The Hostess of the Lostness

Dear reader, sssh but don't tell those that read my 'boring ' blog but I'm no elegant hostess.  I had thought I was, until I hosted.

I had ideas beyond my ability, it turns out.  I dreamt of a table with towering golden chocolate balls,  crackers adorned with slivers of blue cheese topped with drizzles of honey,  smoked salmon blinis

 with a feathering of dill and for dessert a, well, does it matter!  Suffice to say on the day the above is not what I served.

My story started three days before, with a glass of Spanish sherry,  as all good stories start. This sherry hit parts of me no other sherry has hit.  My chest.  I coughed and coughed.  I coughed for a week. In fact I'm still coughing.  I had a temperature.  I had a headache.  I had a bucketful of tablets. 

Party day arrived, and I had a personal  party in my head.  In fact the tablets sent me on quite the vacation.  With bemusement I watched as my mother tried to spread stilton on crackers and pour on honey,  under my instruction, apparently.  Feeling quite disassociated I watched Miss 22 grate some cheese and sprinkle it on the side of a plate  (because she thought it was what I wanted. Believe me, I didn't know what I wanted! )  I managed to pour some cocktail sausages and cherry tomatoes into bowls  (a combination dreamed up under the influence of lemsip max) yet leave the middle bowl,  the piece de resistance, empty.

A half hearted party table

Who were we entertaining? Our families.  This consisted of my mum, Mr Him's dad,  some cousin's of Miss 22 s gran from the other side of the family, my aunt and cousin. And,  big And, Miss 22's boyfriend's mum,  aunt, uncle,  gran  (all of whom we'd never met!)

Miss 22 tests the Pringles during the food preparation stage

Well, they were going to leave thinking I was the Hostess with the Mostess weren't  they! Not.  More the Hostess of the Lostness, given where my head was.  Mr Him to the rescue. With a pirouette  he spun and spun until Supercook was before us in his pinny.  He baked Iceland party nibbles.  Pigs in Blankets,  chicken pieces, more pigs in blankets.

Then dessert. If last impressions are the impressions that matter we may have got away with this for Supercook served a towering sugar coated panettone. 

The relatives we'd never met awed . They awed and ahhed and asked what it was, and awed some more.

'Panettone, ' I said smugly.  'It's Italian. '