Am instantly conscious on waking that I have 60 people to feed tomorrow: canapés, sit-down starter, main course, pudding, coffee, cake.
To my horror the slightest smidgeon of slushy sleet sees an almost instant email from one couple announcing that they will not be coming to the Surprise Party tomorrow due to a forecast of 3 inches of snow.
I feel the icy fingers of panic clutch at my throat.
All that planning. All that investment of time and energy. What if everyone begins to bail-out and cry off...
What happened to stiff upper lip and spirit of the blitz?
But I can’t think like that. I drive to Waitrose to collect the wine and champagne glasses which Waitrose so kindly loans free of charge.
At Waitrose the very nice deputy manager tells me he is terribly sorry but his colleague has failed to process my order for puddings.
I feel like a rabbit trapped in the head lamps unable momentarily to think or act.
I want to weep and wail and tear at my clothes but I don’t have time.
Instead, like some demented contestant in a supermarket sweep competition and railing loudly all the while about 'Incompetence', I run at speed to the pudding section and begin wildly to scoop chocolate puddings from the shelves.
I’ve no trolley or basket so I must scoop them into my arms while simultaneously counting and throwing furious looks at other customers who might dare snaffle them ahead of me.
Waitrose gives me the puddings.
***
3 a.m. Haven’t gone to bed yet. Too much to do.
No other wimps have wimped out out.
I get down on my knees and pray to the Weather God for No Snow.
09.02.2013
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