The Hen

I'm home from my marvellous hen weekend and you'll be pleased to hear that I did not have to get dressed up as a devil/french maid/cowgirl/hooker, and I did not have to wear bunny ears, a net curtain on my head or L plates.

Instead the wonderfully crafty maid of honour made me a beautiful sash - that I shall treasure forever and that I wore with pride. We lost many pennies betting on horses that had a tendancy to come in last, drank champagne, tried canned pimms and G&Ts (who new such things could be gotten so conveniently?) and daintily sipped a few cocktails.




Everyone looked beautiful in their matching corsages and we danced on into the night to the most amazing Michael Jackson tribute night. I'd like to apologise to all those who had to witness my version of "Thriller", to those who had to hear the maid of honour and I sing (read wail) "Ben" at the tops of our voices down the length of Regents Street. And also to anyone who was slightly confused by Mrs Silva Medd telling them in no uncertain terms that Mr Jackson is indeed alive and well and is currently resident in the Castle spinning a few of his favourite tunes.

I would also like to make a few excuses for my hair - you see it doesn't really mix with humidity and spent most of the weekend toying between going frizzy or incredibly flat and greasy looking - despite my best efforts.

I slept not one wink (well for about an hour) on Saturday night, but jumped up bright eyed and bushy tailed for our punting trip. The only bone of contention of the entire weekend was caused by my refusal not to take charge of the punt. I felt that I'd done more than my fair share of dares - including niftily whipping off my brassiere without removing any other item of clothing, while seated at the dinner table in Browns (I'd like to apologise to my fellow diners for this unsavoury display of hen like behaviour) - and having watched our expert punt guide teeter on the very edge of a ducking twice during our ride, I didn't much fancy giving it a go.



Post punt our picnic was very kindly delivered by Mr Birkett-Smith and we tucked into a rather tasty lunch of crostini, salad and salmon, topped off with socnes, cream and strawberries, whipped up by myself and my culinary side-kick. Recipe requests will follow at a later date.

I had a lovely time and I'd love to thank my hens (including those who were unable to physically join us) for their lovely gifts - the cds of songs that remind you of me did bring back some memories and Mr Jones and I will look forward to trying out all of your favourtie recipes very soon. Thank you so much to Mrs Everard and my lovely sister girl for their hard work in putting it altogether with so much thought.