On The Town

I have been nominated by Mopsa and MYA for a Blogging Community Involvement Award for Services to Schmoozing! I am truly flattered, as I believe that schmoozing is a seriously under-rated skill (along with sponging – but we’ll come to that later). It is supposed to involve the gift of ‘conversing casually in order to make a social connection.’ After a few bevvies, my conversation can become so ‘casual’ that it is positively slurred, but never mind. Thank you Mopsa and MYA, I am delighted to accept, and would like to pass the nomination on to Jenny at Mountain Mama, who has such a warm, conversational style, you feel that you are sitting right next to her, at the kitchen table of her lovely mountain home.
Download the shiny badge, Jenny, and enjoy!

Anyway, enough of the red carpet - we are off on holiday! Some friends in New York have very generously given us the use of their beach house on the Jersey Shore, followed by the use of their Manhattan apartment. What a sponger’s paradise! Even the horror of taking three children on an eight hour flight wasn’t enough to make me pass up this opportunity. Also, as I have mentioned before, I am unfashionably fond of the USA, and can’t wait to get back there again.
The kids are very excited about seeing the Statue of Liberty, and I am very excited about pouring gallons of American wine down my neck. The favourable exchange rate means that I really should sample as much as I can, don’t you think?
While we are away, my brother and his family are coming to stay in our house. This has caused me considerable anxiety. When you take a look at your own house and try and see it through someone else’s eyes, it can be truly alarming. I’m not just talking about the level of squalor we tolerate at home, compared to normal people. It’s more to do with the vagaries of the house and its contents.
It started when we handed the keys over. I had to give my brother and his wife details about how the front door was ‘really easy’ to open, as long as you pull it towards you, before turning the key. Then I moved on to explain how opening the back door was ‘really easy’, as it was the reverse procedure to the front door, but required an additional shoulder barge. ‘Never mind’ they said, ‘we won’t open the back door – how do we open the windows?’ Well, it’s ‘really easy’, there’s a key, but it only works on some of the windows. ‘Never mind’ they said, ‘we won’t open the windows.’ By this point, they were exchanging claustrophobic glances, so I didn’t dare describe how you have to twist the shower control right round to the left if you want any hot water, or stand on one leg to ignite the ring on the gas cooker. It is turning into a nightmare scenario of having to attach explanatory Post-it notes to every idiosyncratic control and appliance we own. I have even bought a new kettle and iron, since the risk of electrocution from our old ones was dangerously high, unless you were wearing Wellington boots.
As I am in holiday mood, I have cracked open a bottle of Ca’Rosa Prosecco (Oddbins £7.49) which is dry, with a light and delicate apple flavour. I don’t like it quite as much as my favourite La Marca (Ocado £5.99), but it is a very strong contender for second place. Highly recommended!
Just one more glass, then I will carry on packing the suitcases. Despite all the preparation, I am really looking forward to this holiday. The chance to spend time together as a family will enable us to discover what it is that we really can’t stand about each other.

I will be back in August – I’m missing you already!

Mothers Day, USA

Sunday is Mother’s Day in the USA. I know this because we are having some American visitors over for lunch. Two friends from New York are flying over to England with their mothers, as a Mother’s Day present, which is a bit more upmarket than a handmade card and a box of Maltesers. Part of their trip is a visit chez Drunk Mummy, for Sunday lunch (eeek! I’ll have to get out of my dressing gown!).

I am unfashionably fond of Americans. I think they get a really bad press. The USA is a country of 300 million people, yet there frequently seems to be a snobbish and rather patronising tendency to portray them all as George Bush-loving thickoes, with no sense of irony. If people were to make assumptions about me (as one of 60 million people) on the basis of Tony the Vicar of St Albion, and reality TV, I would be seriously hacked off.

I find most Americans I meet to be extremely friendly, once you get over the initial shock of hearing a middle-aged lady discuss how she has put weight on her fanny. It also surprises me when they are derided for their insincerity (see T. Blair, above) especially with regard to customer service. So what if the American shop assistant doesn’t really care whether or not I actually do have a nice day? I would rather have fake interest than the genuine disregard I encountered today from the languid shop assistant, who glared at me for having the cheek to want to actually buy something. I think she was annoyed that I had interrupted her long-running daydream about becoming (or maybe just having) a personality.

The other important cultural difference that I need to sort out when meeting up with American friends is the use of the phrase ‘really pissed’. I suppose it’s possible to be really pissed when you are really pissed, but then, no-one likes an aggressive drunk.

I ought to be drinking something American tonight, but I have been waiting for Friday night to finally sample a Marks and Spencer rosé Prosecco (£7.49). This is a recommendation from Rob and Silvana at Landcroft House, whose blog is always a feast for all the senses. I love prosecco, and this is an unusual one - fresh and light, it reminds me of those ‘cherry lips’ sweeties I used to get when I was young.

It seems that I have a few cultural prejudices to overcome in my own household. When I told my kids that our friends were bringing their mothers over for a visit, and that one of these lovely elderly American ladies was really looking forward to meeting them, one of them asked me “Will she have a gun in her handbag?”

Maybe I will tell them that she has, just to make sure they behave themselves.