... and we all talked drunken bollocks

The 3 year olds party was perfect. Lots of children racing around getting sweaty, flailing in ball pools, climbing the wrong way up slides, snubbing anything uncrisplike and eating the sweets off the top of buns.

Regarding the 40 year olds party, there are just a few things I would like to raise with the venue manager regarding our party ...

Dear Manager of Venue

There are just a few points I'd like to raise that luckily did not detract from our enjoyment of the evening, but none the less I would like to bring them to your attention

On our inspection visit a few weeks ago we thought the function room smelt damp and foisty. I brought the subject up with you who said something would be done. The odd squirt of Febreze would have been better than nothing. But ‘nothing’ you did and on arrival the smell of wet dog still permeated our nostrils. This wasn’t a problem to one of our forty or so guests who has no sense of smell.

The fact we could use our own ipod and playlist appealed to my husband (a music snob) who dashed off to create his tour de force. It took him the best part of a day and was, I quote, “Eclectic. Loud and laid back, old and new, mainstream and indie; something for everyone and tailored to suit each friend that attended the party”.

I didn’t much mind standing on a rickety old table, risking neck breakage, to access the aged stereo and plug the ipod into its lead. I did however get slightly irritated at the ipod having to be in one position and one position only to play; tilted on its left hand side pointing upwards and wedged behind the stereo. If it were moved 0.1 millimetres to the right it went silent, sounded like it was being pumped through an elephants rectal passage or jumped like a CD in a go kart on a cobbled lane. At times myself, my husband and occasionally, our guests had to stand on the rickety old table to reposition the ipod.

I’m fairly easy going so most of the above didn't really phase me, besides we were too busy laughing with our friends ...

HOWEVER – What did razz me off was this ... When I initially called to book the venue I was told there would be waiter/waitress service to the room below the bar we had booked. With the press of the shiny red button someone would appear and take our drinks order. No mixing with the riff raff upstairs. Excitedly I pressed the button ….. and waited 15 minutes. Nothing. Giving the button the benefit of my doubt I pressed again with more gusto. Nope, nothing, nada. We were informed that as the bar was so busy, with it being a Saturday night, you were unable to accommodate our demands downstairs. I spent the following 30 minutes queuing at the bar upstairs. When I was finally served I panicked and bought several drinks, which in turn made me take several hangover cures on Sunday morning.

The excited menfolk gathered on the wooden floor to play pool, a floor that felt like it had been been mopped with golden syrup. It was very much a case of ‘look at what you could have won’ when it became apparent that you had lost the cue ball. Still, the pool table was nice to look at all evening.

Towards the end of the night, tracksuit clad chavs unable to read the words ‘PRIVATE PARTY’ tried to join us. They were given short shrift as our guests hugged their handbags closer. Nylon tracksuits I ask you … on a Saturday night. What is the village coming to?

Yours faithfully

Mrs D

So it came to pass that on Saturday night we celebrated husband’s 40th in style; It's the company you keep that's important, and the company we kept on Saturday night was outstanding!

After the party we went for a curry with leftover revellers which was delicious and we all talked drunken bollocks.

I woke yesterday to a dull throb in my head but managed to shake off the hangover when I discovered the 3 year old in the bathroom having an early morning hair styling session. He had used the best part of a tube of hair gel which was now running down his forehead towards his eyes. Only a bath and hairwash would do.

Next time we’d be better off having a party at home. We have Flash All Purpose floor cleaner, uninterrupted music, a ‘no nylon’ policy and a fast drinks service.

Sure, our home smells of dog and burnt chocolate crispie buns, but, we have Febreze.

What do you mean you're not supposed to bake chocolate crispie buns?