Recently I heard a young mother I know explain how she couldnt quite bear her daughter’s school clothes to have the standard Cash’s woven nametapes sewn in to them, becasue they were so severe looking, so ‘orphanage’. No, this woman had discovered a special order service whereby for only about six times the price, her daughter’s little school dresses could sport Special Order baby blue designer labels with baby pink lettering. They did look exquisite, I
had to admit. But I regarded them and her with a hollow feeling. I felt she had some sort of duty not to raise the game in this way. Why, I always weave and embroider the fabric myself, I felt like declaring.

At my daughters school the birthday party season is upon us and all sorts of insane equations are flying through my head. If I make Mary the amazing pink fairy princess castle cake of her dreams her freinds will all behighly impressed, they’ll treat her with extra warmth and respect at school which she will subsequently grow to adore and where she’ll be more likely to flourish, which will lead to her gaining a good education which statistcally will make her more likely to have a happy life-and all because of my skill with an icing
nozzle. I curse myself now for not taking an advanced course in sugarcraft when I had the chance a few years ago, while remembering that someone once told me upside down ice cream cones smeared with pinkish butter icing make mighty realistic princess castle turrets.

Princess parties are the requirement du jour in this neck of the woods. We’ve been to four or five this month. Each of the little girls I know has a favourite princess. Mary’s is Belle from Beauty and Beast, who’s bookish, confident and not afraid to seem unconventional, eschewing pink for outlandish yellow hues when it comes to ball gowns. She wants so much more than her own
provincial life and marriage to the smug village hunk. Mary has informed me that she wants to be a princess doctor when she grows up. Not, obviously, a doctor who looks after the worlds ranks of highly neurotic princesses, although this job would have obvious perks: the nicest house in Primrose Hill was presented by Queen Victoria to her favourite Doctor. No, Mary wants to be a princess
who serves to heal the sick in her community. Which is nice.

I am, of course, happy to incorporate as much princesserie into the party as Mary desires and will attempt the pink versailles style gateau complete with gold and white plastic carriage parked out front on the palace forecourt, but what’s really keepingme awake at night is the party bag question, for it is ont he strength of these that the true merit of the party is really assessed. There are a few unspoken rules when it comes to putting these together. Firstly no 2 bags must resemble each other entirely: will a 14 month old baby girl requre the same as a five year old boy or a three year old snow white impersonator? She will not. Each bag must contain at least seven different items, only two of which may be edible. The enitre cost of the bags must not exceed about £4.00 or it will seem as though, in a transparently despicable manner, money and not care jhas been thrown at the problem.

Whenever I try to imagine these thirty littel bags I feel an extrmely rare desire to rebel in a hideous fashion. I keep imagaining the world’s most unsuitable gift selection: a packet of Rizzlers, some stink bombs, an assortment of plasters and gauze and bandages from John Bell and Croydon, a sheet of Virgin Mary and crucifiction stickers, baby pots of ink in purple and bottle green, some chocolate liquers, a pack of candy cigarettes, a small selection of
Kentucky Fried chicken and a gun. How bad would a gift have to be to ensure it was handed back with a crisp, ‘No thanks’, I wonder. What would hapen if I just gave each child a stack of coins?

Of course the gifts bags will contain no such things. I’m not deranged. I will run up little sacks mysef from red gingham and they will be fastened with lilac satin ribbons. Inside little heartshaped notebooks will jostle with the PAris bought buterfly hairslides, sweetie necklaces, princess lollipops, miniature paintboxes,candy canes, teeny teddies, bubbles, a tiny princess
figurine and some little item bearing that child’s name to make it feel special. I love doing that kind of thing and it will bring me great pleasure and joy. It’s just nice trying out what it’s like to be someone else sometimes. Every party needs a bad fairy.