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I’m Having A Bed-In

Posted: | In: Seed Pearl

Can you forgive me if today’s post is a little more, um jumbled and tumbled than my regular effort? I must ask in advance, because I have to admit, that is as good as today’s offering is going to get; this girl is somewhat feeling the effect of a little too much birthday partying…
 
Now usually, I write at my art-and-crafts desk with the birds feeding outside my window, and two kittens struggling to anchor themselves to my slightly sloping lap, the occasional waft of something lovely bubbling on the stove…but today I am still on a high from the party of the year… now, where’s that coffee got to?
 
Oh yes, I need to ring room service, but more about that later.
 
My room is amazing and the coffee’s on it’s way… excuse me a moment, I feel slightly woozy…
 
AND I’m multi tasking; texting my friends in beloved Cornwall, putting on my lip-gloss (room-service) and listening to Black Sabbath/Kate Bush. Yes both. I SAID I was multi tasking.
 
Isn’t life wonderful?
 
So yesterday, wearing my pre-party frock, I jumped into my Chelsea Tractor, but being Cornish, I’m actually justified in driving one. This is not so much an indulgent vehicle, but more a transporter of mud and sand, wellington boots containing yet more mud and sand, yes, inside the boots…
 
I drove the ATLANTIC HIGHWAY to our teeny tiny airport and was flung into the sky in a tin-box not much bigger than the car I arrived in, but at least I had Plato to read… sigh. I was decanted, rather unceremoniously at Flatwick. Not for me, the sartorial opportunity to descend the steps of the plane like FutureQueenKate in an airhostess outfit; the red coat was fab, but the pillbox hat killed it…
 
I was as excited as… well do you remember that line in “Over the Waves?” “My Heart starts to beat…like a child when a birthday is near…(so kiss me my sweet, it’s the loveliest night of the year!)” No, neither do I, it was long before I was born, but I am blessed with Very Old friends who occasionally sing to me…
 
And so onto the Shlepwick Express in tears, I might add, because the birthday messages had overwhelmed me, so I had to board the train using only one eye; the contact lens had popped out the other…
 
Into a Black Taxi – oh, you can so tell you are back in London, when you jump into one of those babies and the driver gives you his version of the Meaning of Life by the time it takes to arrive at Portman Square…
 
More coffee.
 
And then
 
Oh My Goodness
 
I checked into my room at Home House. It is AMAZING! Huge, perfectly furnished and all to myself! Whhheeeeeeeee I sat on the sofa to open more cards and saw a bottle of Moet, together with Prestat rose and violet creams…ooh hang on…
 
So I am writing this from my gigantic bed, eating toast, and sipping a latte. Yes I am having breakfast in bed! I can’t remember the last time I was brought a tray of loveliness like this. I tried to get the boys to do it on Mother’s Day, but we won’t go there…
 
But enough of that; off to the Oyster Club Birthday Bash. What an Event of Fabulosity hosted by Home House for Mother of Pearl! We had a wonderful turnout; everyone was treated to a glass of fizz on arrival, the canapés were plentiful and delicious, and the conversations were engaging and fun.
 
But
 
I couldn’t see a cake. What sort of birthday is it without cake? I shared my feelings with Super Heroes Paul Sandler and Ambar Hamid. Like knights in shining AmoUr they sallied forth to the greatest store on Earth…
 
Starsky and Hutch had only just left, when in came the BIGGEST BROWNEST CHOCOLATIEST Gateau of Gorgeousness I have ever seen, with a thankfully modest amount of candles, arranged in a T. Even at thrityseveral, it is still a delight to have Happy Birthday sung to you over a cake. 
 
So in came Hero number Three. Thinking of American Cop Shows, you could call him the Equaliser, but that would be just Odd… Anyway, Lee Clarke tried to call my Caped Crusaders (well, they were wearing jackets, but my brain’s far too post-party-addled to alliterate. Any suggestions, just jump in – not literally, because I’m in bed having breakfast, and you’ll get crumbs on the sheets…
 
Anyway, we both tried in vain to call and stop the purchase of further comestibles as there is only so much cake a person can eat; especially as Lucy Whittington couldn’t make it to the party.
 
But no! They arrived with not just one, but two cakes, bringing the total cakeage up to three! Another chocolate one, and Le Dernier Mot in Patisserie of Perfection, a MASSIVE Red Velvet Cake. I love these guys x x x
 
So, the moral of the story is, “Be patient, and have faith in the generosity and organizational skills of others, or you may end up with an awful lot of cake.”
 
Ok, it’s not quite Plato; more Plate O Cake
 
Sorry. 

 
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