Mrs Coyne, our elderly next door neighbour where we grew up, always used to say that there were three parts to an event: the looking forward, the event itself and the eternal memory of it. Now I realise she was a philosopher in her own right, though that observation would have passed me by the age I was then.
Unfortunately for J, he missed out on the first of the three parts for his birthday weekend. But I got a large dose of all three - including his share of the first, by arranging a bit of a 'thurprithe' as it is known in our household...
We'd had a good time at the Queen's Birthday Party in the garden at the British Consulate in Jerusalem. The pimms was the colour of stewed tea, and I drank three, and the beer kegs eternally flowing. At 8.30pm I saw J chatting away with someone, leaning against a wall, cigar in hand, and wondered how I would tear him away. I made up an excuse that St Grace had found a free ride to the Jordanian border, and we tootled our way back home rather tipsily in the darkness.
When we arrived, there were four figures sitting in the darkness out the back of our house. Two were wearing Haredim hats with sidelocks; another two were in Palestinian thobe dresses and Jordanian keffiyehs. They were muttering to each other with drinks in their hands. J was evidently confused and a little worried. Who were these strangers sitting in our house? I was filming the whole thing on my iPhone, and as I saw his face become more and more concerned, I encouraged them to reveal:
And there they all were: Rosie and Harry, Bertie and Lucy - ready to spend a weekend of adventures with us in Jerusalem. J had no idea, and was suitably amazed and happy.
Little did he know that Rosie and Harry were hiding in St Grace's room when he came back to change before the Queen's birthday bash, and St Grace had had to whisk the dwarves off for a hot and sweaty walk in the street so they didn't let the cat out of the bag.
We don't have a huge number of bosom buddies here after only 5 months in the city - but to share our little oasis of a house with people we know so well and love so much, and to get to explore together, was just what J and I needed. And our visitors did more than enter into the spirit. Each minute was full of hilarity, conversation and the occasional sip of wine. (hiccup) A tonic indeed. And plenty of gin to go with it.
They stayed for four days, and after they'd left I was reminded of Mrs Coyne's philosophy as I sat having lunch with the dwarves. Rather than letting myself feel sad they'd all gone - I reminded myself of the riches to be found in memories.
The muezzin struck up as we began our lunch: 'Hath Daddy gone to the mothque?' squawked Rashimi.
'No Washimi, that is Daddy actually singing from the mothque!' answered the Lozenge.
On J's actual birthday, the dwarves and I arranged a small tea party with an emphasis on chocolate and balloons, since it is mostly the small people who were in charge of party planning and arrangements in our house. But I was allowed a tiny say over the flowers and the cake recipe.
It's amazing how little you need to have fun when armed with two children under 5.
At 8pm the Lozenge sat slumped on a hat box which belonged to J's grandfather. 'Oh Mummy, I just want the party to start all over again. It wath so much fun.'
Unfortunately for J, he missed out on the first of the three parts for his birthday weekend. But I got a large dose of all three - including his share of the first, by arranging a bit of a 'thurprithe' as it is known in our household...
We'd had a good time at the Queen's Birthday Party in the garden at the British Consulate in Jerusalem. The pimms was the colour of stewed tea, and I drank three, and the beer kegs eternally flowing. At 8.30pm I saw J chatting away with someone, leaning against a wall, cigar in hand, and wondered how I would tear him away. I made up an excuse that St Grace had found a free ride to the Jordanian border, and we tootled our way back home rather tipsily in the darkness.
When we arrived, there were four figures sitting in the darkness out the back of our house. Two were wearing Haredim hats with sidelocks; another two were in Palestinian thobe dresses and Jordanian keffiyehs. They were muttering to each other with drinks in their hands. J was evidently confused and a little worried. Who were these strangers sitting in our house? I was filming the whole thing on my iPhone, and as I saw his face become more and more concerned, I encouraged them to reveal:
And there they all were: Rosie and Harry, Bertie and Lucy - ready to spend a weekend of adventures with us in Jerusalem. J had no idea, and was suitably amazed and happy.
Little did he know that Rosie and Harry were hiding in St Grace's room when he came back to change before the Queen's birthday bash, and St Grace had had to whisk the dwarves off for a hot and sweaty walk in the street so they didn't let the cat out of the bag.
We don't have a huge number of bosom buddies here after only 5 months in the city - but to share our little oasis of a house with people we know so well and love so much, and to get to explore together, was just what J and I needed. And our visitors did more than enter into the spirit. Each minute was full of hilarity, conversation and the occasional sip of wine. (hiccup) A tonic indeed. And plenty of gin to go with it.
They stayed for four days, and after they'd left I was reminded of Mrs Coyne's philosophy as I sat having lunch with the dwarves. Rather than letting myself feel sad they'd all gone - I reminded myself of the riches to be found in memories.
The muezzin struck up as we began our lunch: 'Hath Daddy gone to the mothque?' squawked Rashimi.
'No Washimi, that is Daddy actually singing from the mothque!' answered the Lozenge.
On J's actual birthday, the dwarves and I arranged a small tea party with an emphasis on chocolate and balloons, since it is mostly the small people who were in charge of party planning and arrangements in our house. But I was allowed a tiny say over the flowers and the cake recipe.
It's amazing how little you need to have fun when armed with two children under 5.
At 8pm the Lozenge sat slumped on a hat box which belonged to J's grandfather. 'Oh Mummy, I just want the party to start all over again. It wath so much fun.'
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