Dec. 21st, 2003

raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (red guitar [briankinney__])
So. I went to a christening.

My parents got a gold-edged invitation about two weeks ago, and surprise, surprise, they wanted me to come. It was the same day as [livejournal.com profile] shipperkitten’s party. I decided it was time to throw my yearly tantrum. “I don’t wanna go! I want to go to Em’s party!”

But, unfortunately, the date of Em’s party changed. So I had to go. Two thirty this afternoon, I find myself in a Catholic church. It was freezing cold, and besides, I’d never been to a church service before and had no idea of which bits you stand up for. It was vaguely boring, but over quickly – off we went. On the way, Pedar asked me, “Remember what F. Scott Fitzgerald said?”

I thought for a moment. “The rich are different from us...”

Then, in unison: “They have more money!”

There was a reason for the sudden appearance of that quotation. You see, this christening, of two-year-old Jasmine Victoria, has been popularly referred to as the party of the year, at least in this area. Jasmine’s father is an honest-to-god, bona fide millionaire. According to Pedar, he probably spend in excess of £100,000 on this ‘do.’

The party was held in a marquee. Not any old marquee. It had two storeys. No, don’t ask how that was possible. I’m not sure myself. But it did. As well as that, it had lines of Christmas trees draped with lights, and a (small) forest of palm trees with high tables and stools, and open bar with cocktails with umbrellas in them. Off in one corner was a mini-casino and people playing poker and blackjack, with real dealers. I think I stood there with my mouth open for a few minutes, before a woman carrying a tray and wearing a t-shirt with the words “Jasmine Victoria – Sunday, 21st December 2003” emblazoned on it pressed a glass of wine in my hands. Mulled wine; very nice. I didn’t drink much tonight.

While I was perched on my stool, my mother was very interested in a pair of doors across to one side. They were glass, but you couldn’t see anything through them. “Go and have a look,” she told me. I did, but couldn’t see anything but darkness. I figured it was the way to the loo or something, and said so. That done, I went and handed over our christening present. I picked it out, so I hope she liked it. What do you get a girl who quite literally has everything?

Give up?

A metaphor.

After about an hour of standing around, in which every second woman who passed seemed to be one of Pedar’s patients, and I amused myself by playing blackjack at one of the tables (if I could have cashed my chips in for real money I’d be £32,000 richer), someone on a megaphone announced that the evening meal was served.

Through those doors of darkness – well, my mother called it “Alice in Wonderland.” I’ve never seen anything like it. The marquee roof was black, and dotted with thousands of small white lights. There were other lights, too – purple and blue and shining like stars over the tables, which were covered in glassware and reflecting the lights back and forth over again. The flowers had small glasses with candles that reflected once again, and I couldn’t get over the sheer beauty of it. Yes, it screamed opulence and money, but doesn’t everyone stop to look at beautiful things? I loved it.

So, I toddled across to the table I was seated on (yes, there was a seating plan). In front of my seat was a small silver frame with my name on it. Apparently everyone got one. Mine had an added effect – quite a few people saw it and suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, you’re his daughter!” It was somewhat disconcerting, but I was aware that the only reason I was invited to this thing was because of whose daughter I am. I’m not complaining.

What I was complaining about was whom I was seated with. They were all girls, about my age or younger, and they all looked the same. I mean it. They were all wearing similar black dresses and they all had their hair highlighed blonde and straightened into choppy bits. For the record, I have brown, going on black, hair, and eyes and skin to match. I was feeling out of place. Especially as they all seemed to know each other. They all go to my school, of course; where else? Merchants’, bless it, is to some extent a rich kids’ playground – less so because of its selective entrance. I mention that because half the people I was sitting with had the collective intelligence of a tube light. Pedar seemed rather amused when I told him this. “Don’t kill anyone,” he said, “and don’t talk about politics.”

I complied on both counts, but after a while felt truly starved of actual conversation, whipped out my phone and rang [livejournal.com profile] osiris13. I’d meant to ring her anyway, but I’m glad I chose to at that point. Six minutes’ conversation with her cheered me up no end. For reference, she’s meeting me (and [livejournal.com profile] cucharita) at two thirty at Conway Park tomorrow.

Dessert also cheered me up. Chocolate and raspberry thing. Lovely. I ate it underneath the watchful gaze of a reindeer ice sculpture, and escaped from my idiotic dining companions in the bargain. My parents were onto the coffee at that point. I drank some, and Pedar and I went out to the bar for something of a break from all this. We talked for the length of time it took for him to drink a bottle of Coca-Cola, and then we went back in.

The entertainment came on. Yeah. Guess who they were? I don’t think I can ever hold my head up in public again. I’ve seen Atomic Kitten live.

For those who may not immediately start clutching at their heads in pain, Atomic Kitten are a real band. Well, they’re not – they make cheesy bubblegum pop with Scouse accents – but if we define band as “people who are famous and make an obscene amount of money” then they are. At the time of writing, they are at number eight in the chart.

They weren’t actually that bad. They didn’t even mime. I did enjoy it. I took pictures, but they’ll have to wait until tomorrow when I can post them.

And yes… that is all. We came home fairly early, and tomorrow, I’m off to Em’s thing with lots of people in two. I rang Becca (because no-one else thought to!) but she’s ill at the moment, so it’s just me, [livejournal.com profile] cucharita and [livejournal.com profile] hathy_col from this side of the Mersey.

I’m going to bed in a moment – am bored and reading the SDMB Anthology Project.

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