Sat 22nd Aug 2009

I went to a surprise 60th birthday party for one of my ex girlfriend’s fathers. I have been toying with that first sentence for quite a while, because I find it a rather jarring phrase. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe it is the use of the word “girlfriend”, which feels simultaneously insipid, childish and patronising all at once, but is a word which I am bereft of any better alternatives for. Or maybe it is because it grammatically implies my ex-girlfriend actually has numerous fathers. Either way, it will have to stay as it is. You’ll just have to use both your own language preferences and common sense.

The birthday boy had been led under the premise that the family would be going for a quiet meal. But they would actually end up arriving at the darkened venue, where the assembled guests would suddenly yell “surprise” at the bewildered recipient (as is the usual protocol with surprise birthdays). The subterfuge worked like a dream. Personally, I’d have been disappointed were this party being held for me because I would have probably been looking forward to my dinner, and more pressingly, do prefer meals much more than large groups of other human beings congregated in a ‘party formation’. But he seemed genuinely appreciative of his family’s efforts in putting together such a fantastic do. I am glad of this. As far as girlfriend’s parents go, you couldn’t wish to meet warmer human beings. They are a big family with a big home, who welcomed me to co-habit with my girlfriend for a number of years. I have always felt respect for them and although I do not see them as much nowadays they are always willing to extend their warmth. A few Christmases ago, I was left alone after yet another of my relationships had collapsed. My own parents (the inevitable fallback position) were out of the country that year, so they insisted I came to their house to enjoy Christmas dinner with them. Which ironically I suppose is exactly the sort of human spirit one might witness in a Christmas film (albeit not the most riveting Christmas film - sadly I had not been considering suicide, or met with spirits from different places in a time continuum so the interest factor would have been limited). And talking of food - which I have just noticed seems to be a common theme running through these blogs (if you have never met me you may be surprised to learn that, believe it or not, I am not actually excessively overweight) –I tried, In my slightly inebriated state, to make my own contribution to this feast by offering to help lay the buffet out. My ex-girlfriend asked if I’d mind taking the wrappers of stuff. I dutifully went round taking foil and clingfilm from around the containers. And I must say, the buffet was a cut above. Maybe this was to compensate the father’s disappointment of a meal that had previously been promised then snatched away. But gone was the usual fodder of curled up cheese sandwiches, and in came piping hot pizza. The sausage rolls were replaced by samosas. And instead of mini quiches, there were these other things which I’d never seen before, but were a bit like mini-quiches that someone had taken the effort to peel all the outer pastry off and left the filling; a considerate act which made it somehow feel a bit more middle class. There were even a big range of cheeses to be enjoyed with a selection of biscuits. Although when I opened the biscuit assortment box, the top couple of layers seemed all mixed up and broken. This made me a bit paranoid that everyone would think I was responsible for their battered state. After all, I had been the last person spotted with them and it is not difficult to see how a slightly inebriated man wrestling with a box of biscuits might be incriminating, but this time it genuinely wasn’t anything to do with me.

When I left the party I felt very happy but I also felt a strange sense of melancholy. I’m not quite sure what had aroused this small fuzz of sadness. Maybe I felt nostalgia for the time I spent with living this generous family. Maybe it was the fact that ten years have passed since the parties’ guests and hosts had been a regular part of my life. Perhaps having seen how other people are getting on with their lives through all this time had given me fearful twinge that maybe good chunks of my own time has been spent inadequately. Maybe I was worried that everyone would go home and say how much they enjoyed the evening, and how it would have been perfect, were it not for the box of broken cheese biscuits that I had been co-incidentally spotted with. Maybe it bought back memories of myself from ten years ago (where like most people, I naturally presume I was a bit of a wazzock, and wish I could have behaved with the benefit of the experience I have acquired since). But let me assure you it was only a tiny fraction of my overall emotional state. First and foremost, I was happy and honoured to have been invited to these birthday celebrations. I’d had a good time, and this is a spectacularly rare occurrence as far as me and parties are concerned. And in any case, why should I feel even the slightest hint of melancholy about the past? The past, after all, is a foreign country; they do things differently there.

Do you know who said those wise words? It was Les Dennis.

Thanks for that Les.