Well whadduyaknow? The sun shone

Glorious. That's what the weather was (and indeed still is). It was as though we had a hotline to the weather gods and we'd managed to be the 100th lucky caller, thereby getting exactly the weather we wanted.

And so, under blue skies and baking sun, we had our summer party. And amazingly it actually felt like summer. We had about 100 small naked boys tearing around the garden with one or two bemused looking girls sitting on the side wondering how they'd landed in a scene from the Lord of the Flies. They swam, they splashed in an inflatable pirate ship, they ate sprinkles out of ice cream cones filled with ice cream sauce, they bounced on trampolines, they stole handfuls of crisps when they thought no-one was looking, they generally ran amok being little boys and having a ball. We, the grown ups, got to watch while sipping on wine. Some of us were even brave enough to unleash our matronly figures to take a dip.

All in all, it was lovely. There was a slight problem on the catering front insomuch as I obviously thought that I was feeding the entire population of West Berkshire and wanted to ensure everyone also had seconds. So despite applying ourselves diligently all weekend, we still have several large vats of salad and potato bake loitering in the kitchen. Getting numbers right is a female problem. Men don't have this problem because if they were left in charge of the catering there would be one tomato and a lettuce leaf to share between all the guests as salad doesn't count as a food group. There would be a huge surplus of meat, but because it's meat, it would all be eaten by the men in question, so again, no wastage.

But women, we feel the need to make sure that every person must be able to have exactly what they want to eat. And that might well mean an entire bowl of salad to themselves. Which means you have to multiply that volume by the number of guests to ensure everyone has enough. What we should actually do is count the number of female adults and create a small portion of salad for each of them. They won't actually be able to sit still long enough to eat a big portion. The men won't eat salad and the kids think it's poison. So note to self: for future catering, less green stuff.

The company was marvellous and I'd like to take a moment here to mention a special friend who wonders how I can blog without actually discussing anyone in particular. She feels it would be beyond her abilities to not gossip. So Fifi. Here you are. A mention and a gossip just for you. Fifi was the lady who resolutely refused to believe that summer was actually here so came attired in long jeans and a long sleeve shirt and then spent the entire weekend trying to stop her face from turning purple. Next time mad woman, bring a swimsuit.

There was one down side to the party, which only came to my attention this morning. We had to remove our washing line (one of those twirly whirly ones) to make space for small beasties to charge about. This morning I had to hang washing on the line as we seem to have used every towel and swimsuit we own, not to mention that all of last week's laundry was ignored in the pre-party build up. So I attempted to re-erect the washing line.

I feel that the manufacturers of these devices should include some kind of instructions that are stuck on the central pole. I spent about 30 minutes simply trying to get the thing to open. In the process, I managed to break one of the supporting joists and tangled all of the lines. After much cursing and with burning arm muscles, I finally had the thing looking sort of like a washing line again. As I tried to hang the first shirt on the line, I realised that it wasn't quite right given that the shirt was draping on the grass due to a complete lack of tension in the lines. Five years later I had rethreaded the whole sodding thing. It's still not right. But at least the clothes are now dangling a foot off the ground instead of being on it. This is a job for husband.

And now I must pretend to actually do some work instead of staring wistfully out of the window at the sunshine. Although I think I might take a break mid morning to go for a swim....

We are sailing

I have a lot to do today. And I've already managed to fold about a 100 years worth of laundry, tidied up my clothes cupboard so that I could fit my newly, not very well ironed clothes in it. I also tidied up the boys clothes cupboard, put on a load of laundry, unpacked the dishwasher, repacked it, washed a few dishes and now I'm ready to start work.

However, my computer is operating so slowly it's almost going in reverse. I think it might be because I have over 7000 items in my deleted items folder and I haven't defragged the machine for a while (mainly because I'm never too sure how one defrags a pc or what the hell it is supposed to do). So I am typing this while intermittently deleting more deleted items.

I've just checked out the weather forecast for tomorrow and it's going to be 19C with sunny spells and a 21 knot westerly wind. The reason this is important is because I am going sailing. In the Solent. On a 45 foot yacht. With no children. Quite frankly, even if the forecast had been galeforce winds and torrential rain coupled with sleet, I'd be ok with it because I am going to be on a boat in the sea with no children anywhere near me. Lovely husband bought me the sailing trip well over a year ago but I've not had the chance to use it. He was meant to be joining me on it, but as he'll be winging his way back from Seattle, I roped in a friend who is just as pleased to escape her children for a full day.

I grew up sailing. It's one of those things I'm sort of proud of. I can't play a musical instrument or speak a foreign language (well not one that counts - Afrikaans and Zulu are hardly going be universally useful are they.) I am athletically challenged in every way. I used to think I could sing, but having heard myself sing in a kareoke bar many years ago, it's apparent that I don't have that talent either. But sailing, I can do.

My husband doesn't like sailing with me. He thinks I become 'shouty'. I do. Particularly if we're racing and someone is going faster than us and my crew tries to impersonate a snail by moving really slowly and doesnt get his sail in fast enough. Or when there's about 30 boats crowded on a start line, sails flapping, waiting for the seconds to countdown before the start gun goes. And your crew - whose job it is to look out for things and warn the very busy skipper - fails to point out a large boat barrelling down on us so that we end up having an almighty collision resulting in a big hole in the side of the boat. Then yes, in those kinds of 'theoretical' situations I can get a bit tetchy.

But tomorrow won't be like that. Because tomorrow we will have a skipper and a crew and we can decide to help them winch in sails if we fancy it, or we can simply swan about and watch them work. We get to have a grown up, girly lunch on the Isle of Wight, and then we get meander back across the Solent again. Fabulous.

I'm very glad that husband will be coming back tomorrow. I'm growing rather weary of this single parent lark. For a start, the kitchen surfaces haven't been buffed since Erika the cleaner was here on Monday and yesterday I had to do the bins all by myself. Bins are a boy job. As is mowing lawns and ours are in serious need of doing. I'm sure he will be thrilled with his to do list upon his return. Then again, he's had a week of eating US sized steaks so he gets no sympathy from me.

I need to go and turn off the washing machine now because it's beeping at me and it's incredibly annoying. So fare thee well. I will return to report back on my adventures at sea.