his prawn kebabs! Why did you serve prawns again? I hear you cry? In my defense, we lived on the beach... it was Dar es Salaam, what else was I going to give them? Oh goodness, reliving this is still agony!

3. Drinks party in the garden here in Nairobi. A mixed success. We got caterers but the fancy round tables were too spread out over the lawn. Not sure how many people came, but because it was all so spaced out it looked like hardly any at the busyest of times. We asked my friend, the kids entertainer, to come with his acrobats and fire-eaters as a form of entertainment. On this they certainly delivered.

One guest who arrived late said 'who was that guy in the car park with dreadlocks smoking a joint? Sorry but we wondered what sort of party this was going to be?'

The rather worse for wear acrobats then proceeded to jump through burning hoops, but kept knocking them over onto the dangerously dry grass. All of us mums who are pretty oh-fey with their usual routine, knew immediately that something was up as the men staggered about and beat their drums. No fatalities that time though.

4. Decided to pin down 40 invited guests for a sit down meal - rather than risk the numbers nightmare again. This time we made the mistake of serving 'Sea Breeze' cocktails beforehand, though I must admit, it worked well in getting the party going. We also had a dressing up theme 'Kenya Cowboys' which was a laugh. Lots of men in short khaki shorts with beaded belts and ladies in 1980s attire (puffy shirts/low slung belts etc.)

The caterers we had asked to come were, putting it politely, lacking direction (their boss was away travelling) and they only brought 12 bottles of wine for 40 people. This could have been a mixed blessing in retrospect, but in the event, most of our friends brought along bottles, so there was lots. Even the caterers were 4 sheets to the wind when they left, having half taken down the tent by midnight - I guess in an attempt to wrap the whole thing up. Oh, and there wasn't enough food to go round for the sit down dinner, which may have added to our woes. From a host's point of view, it was chaos.

After an hour or two, decorative candelabra were going flying in the garden as they got stumbled over, we had one moonie pulled over dinner during a 'best dressing-up' prize giving, we blew two of our own amplifiers whilst trying to do our own 'ipod' disco, somebody's phone got nicked and best of all a huge fight broke out in the bushes amongst a select few of our guests.

Suffice to say, a remaining memory is the sight of one guest with the back of his shirt ripped in two, trying desperately to shimmy over our metal gate as our bewildered night watchman ran after him, holding the guest's shoes in an attempt to return them.


5. Party to be held soon...

This time we're trying the drinks option again, but my idea is to try and centralise it in the house so that we are all squashed up inside and talking loudly over each other's heads like English drinks parties. This will save us the tent but of course is dependant on how many people actually show. We may end up shouting across echoing, empty spaces as usual. Who knows.

There is reason behind my maddness. Bar none, all parties in Kenya are held outside, in tents or on verandas. To pitch at a party, scantily clad, with no jumper or fleece stowed for wearing later, is utter suicide here. While the cold is an effective way to ensure that all of your guests have gone home at a reasonable hour (the chill factor gets to everybody in the end) this time I decided that I want to do something different.....hang on, I'm already on dangerous ground....

Wish me luck..... it might take me a year or two to pluck up the courage to tell you how it went....