May. The Birthday Month.

May; the merry month of May; the depths of spring. Whatever May means to anyone who might be reading this, May is now: ‘May, the birthday month’. No real reason for this other than the fact that there are birthday stories to tell and May is the month The Celebration Herald has chosen to tell them.

It only seems fair to start with my own recent milestone birthday. Other than the 18th and 21sts, oddly milestone birthdays have a zero attached: 30th, 40th and my recent ‘favourite’ 50th, etc… I haven’t experienced an etc yet, but it is less than a decade until I do, so keep reading my blog and who knows it may be momentous.

In the months running up to my 50th I was regularly asked how I felt, how I was intending to celebrate turning (strangely always muttered in hushed tones) 50 (and clearly in bold, underlined, italicised and followed by many exclamation marks). There were moments when I sought refuge in the problem pages of women’s magazines – and women’s magazines clearly intended for the more mature woman; the woman who has found her way in and out of Country Casuals and may just have arrived at Jaeger – in the January sales (though I draw the line at considering The People’s Friend – reminds me of my nana’s friend Nellie Higgins). Apparently it was a milestone, this turning 50 was going to be massive, it couldn’t and wouldn’t be ignored. Seemingly it would matter, it would be visible, I would be 50 (in bold, underlined, italicised and followed by many exclamation marks).

The days of offering excuses was over – I now had to be doing what it was I said I would be doing when I grew up (what the heck was that; any old Marymount friends and teachers remember?); I would be transformed into the sort of woman heralded in the headlines, you know the ones: ‘fabulous at 50’, ‘stunning in palazzos and ballet pumps – simple, elegant’; it was all just a tiny bit terrifying. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t want to lie about my age because the age thing has never bothered me. I’m 51 now, and it is quite a nice number 51. Not the age (my knees and hips are definitely not what they were) but the actual number, 51. Unbalanced and unless I am very much mistaken a prime number to boot. But 50! Divisible by all sorts, and redolent with others’ expectations, and a high chance of disappointing one and all.

So, what happened? How did the founder of The Celebration Herald actually celebrate (other than dreaming up The Celebration Herald)? A January birthday can often get lost in the post-Christmas blues period, or alternatively I am a great person to take to the January sales – my powers for getting people to spend lots of money on themselves is legendary. But my 50th was a lovely round of lunches, many dinner parties, shared bottles of wine and a fantastic surprise from my best chum.

Now this chum was once involved in organising a surprise birthday party for me, prior to travelling to India and a prolonged period away from everyone, and she knew that it was not really a pleasant surprise. Being confronted by a room full of people yelling ‘surprise’ when I hadn’t showered, washed my hair, put on any make-up, changed out of my husband’s oversized and totally unflattering jumper, is not up there on my ‘favourite moments of all time’ list.

But in the previous October my chum asked me to keep two days free around the time of my birthday, which I promptly put in my diary – she admitted she was organising a day out but that the details would remain a surprise until the moment I woke up on that day. However we have developed a tradition of sending cards and cryptic messages to each other and so said chum handed me a set of anagrams on New Year’s Eve, each anagram a clue for the surprise day out.

Two weeks passed and as I was about to get on the train to London my husband handed me an envelope with a book in it. The book was for my chum, something she had expressed an interest in when we’d seen her at New Year, blah de blah – basically any similarity in my husband and chum’s reading materials tends to be in the fact that the materials are paper-based, split into pages, and those pages have words on them. But hey what do I know. It was New Year, I’m Scottish, what do I remember? Suspicious? Well as they say in these parts, ‘was I ‘eck as like’. I should also add at this point that I had only worked out one of the anagrams – Jackson Pollock – and again my chum and I go to as many exhibitions as we can so I thought a gallery with the odd JP in it was clearly on the cards.

A lovely evening was spent, with chum chortling to herself from time to time and holding monosyllabic telephone conversations with her mum and others, all ending with the same closing remark, ‘no, she hasn’t got a clue!’. I settled myself onto the sofabed and dozed off, then one of those Eureka moments hit. Paris! She was taking me to Paris! I nearly leapt out of bed to dash into her room to show off my puzzle-solving skills, but then thought, ‘but what if it isn’t? What if she’s taking me to Bognor Regis because there’s a JP exhibition on there? She’ll feel awful because she wanted to take me to Paris but had to settle for Bognor instead.’

No sleep was had. I dozed and giggled and giggled and dozed, and as the night progressed I couldn’t shake the notion that I was right. At 6.30 the next morning the taxi arrived to take us to our point of exit, and as we got into the cab my chum handed me a small package – a card with a picture of the Eiffel tower on the front, containing a EuroStar ticket and our itinerary for the day – a Jackson Pollock exhibition and the renowned Picasso exhibition. A carnet of Metro tickets dropped out of my passport – which of course was in the supposed book envelope from my husband to chum. I was in my element and shrieked like a middle aged banshee for the rest of the journey. I didn’t cry then, I saved that for the Picasso exhibition when I saw one of my all time favourite paintings, Manet’s Olympia, for the first time, in the flesh so to speak. The bottom lip was a bit quivery mind.

The day was amazing. Breakfast on the EuroStar was lovely and the staff suitably charming on finding I was celebrating a milestone birthday – unfortunately no cries of, ‘you can’t possibly be 50, you just don’t look it’, but perhaps they are trained not to lie. Dammit. There was snow on the ground in Paris, and we wandered between galleries and cafes, marvelling at fabulous patisseries and feeling slightly inadequate looking in the windows of Hermes and Chanel. Both exhibitions were fabulous – though the Jackson Pollock contained only French notes, (thank you Ms BB for equipping me with enough French to sort of know what was going on) and to add insult to injury, I had to wear my glasses to try and read the explanations. A sharp reminder of my declining years, though they are really cool glasses.

The Picasso was literally room upon room of works that I had only ever seen in books. It was wonderfully curated and I was probably quite embarrassing as I yelped regularly and ran between pictures now knowing quite where to give my attention. And yes I really did cry when I stood in front of Olympia.

The return journey was in itself a wonderful treat – champagne on tap and gorgeous Parisian macarons. We staggered into a cab to get home and chatted about the day until the early hours. I still marvel at the military precision and organisation of the day, not to mention the secrecy that was maintained – though as two surprises have been sprung on me by my loved ones I am clearly more gullible than I like to think I am.

And so a challenge: 8 ½ years to my 60th so get planning everyone. I’m expecting a classic – and have I ever mentioned how much I would love to see Alexandria?

The next chapter in May, The Celebration Herald’s birthday month, follows soon…

We have lift off ...

The website is up and running now, www.thecelebrationherald.com, and so far no hitches. It is exactly how I wanted it so all thanks to Thom for his patience and creativity. www.thecelebrationherald.com

All systems are now go for my first event - The Wedding Affair at Duncombe Park in Helmsley on Sunday 21 February. The banner is ordered, as well as the dozens of French macaroons - in The Celebration Herald colours no less (but let's be honest that is because when I was agreeing colours with Thom I kept mentally returning to La Duree macaroons. All those lovely shades of pink, lilac, green and even black - which is NOT one of my colours!).

I realised I needed a cake stand of some sort, which was in keeping with my ethos of laid back tea time elegance and where else should I go but eBay. In the past week or so I have become an expert on the myriad and confusing types of cake stand on offer to ladies who take tea, and the catering trade. As of yesterday I am now the proud owner of a Copeland comport, pre-Spode, lovely piece of 'japonnaise' porcelain, dating from around 1857. It is delightful. Ivory porcelain with a tiny butterfly, bamboo and heron design. Fluted edges and base and just perfect for my stand. I can't wait to see it laden with macaroons - although I expect that the pattern will be visible for much of the day if reports of show visitor eating habits are anything to go by!

Yesterday I spent a lovely hour or so in the British Library. I can heartily recommend it as a great place to relax and given the lack of seating at Kings Cross these days it is ideal for having a cup of tea while waiting for your train back up North. Best of all though is seeing the words, "Reader I married him" in Charlotte Bronte's own handwriting, in and amongst a Pinter script and Lewis Carroll notes for Alice in Wonderland. If you've never been I can definitely say it is well worth a visit. Everything from the Magna Carta through Hayden's Messiah to Beatles and John Lennon compositions. Anyway there is a fabulous shop - great Valentine's card for husband - where I found the perfect visitor's book which I am going to use to log details for visitors to my stand.

Everything feels like it is coming together, well until it isn't I guess. If this blog does find its way out into the sightlines of any bride-to-be in Yorkshire please come to Duncombe Park on Sunday 21 February, I really do think you will want to see how wonderful your own Wedding Herald could be. Maybe without the tragic aspects of Jane Eyre, but your own "Reader I married him" tale to share with family and friends.

If music be the ...

My website is set to be up and running any second .... very exciting, in spite of the slight worry of no one ever looking at it! The Celebration Herald goes live too, so to speak, at Duncombe Park in Helmsley, North Yorkshire on Sunday 21 February. My first wedding fair looks set to be a good one. Duncombe Park itself is stunning and seems a great place to spend a Sunday in February. Getting everything organised is proving frighteningly straightforward. The website is first on the 'must get it organised' list, followed by the design and ordering of a banner.

The wedding fair is being organised by a company called The Wedding Affair, and having spoken to Lisa Hogg, one of the company's owners, I must say I am really impressed. Their website is terrific and is a good showcase of wedding suppliers in Yorkshire - and I am about to be one of those wedding suppliers! So exciting! I feel a song coming on, or that could just be an ongoing reaction to GLEE!, the latest tv must-watch favourite of myself and my daughter.

Back to Duncombe Park though - after the banner the promo brochures are next on the list. I have decided on a promo brochure that covers both The Wedding Herald aspect of the business and The Celebration Herald side of things, ie. everything from wedding anniversaries, through birthdays, to every other type of imaginable celebration and party. The text is written and the brochure will be produced in 'handbag' mag size. Because the Herald will be available in both standard A4 size and now handbag size too (following a request from a prospective client. Why hadn't I thought of that?) I want to use the brochure to illustrate size, because of course I have sample A4 magazines available for people to look at.

The website is simple, but I believe apt. It includes a page flip feature, so that visitors to http://www.thecelebrationherald.com/ (whoa there, not quite yet!) can actually flip through a sample Wedding Herald, getting an idea of the range of stories and pictures that can be included. Everything from childhood stories and pictures of the bride and groom, the search for the perfect dress, and all the other essentials that go into creating the dream day. There are some lovely touches in the sample magazine, stories and pictures generously donated by my friend Jane and her husband Tracy, including a picture of Jane's scribbled thoughts for their brilliant wedding invitation. The sample is a 12 page version of the magazine, but Jane and Tracy's will be 20 pages, containing wonderful stories and pictures of their family, including their young twins and older children.

I want to get across to potential clients of the Herald that they can be as imaginative as they have ever wanted to be, because it is their stories, their pictures that will go into their own Wedding or Celebration Herald. I believe that a Herald is something that will be perfect for going back to time and time again - someone's Wedding Herald will be so much more than just pictures of the day, but all the stories and anecdotes, all the drama and laughter that made that day so perfect. I like to think that everyone involved in any celebration will look back at their own copy of the Herald with a glass of something enjoyable in hand and relive fond memories.
Bit nostalgic of me I think!

So, back to music and GLEE! And add ABBA to that and it's pop all the way. Today saw the launch of the ABBA World at Earl's Court - all things ABBA on display. Keeping the Dancing Queen alive. There is even a reconstruction of their manager's office, though one does have to ask 'why?', but maybe if I go I will find out. Dancing Queen was the song of my school prom, yes I was 17 (it was 1976) and I had a drapy dress, platform shoes but am pleased to say I had lost the mullet a few weeks beforehand, so the photos of that night are not too dreadful.
In terms of a celebration my school prom was part of an historical occasion for Marymount College in Umtali, in what was then Rhodesia. The school was closing, deemed to be in too dangerous a location for all concerned, so I was part of the last ever batch of pupils. My date for the night arrived from the bush in standard Rhodie dress - khaki shorts, desert boots and filthy, returning from a 28 day tour of somewhere unknown. He only got the necessary pass that day and arrived at the hotel just two hours before dance-off.

My dad was there to dance my first waltz with me, and I looked back at those photos the other day, me, dad, Graham, my best friend Jackie and everyone else looking young and shiny and hopeful, and just knew that the music was either ABBA or something equally as poppy. Nostalgic and memorable times for so many reasons, with a soundtrack that included, unfortunately, some pretty rubbish music! But it was the 70s in Rhodesia after all!

In closing I just wanted to muse on what people might choose, if they could, as the soundtrack of their memories. Would they keep it as it really was, naff or awful as it might have been? Or would they re-produce to add a glimmer of glamour or stage-managed romance or impending climax to the events?

I might just start asking people for their thoughts on this one - answers on a postcard?

New Year Celebrations

It is ten days into 2010 and my first blog of the New Year. The New Year started with much to celebrate - an 18th birthday, friends' new baby and new and fun challenges for all the family.
I read an interesting newspaper piece last week that spoke about how the 3G mobile phone has changed so much about how we communicate our successes and experiences with friends and total strangers. We use our mobiles to take photographs of everything, and with all the snow and associated fun and frolics associated with the cold, white stuff, we have taken a lot of photographs recently.
I spent the first week of the new year at Ragdale Hall - a fabulous spa for those not lucky enough to have been - and I can certainly recommend this as a great way to herald and prepare yourself for the year ahead. Mobile phones, wonderfully, are quietly discouraged outside of bedrooms at Ragdale, so my ability to take photographs of the snowy scenery was limited, but nonetheless I keep some great photos in my head. Foremost has to be swimming in the snow! One of the gorgeous pools is partially outside and myself and chum Miranda experienced swimming in the snow, at night. The steam coming off the heated water meant that we couldn't see each other or fellow snow-revellers, but laying back in the lovely warm water meant I could look up into the dark to see the huge snowflakes tumbling down and disappearing as they hit the steam. It was glorious. Dashing out of the pool to try and capture the moment on 'film' would have been ridiculous, but writing down how I felt on that wonderful evening serves to capture the moment in a way that certainly brings the pictures rushing in. And a big grin follows! Add to that the homecoming story of new baby on a sled and that certainly was a week to remember.
Maybe what I'm saying (and given that The Celebration Herald is a magazine for people's stories, this shouldn't be a surprise to anyone reading this) is that we need to remember that words and stories are wonderful. Mental pictures flood in when the words are set out, and stories told. Stories evoke all kinds of reactions, every type of emotion, but while no one will deny the potency of the photograph (and new baby on a sled is an all-time classic), let's make 2010 the year of sharing stories with those we love and who love us.
Happy New Year everyone.