January 2011 - Post Xmas party production week

It's the first week of January 2011 and now that the xmas and new year festivities are out of the way, it is time to wear my party production hat and start producing the 2011 version of The Denning's annual post-Xmas party which is planned for the 8th.

This is the crucial week when my design ideas and the thoughts about their execution will be put to the test. The alternative Xmas tree has to be built, the décor for the flat needs to be put up, the menu for the canapés is to be finalised and the last shopping trips is to be carried out.




This is also the time when the guests who had confirmed their attendance, as well as those who had potentially committed to attending the party, let you know that they will not be able to come. Needless to say, this adds up to the stress of the preparations as one cannot stop the word 'Failure' from dancing with one's mind. What if nobody comes? Would the place look busy enough with only 50 guests attending?

However, as the pressure from the arrival of D Day increases, and the final to do list becomes longer, these concerns are brushed aside simply by the mere fact that time does not allow for worrying.

D-Day minus 3

I woke up with a terrible headache which had started the previous night with no sign of improvement. A full day's work hasn't tampered my suffering and the pain killers are only proving helpful for a couple of hours at a time. With this in mind (pardon the pun), I have decided to put aside the party preparations (by then the alternative xmas tree is the only item ticked off from the to do list) and head straight to bed hoping to sleep the headache off.

D-Day minus 2

Half way through the night I had to awaken Chris, my civil partner, so he could take me to the Accident & Emergency department of our local hospital. Once the effect of the pain killers wore out, the pain became so excruciating that sleep was no longer an option. My head felt like it was about to explode and having taken over the recommended limit of ibuprofens, the only responsible thing to do was to head straight to the hospital.
After over 3 hours in a brightly lit hospital cubicle (which did not help in the slightest) I was given some paracetamol, moved to a darker cubicle and told to wait for the drugs to take effect. Apparently, after checking the back of my eyes, no inflammation was noticeable so I was free to go back home as my discomfort was thought to be benign.
In the morning, and after having been sedated by the hospital doctor, taking some more medication and having overslept, it was agreed that I would carry out my working shift from home as noise and bright lights were becoming increasingly hostile to me and the thought of being in the office did not agree with or appeal to me.
Once my working day was over and having suffered an unbearable headache for over 48 hours, I decided once again to bypass the party preparations and go to bed instead hoping that sleep would make the pain go away.
A couple of hours later, I woke up with tears streaming down my face unable to sleep any longer. By then I had taken upon myself to disregard the daily allowance for the medication I was taking, as killing the pain became as much of an obsession as meeting Justin Bieber is to a 14 year old pre-pubescent girl (and that's obsessive!). While waiting, I finalised my menu and prepared my shopping list.


D-Day minus 1


Today is the day when all the food for the 480 canapés has to be purchased and be prepared. The plan was to wake up early to do the shopping, come back home and get started before my brother and his girlfriend arrive from France for the weekend's activities. However, the pain was so strong throughout the night that my sleep was constantly interrupted and I emerged slowly from my bedroom at 1pm. A mere 30 minutes before my brother was to ring the door. I took a quick shower (after some more drugs, of course) and I rushed out of the door to collect them from St Pancras International across the road from home.  I was basically hoping that if I were to go and fetch them (which was not the original plan) they would find it difficult to refuse my pleading for assistance in order to be ready on time for the party. By that time, panic was settling in despite the pain trying to take all my focus away from my duties.
We went shopping and were able to catch up on the way to the shops (we had not seen each other for nearly 10 months) and came back home to prepare the food while I gave them the responsibility to finish the house decorations and iron 500 balloon's ribbons (don't ask!). They went to bed at around 4am and I followed suite at 5:30am after having baked 198 mini lemon tartlets.






D-Day


I am not a religious person (despite having been raised a catholic) but the abuse suffered as a child (to be clear I am talking mental abuse rather than physical abuse here) and the intolerance of the church has prevented me since my early teenage years from believing in a higher power. Furthermore, the higher power I was told to submit to, seemed to be spending far too much time telling me that what I was doing was wrong rather than supporting me as I blossomed into a young adult. However, I admit to having thanked God on D-Day as I woke up pain free for the first time in over 5 days. If indeed someone was looking out for me and needed me to believe in his/her existence, on Saturday 8th January they were doing a pretty good job. The final food preparation was being carried out and the furnitures moved around. The last bit of decorations were being put up as Milo, our lighting designer, was tweaking the lamps and laser. My sister and her husband had arrived from France by plane in the afternoon and the DJ was setting up. With 30 minutes to go, the lights, the laser, the sound, the food and the decor were all ready for their performance. I too was definitely ready for fun, for my friends and for loads of frolics