Saturday, March 27, 2010
The show must go on. Because we've invited 100 people and Milou and Arlene have just spent four hours making chicken finger sandwiches (not actually out of chicken's digits, just shaped like fingers or soldiers or sticks or whatever, anyway) that look like they were ordered in. And Tempus Two and Peroni and Santa Vittoria just delivered boxes and boxes of bottles to the impossibly posh Rose Bay house Terry has lent us for our sins. There are 13 models, and teams of Joico hairstylists and Napoleon make-up artists in the basement. The show must go on because Inge has been steaming since 10am. And because Kevina and Helen have planted a jungle with the peacocks (2 stuffed, one a living breathing girl) in the second bedroom.
All I've done is scream that I can't find my phone then make people call it so it shrieks its location out to me. But never fear - there is justice. When you've all gone home to your cosy beds and cups of cocoa I will start to scrub the pale grey floors. I will scrub these floors across which 200 feet have stepped until 5am. And then four hours later I will get right on up and scrub them again. Stiletto heels be damned. Got to go. Mop and bucket calls.
Posted by Mrs Press at 5:01 PM