When I was a child my parents used to hold regular dinner parties for their friends.
It’s something that doesn’t seem to happen so much any more. And I think it’s sad. We should bring the tradition back.
My mum would spend the first day cleaning the house from top to bottom. Even the beeswax furniture polish would come out filling the house with a smell that always meant something exciting was about to happen.
My mum would spend the next day cooking up a storm in the kitchen.
My sister and I would love it as we’d get an early dinner on mini kieves with pasta. Thats still one of my favourite comfort foods to this day. For us it was always a treat.
We would be bathed early and put in clean PJs leaving enough time for my mum to glam herself up and turn into the perfect hostess. This also often meant I would be sleeping in my sister’s room so my bedroom would be reserved for visitors.
As the guests arrived my Sister and I would play waitress handing out glasses to the guests as they arrived. The best crystal champagne flues would be used and the table laid with the rainbow colours Czechoslovakian wine goblets I’d always coveted. Occasionally we also got a tiny sip of the champagne. I loved how it tickled my nose.
Once all the guests had arrived for us to say hello (and before we could pinch all the snacks distributed in bowls around the lounge) we would say good nights.
I’m not talking a theatrical performance like the Von Trap family’s departing song. More a hug and a kiss and a promise of being on our best behaviour and not keep getting up to disturb the festivities, something I failed more often than not. It was just too exciting being in with the grownups
I always loved to hear the chatter through the hall door. The glasses chinking, the cutlery tapping on plates and the laughter that got louder as the wine flowed.
At the end of the evening, I occasionally remembered my mum sneaking in to check in on us to make sure we were asleep. She was always giggly and smelled of garlic and rich foods. A memory that makes me smile as on these days she always seemed so happy. She was in her element when entertaining her friends.
In the mornings my sister and I would wake up early in comparison to everyone else. It was one of the few occasions we would be allowed to get up early and put the telly on, and now as a parent, I fully appreciate the why.
The kitchen was usually tidy with the exception of the glassware which was always left to sort the following morning. The early morning sun cast rainbows as it cut through the facets of the glass.
We would start by raiding the fridge and pantry.
Leftover french bread, king prawns with the shells still on and some of dads own caught smoked salmon. My sister would help herself to leftover cheeses too, but I turned my nose up to them. And once we had snacked a savoury breakfast we would help ourselves to my mum’s famous chestnut and chocolate meringue pudding. Just the thought of it and I can remember the taste. A recipe I have never learnt to master myself.
Then we would settle wrapped in our duvets in front of the telly until we heard movement from everyone else.
And whilst all of these bits are memories I truly treasure the best was still to come.
To accommodate the guests, my bunkbeds were always broken down into 2 separate beds side by side. I’d beg for them to be left like this for the next few days and the games would begin.
I’d make the beds all formal with the pillows on top of the duvet and a toilet paper flower crafted in prime position and I’d fold my bath towel neatly at the foot.
I would pack a small bag of necessities and would close the door to the room.
My sister and I would then play the mirror game walking around the house. To play this you had to hold a mirror about waist height and look into the glass navigating your way stepping over doorways and light fittings across the ceiling. We played until we had forgotten we were in our own home and convinced we were in another destination. A hotel.
I would be assigned my room and entered it like you would a real hotel room. Checking the cupboards and draws occasionally finding a chocolate on my pillow that I have previously hidden there earlier in the day.
Then I would fantasise I had arrived at the hotel early and was awaiting my prince charming to meet me there later that day.
I’d think about the stately gardens we would stroll through as a couple, hand in hand and imagine our meal would be the same as the previous nights guests had been fed. Rich and decadent. And then we would spend the night properly in separate beds because we were only courting and that’s what courting couples did.
I still love arriving at hotels now. I get the same buzz of excitement that I experienced as a child. I’m just not sure how the hotels would react if I arrived navigating my way to check in holding a mirror and stepping my way across the ceiling.