Queen’s birthday celebrations

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Happy Birthday to you...
We’ve been invited to residence of the British High Commissioner to celebrate the Queen’s Birthday Celebration don’t you know. While a couple of other people from the school have been invited, it’s all those who’ve been here a long time or are important, and here’s us the new punks in town crashing. I suspect it may be that when we arrived we chatted quite a bit to the lady at the High Comm or it could be because of Social Seychelles as I gave them the details for that too. Whatever, we’re in, even if it is celebrating the Queen’s Birthday.

A bus is laid on from town to the residence as parking is limited (or maybe they don’t want cars like the pimp mobile outside it!). As I go to walk in, I notice that the people in front of me won’t step on the doormat, weird. Turns out that it’s got the Union Jack on it and the other one explains that as you’re not meant to desecrate a flag, people aren’t treading on it. Strikes me as bit extreme but as a mature lady in my thirties I disgust myself and comply and neither do I comment on the portrait of the Queen hung on the wall. Oh how times have changed.

We’re directed out into the gardens that enjoy a stunning view over the waters around Victoria. It’s a cool evening, a marquee is set up and bunting flutters in the breeze. Its soooo English, so naturally I have to have a Gin and Tonic which they have - woopee! The parents of pimp mobile fame are there so we latch onto them and a couple other familiar faces, chatting and snacking on nibbles including, mini fish and chips in cones of newspaper that are great but from which I lose half my chips through the hole at the bottom. Speeches are given by the High Commissioner and also the outgoing Seychelles Vice President. I’m still not quite sure how we crashed this party.

We’re made to work a bit for the invitation though, as our small group is approached by our woman at the Commission and asked to entertain some young ladies on their own. We head over there to find that one of them is in fact breastfeeding - you’ve never seen man scatter so quickly. I’m left on my own like a Muppet. I stick to my guns, sit down and inveigle myself on the group and after a suitable amount of time, take my leave again and recon again with the group who pathetically make apologies for themselves. Then it’s last bus home and apparently me driving as the other one has it seems had one too many. I’m not too pleased about it but understand that the other one is beginning to see the advantage of having a wife who drives - my bad)

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