Beware unicorn vomit
SEPTEMBER seems to be a particularly busy season for children’s parties, combining those held to celebrate real birthdays with those that fell during summer. In our own home we offer a birthday tea party: a modestsounding term for a ritual that invariably devastates the house. After my first experience of setting things to rights afterwards—excavating cake from the carpet—i inwardly determined to make draconian cuts to future guest lists.
The experience made me ever more impressed and grateful for those who plan more ambitious occasions. Last weekend, we attended the nonpareil of birthday parties. There was a children’s disco, a chemistry lab for manufacturing slime— unicorn’s vomit (purple), troll’s bogey (green) and crushed fairy (pink)—and, most importantly, an extraordinary spread of food and sweets. I was reprimanded for trying to help myself to jelly beans by a child rendered inarticulate by a lollipop the size of a small saucer.
The children returned home buzzing with excitement (and sugar). Very soon afterwards, I was at work on the carpet again, this time extracting unicorn vomit. As I did so, I wondered darkly how, in future I might contrive to ban children’s parties forever. JG