This weekend I escaped the madness (and shit weather) of London to celebrate the Queen's Diamond Jubilee at home in Glasgow. We watched some of the celebrations – e.g. the flotilla – on television but the main focus was my parents' 'garden party', quickly reconfigured as a house party when temperatures dropped below 15 degrees. Preparations for the big event came in two stages. Stage one, my outfit planning, was pretty easy. I committed the cardinal sin of outfit-repeating and reused my birthday Raf Simons jacket combo (in honour of the Queen's own official birthday, of course...). I think I got away with it because those people don't actually read my blog.
Stage two of the preparations involved helping Mother create all manner of baked goods from Victoria sponges to Empire biscuits. We had to resort to the internet for some of the more old fashioned recipes – apparently even Delia doesn't know what goes into a coronation chicken sandwich! After wrapping the entire house in Union flag bunting and erecting a full-sized Queenie look-a-like in the window, we were ready to go.
The party was for forty-five of my parents' closest friends and neighbours, so I didn't actually know that many people. I suffered through several conversations where I spent the whole time trying to remember who in Hell I was talking to. It was nice though, everyone kept saying how tall and handsome I have become; I guess the last time they saw me I was a cute four-year-old!
All this and we're vegetarian republicans...