Oh do grow up.

Well now...years (decades) ago when I was a child, we lived in Germany. Back then, even before the Sony Walkman had been invented - gasp, British Forces Broadcasting did not extend to television. But my mother, the sainted AP, was (and is) skilled at entertaining us and for years, we collectively had an interest in the Eurovision Song Contest. Largely because on the radio or later on the tv, it was broadcast in English, involved music and betting and voting and was generally turned into fun for us. I've never been able to shake this off, and certainly since Miss Dnnit was old enough to participate, we've had a Eurovision party. By which I mean that after a meal cobbled together from edible parts of the host country's national dishes, the grown ups sit in the conservatory and drink whilst the kids use the lounge to play in and keep an eye on the telly, callling us in for bizarre or extraoridnary acts. I make our guests draw a country when they get here, and half way through the contest (if I remember, and that depends on the strength of the host country's national drink), people are allowed to trade their betting slips. For the men, this often becomes a sub-bet on the better looking acts rather than quality of erm, music. Anyway, if we're still capable at the end of the contest, Miss Dunnit awards the winner with a medal that she made about 10 years ago, and a bar of chocolate -and that's only if it has survived the coffee stage of the meal. It's all good stuff, I get to continue a bit of a family tradition and nobody suffers. Nice! This year I decided to mix it up a bit, invite different people - you know, let others in on this slightly guilty secret fun! Well, in the best traditions, I issued invites to 5 sets of friends. Two responded imediately - stalwarts of our tradition, so knowing what they were in for. Two weeks passed and I hadn't heard a dicky bird from the others. I won't be specific, but I know it was 'PMT week' chez Dunnit...because it's the only way I can explain my actions: I texted (brave, huh!)a withdrawal of the invitation. Still can't quite believe my petulance, but it went something along the lines of - if they can't be bothered to even respond in the negative, I sure as hell can't be bothered to go to (some) trouble to throw a party which will include having to cook russian food. I know it was unreasonable, I know I should actually have just asked them for a response, but I didn't, so there. And in my defence, none of these invitees responded to that either! Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face - there we are, a fortnight before Eurovision and no plans. (Stick you bottom lip out at this point to experience the way I was feeling). I became Mrs Bountiful, and invited OTHER people. (I know, I know, how childish.) Consequently, the rest of today will be spent in the kitchen..I have blinis, some sort of casserole and of course, pavlova to make for rather more people than normal! May serve me right, but I'm looking forward to it. And, of course, never one to lose sight of the story, these guest do know the true story - their, erm 'B' list status as it were, but they're still happy to come and eat and drink at our table, so it can't be all bad! But ask yourself this - do I sound like the sort of woman you really want in your birthday book? Personally, I think I sound like a monstrous lunatic, but dear interweb, this blogging thing is a cathartic process, and sending this confession off into the www may well be all it takes to pull me back into some sort of adult mind set. This or 3 dozen blinis!

Card made from Jolly Nation's Big Word decoupage papers - nice 3 step stuff.