We hosted a party at my house last weekend, and as I scrambled to get things ready, I chuckled inanely at the thought of all those Martha Stewart programmes from yesteryear.
Hand-arranged vases of flowers – plucked from your very own garden – give a personalised touch (lemme tell ya, bougainvillea thorns will find every vein in your fingers). A decorative runner can really lift a table design (“Lynne! Was one of the cats sick on this??”) Consider decorating cookies with each guest’s name – they’ll remember the attention to detail (“No! Just bung the Waitrose in the oven and leave it to bake – I need your help with the laundry!”)
No matter how prepared you think you are to have others visit your home, as the day approaches, it’s amazing how you’ll realise you’re not. For at least a month leading up to the event date, my best friend and housemate Lynne asked if we were going to box up the tree “this weekend”. Yes; our Christmas tree was still up in March. It was our first year without a ‘live’ pine, and it occurred to me that when something doesn’t turn brown and brittle, you’re not as compelled to remove it.
Saturdays came and went, and every night we’d light it up without compunction, despite the festive season being all but a distant memory. (We packed away the ornaments in February, we’re not animals.)
As the countdown started for the final week before the big day, we began to pick and choose our battles. We had time to deal with some items on the list, and others would have to get the blind eye treatment.
I made the very sensible decision to get all the mixers, chips, dip, ibuprofen, TUMS and other essentials from the supermarkets mid-afternoon on a Thursday. The aisles were blissfully clear and the cashier lanes practically had the red carpet rolled out. Our bar was also sorted and food had been ordered.
“Are we boxing up the tree?” Lynne asked.
“Probably,” I answered from the bowels of a bookshelf, as I replaced a row of sad, depleted candles with framed family photos. Why the hell did we have seven butane lighters and where did this broken shell come from? Were people going to notice same and give each other the silent ‘hoarders’ signal across the room? What was the signal? How could I find out?
I went outside to put a bag of garbage in the bin, and as I came back to the house, noticed – maybe for the first time – that we had two Christmas stands covered in dusty baubles on either side of the doors. Then there was that large plant pot where two hens slept every night under a thatch tunnel, and the orange traffic cone perched on another large plant pot. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’d have to worry about those tomorrow.
On the eve of the party, there was no time left to make big changes. The tower of board games seated randomly near the dining table would have to stay there. Any bags of unrelated goods could be chucked into my office, otherwise known by its Hogwarts moniker: The Room of Embarrassment.
“Are we boxing up the tree?” Lynne asked.
“Possibly,” I replied, my knees creaking as I tried to move heavy wood furniture around. My kingdom for some wicker.
Even at 2am, I was trolleying boxes of books and towels into a back bedroom. How had we ever thought we were ready for this shindig? Why hadn’t I started clearing out things two weeks ago? I think it’s because when you’re used to your own place and where your things are, you just don’t notice them. It’s only when you see them through the eyes of others that you start to second-guess your decorating decisions.
On the big day, I reached the fifth stage of Party Hosting: Acceptance. There was no more we could do – the floor was as clean as we could manage with eight cats in the house, and besides, we had lots of drink and music to keep people occupied. I had put the ‘TOILET’ notice up on the bathroom door; everything that needed to be chilled was on ice; and the food was set on the table. Time for me to have a shower before the first guests arrived.
As I walked towards my room, I heard her faintly in the background.
“Are we boxing up the tree?”
“Nah… turn its lights on. It’ll distract them from the litter pans.”
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