Wednesday, 30 November 2011


Saturday midday.
Right. 48 bottles of wine to chill. A dozen limes to slice. 244 glasses to polish. Where’s the gin? I haven’t even tried that dress on properly – I think it needs taking up. 130 meat balls to fry. 130 salmon parcels to wrap. We need to buy ice. 6 candelabras to replenish. Have we got any matches? 7 vases to fill. 10 kilos of Turkish delight to dust. 67 paintings to label. 400 macaroons to sandwich together and assemble into a pyramid shape. What? Now? You want me to cut you hair now? Bunches of grapes. We need cascading bunches of grapes. Shift all that mess into here. Sit down. Shit! Who left the haircutters on that setting? Someone answer the door! It’s okay –artists are allowed to look eccentric. Turn that machine-gunning down! I can’t think straight. Don’t worry, I’ll even it up, no one will notice. 300 coat- hangers to untangle. Turn that Tchaikovsky up, I can’t hear it in here. There’s something wrong with these, they we’re fine last week when I did the boys' hair. Beers! Stack them in the downstairs fridge. You’ll have to move all those night-lights in the hearth - have you seen what I’m wearing? Turn that Tchaikovsky down! It’s deafening. Don’t eat those they’re not for you. Have you checked the garden? I’m not drinking tonight by the way. What time is it? That needs ironing. 4!! I thought we said 5 on the invite. Bloody hell, whose idea was that? Has anyone seen the tights I bought? Those 2 pictures are too high. What’s the point of spending all that money on scented candles and you're wandering around with a stinking Pot Noodle. What do you mean 'chill'? Is it too early to have a drink?...

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