I'm up late, teen-proofing our house, ready for Betty's party this Saturday. Thirty teenagers, at large in my house, drinking that revolting kiwi/raspberry/melon cider - currently all lined up beautifuly in the fridge. I was alarmed when Betty told me that I should remove the pictures from the walls.
I stopped writing this blog for many years but this feels like a very significant time to start again. Up until now, my girls' parties have pretty much been pass-the-parcel, jelly and ice-cream type affairs.
If I'm really honest, I'm rather excited about the impending party, more so than Betty herself I think. I've enjoyed imagining myself as a sixteen year old again, although sixteen year old me is very different to sixteen year old Betty. I've been reading my old diaries and I'd noted that half a Strongbow at the local disco cost 60p in 1990. Every single week I wrote about a different boy who I was 'madly in luv' with and was 'definitely the one I was going to marry'. Betty is far more sophisticated now than I ever was.
As I sit here typing this post, everyone else has gone to bed, I'm surrounded by fairy lights of every colour and shape, I've got the disco lamp spinning, the shimmering streamers and bunting, Shakin Stevens playing out of my phone, and I'm eating Jaffa Cakes. This is the best party ever.
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