"A waiter at my own party"

Yesterday was my eldest son's 21st birthday - it was a lovely sunny day and the garden was crammed with 20 odd friends and relations - all people who had known him as a small scrap and there were presents, fizz, goodwill, bonhomie and all sorts of nice things.  Here he is cutting his birthday cake and being toasted.

Before the party I asked if he would help pour drinks and see that people had what they needed.  "So I have to be a waiter at my own party?" he asked angrily.   Later it made me think that that was a very useful metaphor for life - and as my sister P said "particularly so if you are an H---- woman" - "Except of course, you don't get your own party" I pointed out: we laughed.  Like drains.    I am not being martyrish I hope, but this party took a lot of planning, hard work and money, I did a lot of work, his father did a lot of work and even his brother worked on the house and helping out with the preps.  24 hours later, after a successful party - and then having to have the house open for his mates in the evening - I have yet to hear the Thank You...I mildly suggested he could take a plastic box full of chili back to Norwich with him to share with his housemates - and you would have thought I'd suggested he'd taken a route march home via Cardiff, carrying a 48lb pack.

However, today - with few duties except continued tidying up and wondering how to dispose of the leftovers - is absolutely beautiful.  The countryside is beautiful - seeing the wheat ripening in the fields, and the black pigs snoozing in the sun on our way to and from Minster was lovely.   We spent most of the morning sitting in the garden with The Observer and Ned did make us a tray of tea and we ate some of the second birthday cake.  Then we went out to the Corner House in Minster for a late Sunday lunch - and I hoped a jolly mood would prevail - but it didn't.  There are so many topics we aren't allowed to mention... I really don't know what to do.  Usually I find having a scream-up clears the air - but the hostility has been palpable since he returned on Friday evening and stood rigid when I gave him a welcoming  hug....and he's here for such a short time it doesn't seem worth having a row.   He did indicate to his godfather J that he realised it had been a lot of work for me....but honestly the only time he's been really sincere and friendly was when he told me that his new Fender Stratocaster was "just the right colour".... well, let us be grateful for that.  Do all eldest children feel so entitled?  I certainly didn't, but I was a girl of course...

The Garden

The garden has peaked this weekend - we have a wall of jasmine - it smells gorgeous - there are some Compassion rose amongst it.  In the main bed are a huge Mme Alfred Carriere, a libertia grandiflora, nigella, orange perennial poppies, centanthrus ruber, a geranium, and the yellow scabious, as well as a bright blue one.... it looks utterly gorgeous.  The Lady Hillingdon rose looks fantastic - a clematis tangutica is growing into it - so the bright yellow roses  arch against the blue sky, while green yellow buds of the clematis swell below.... it is perfect.  Apart from all the blank bits, where the cat sits...