Party Aftermath

I woke up this morning to find the kitchen and most of downstairs in quite a tip! Almost as if the party had happened here... Out of kindness combined with my OCD-ness, I cleared most things away, and loaded up the dishwasher. It looks as if the family brought back any leftovers, acquiring other food I hadn’t seen before – such as boxes of chocolate covered marshmallow logs and chocolate tortes. I’ll take it as a good sign that none of my cakes have returned, meaning that everyone really enjoyed them and gobbled them down, not that they were so awful I poisoned half the children and the other half were too sick to eat anything else!! 

I’d just finished tidying the kitchen when Clooney and Crazy Caroline started rowing upstairs. Unless I’ve spoken to you frequently, you won’t know that they don’t actually live together! They’re not divorced... and the girls seem to think it’s normal and they’re not separated, but every other week they each have their own ‘James Bond style’ double lives. Bit of a Mr and Mrs Smith situation going on here! In short, they ALSO have an apartment right in the centre of Paris (ooh la la!), so one week the mother lives HERE (at home) whilst the Dad takes his Ferrari Porshe to their fancy Manhattan-esque apartment, and then the following week they switch. There – in one sentence for you! In total, they’ve spent two entire nights here together. Yesterday was obviously night #2 they slept under the same roof, but if anyone needed a wake-up call this morning, they sure go one at 9.30 when Clooney and Crazy Caroline started screaming at each other. Well, Crazy-o was screaming. Then she was stomping round the house and slamming doors. I’ve already told loads of people she acts like a twelve year old. 

So I was trapped in the kitchen, not really wanting to go back upstairs pass them to get to my room, and with nothing else really to clean. Soon Crazy-o came downstairs and I scampered back upstairs to my annex room. I felt a bit sorry for her, and stupidly ended up going back downstairs... They were all having a family breakfast, so I politely joined them. Clooney was being all jokey and talking to the kids, whilst Caroline refused to look or speak to him, munching Nesquick choco balls out of the packet. (Did I mention she acts like a twelve year old?!) It was like watching a pair of stroppy teenage siblings ignore each other, except the fact that... THEY’RE NOT TEENAGERS! And they’re not siblings either, but that’s beside the point. So I was trying to make small talk, with my (still) non-existent French, mainly asking about the party. I was also trying to eat my apple as loudly as possible, to break the awkward silence! How I wish I’d never sat down. Juliette eventually got up, so I followed to go. She apologised in the kitchen about the arguing earlier, which left me feeling even more sorry for her! 

This week I have four kids to look after. Crazy Caroline included! I swear she’s like a food magnet – she walks into the kitchen and POW! Food just comes flying out of the cupboards, dirty spoons appear on the side, biscuit and cake crumbs all over the work top, and all the cupboard doors left open... It drives me mental. She came home Friday evening, whilst I was cooking pasta, and I ended up using three spoons whilst cooking it, because she kept on taking my stirring spoon to eat something else in the kitchen. You know something? IT’S IRRITATING. She also took a big finger-full of leftover buttercream which I’d made for the Victoria Sponge, put it in her mouth and then oh-so-politely ran to the bin and spat it out. Most likely because it’s entirely sugar and butter, but it was her own stupid fault.