Hands Off My Balloons, Eco Girl

OK, I’m sorry, I haven’t written a blog for over a week, but my laptop has gone to HP for a backspace key repair, and I really don’t like using this computer, because the keys are really very chunky. Like a KitKat.

Anyhow, I think I shall describe the party I went to last night, at the village hall.
The party happened to be a combined celebration for Joel’s parents, as both were around the magical half century age.
In typical Roberts family style, we turned up late. 50 minutes late actually. Anyway, whilst the rest of the family went inside to be sociable, I stood outside with the rest of the insociable people at the party (Sophie, Joel, Moya, Georgia and some guy called Tom, who apparently I knew at primary school =S ). After 10 minutes or so, I thought I’d venture inside to get some nibbles. Big mistake. You can’t go into a party of middle-aged (sorry) people without being introduced to everyone. For example:
“Oh hi Frazer”
“Hello” (do I know you?)
“Have you met Cath?”
“No I don’t belive I have”
“This is Cath” (duh)
“Hi Cath”
… you can see where I’m going with this.
Then came time for getting food, which was very uncleverly placed in the smallest room, so the queue (we’re British, its in our nature) went all the way back into the hall. So, getting food (which I got alot of) took a long time. However, there is a silver lining, as when it came to puds, I managed to get 3 into 2 dishes. Profitiroles and pavlova in one, and trifle (non-alcoholic I should point out) in the other. After getting these, I thought I’d wait outside and socialise with parents whilst my fellow insociables got their puds. Somehow this lead to Georgia’s mum asking whether I could fit a whole profitirole in my mouth. Pah, one profitirole! I can get at least 18 chips in my gob mayte.

After all these shinanigans, including sitting on the field avoiding balls of the football variety, I came up with a brilliant idea. The people in the hall were taking the weights out of the boxes that weighed down the heilium balloons and filling them with nuts to get them to float. But I had bigger plans. Spotting an empty can of Stella, I proceeded (with Georgia’s help) to get as many balloons as possible and tie them to the can. I then went outside (with Georgia and all her siblings) to write a note on a napkin (with my email address on it) and put it in the box (we even wrote some in French, in the vein hope). After deciding the Stella can would weigh them down, we were about to release our dozen or so ballons, until somebody else had other ideas. A girl about my age-ish, and a smaller blonde one, decided that we were not going to release these balloons. She came up with arguments like “You’re wasting good helium, its funny” and “They take thousands of years to decompose” and “It could get into the sea and a whale could choke on it”. The Ortons and I, however, were having none of it. We told eco girl that she was talking a load of bull, and bargained with her (she was attached to our bloody balloons), saying that she could take a few off, but she and her blonde freind managed to halve the number of balloons. Finally, we managed to release our balloons, that at least cleared the housing estate we could see and then rose quite high. So if anyone reading this has a load of green and gold balloons in their garden, email me.

In other news, I went to another party today, in Chepstow, Gloucestershire, to celebrate my Dad’s Godmother’s 80th. This involved alot of polite nodding, as I knew hardly anyone there, although the puds were good, and I did have some intelligent conversations about Zimbabwean polotics. Although, if I have to explain what I’m taking for my GCSEs again, I swear I’ll jump off a bridge.

This blog has taken me way too long to write (damn those chunky keys), so my laptop better come back soon, or I’m running into HP HQ with a spork.