Okay, I survived the 70th birthday party. “THE” party which was the whole reason I even ended up spending a colossal two months with my in-laws. Hip hip hooray! I did it all for the children (okay I’m not entirely selfless, I was out scouting a sales rep for the fair trade clothing line BUT I found our rep extraordinaire within the first week) and I managed it all without a single fight! Although I will admit I got a bit snappy when the ‘ole you-know-what went on and on about “proper” beans when I’d made refried beans (from scratch, no Rosarita’s in the UK) AND had set aside a bowl of “whole” beans to avoid his snide comments. But no, we had to hear about proper this and proper that. You know folks, if you want to discuss “proper” food with a Brit I think “mushy” peas is a fantastic subject. At least we’ve got sense enough to add a few spices, veggies (a ham hock for you carnivores) and call it soup!



Speaking of proper and speaking of parties, my in-laws and I seem to have different opinions of a proper party. Of course part of the reason is the simple fact of my being American (as discussed in previous blogs) but the BA in Public Relations is a serious hindrance to my level of tolerance on such occasions. Is it the whole of England or just my family that has to understate everything? So I will provide just one detail, to sum up the party planning:

It’s the man’s 70th birthday party. A hall has been rented and a buffet lunch is to be served. It’s an open bar. Guests are traveling from all over England, from France, from Africa, from Australia for goodness sake. About 50 people in total. And the plan is, not the “oh my gosh, I forgot to order the cake,” or the “shoot! I didn’t order the cake on time and they are all booked!” plan. The actual plan is to order a generic frozen cake.





So of course when they left town I slyly scurried down to the bakery and let the kids pick out the ‘ole man’s cake – We got the giant 7, and the giant 0 frosted in rainbow colors. It said, “Happy Birthday Granddad, we love you.” And guess what? The man actually cried when he saw it. Goes to show you, we Yanks know how to yank the ‘ole heart strings – and Yank a “proper” party together!

Cheers & Ciao for now,

Gina