I promised I’d let you know why we were so tired on Saturday night when we went out clubbing.

I love saying that.  It is not an accurate description of what we did, but it sounds a bit wild doesn’t it?  What we did was go to a club and listen to loud music and then go home wishing we were in bed all the way, safely tucked in and asleep.

That afternoon we had the Highcliffe Garden Party with the roses taking pride of place both on the table and in the backdrops of our photographs.  I had no idea what form this Garden Party would take but I paid for the three of us to attend and due to the price, by golly, not a crumb was going to be eaten that day in our house!   In our ignorance we jokingly imagined the residents getting food and taking it back to their flats to eat, we really didn’t know what to expect, we were being facetious.  And residents here means flat owners, not patients in a nursing home!

Marquees, we had been told, were going up.  By Friday afternoon there was no evidence of them and I began to get worried.  Not an extra chair or table in sight and no aromatic food smells wafting across the grounds!

By Saturday morning I was getting really concerned.  By eleven o’clock a tent went up.  Whew!  Then it was moved to other side of the grounds, over where the EMPTY barbecue grill was, and I watched from my bedroom window as chairs were placed on the lawn in rows, facing directly towards our flat.

“Look Malia,”  I said, “we must be the entertainment!”

“Cooey!” someone called at noon, “Can we borrow your four chairs?”

Off they went to God knows where.  I never saw them again that afternoon.  The next time I looked outside all the chairs had all gone!  Poof there one minute, gone the next!

Twelve forty-five, start time for the party, dawned and I asked Malia,

“Do you want to be first?”  Naturally she sook her head so we waited five minutes before joining a small group on the lawn right in front of our patio.  We just wandered out and blended.

Wine began to flow dangerously fast and by the time the party was declared officially started (the last couple had arrived), we desperately needed something to eat!  It was one forty-five.

We were all ushedred to the long table set underneath one of the marquees, just in case of inclement weather.  There were china plates, silver cutlery and cut glasses.  The meal was formal, with starters, antipasta, and the forgotten marinara sauce that made an appearance after the prawns and salmon were gone.  Wine flowed.

At two forty-five the grill was loaded with homemade sausages, chicken and lamb chops.  Baked potatoes were passed around, with feta salad, more tomatoes, bread and lots of general yumminess.  We drank more wine while waiting for the food to cook and then wended, literally, our casual way to the grill and filled our plates with meat.  Another sauce was forgotten, this time for the chicken, long since eaten.  A peanut sauce, that brightened up the bread we dipped in it.  Wine continued to flow.

Then the desserts, at about four thirty, I was losing track of time by now.  We had fresh berry jellies made with muscadet,  strawberries with red currants, raspberries and blackcurrants, chocolate cake, waffle cones filled with banana pudding, flan, icing sugar to make snow over our sweeties, and huge jugs of fresh cream to add to the decadence.  Malia was in heaven.  More wine flowed.

Port broke the monotony and accompanied the cheese and crackers admirably at five thirty-ish.  With coffee bringing up the rear we heaved a welcome sigh of relief!

We left at six fifteen on the dot while General Knowledge Quizzes were being given to test sobriety!  We were told the grill would be fired up again to begin the evening portion of the party.  They broke everything up at 10pm or so I’m told.  How the marquees were packed and stored, is beyond me.

Our chairs were neatly stacked on our patio.

Our bodies rebelled for a whole day!  We will reciprocate with a Texas barbecue in August to welcome us and Trey Baby, Malia’s visiting boyfriend, who will be rooming amidst the flowers in our beautiful rose garden.