Nancy is away on a sleepover. She has been counting the days since Tuesday until her friend’s birthday film night, sleepover and Pizza Express lunch.

I don’t ever remember having a sleepover as a child, unless you counted the year when we shared our rooms with two other children that my mum was temporary guardian to while their mother looked after their sick father*, or the various dormitories I shared with 29 other boys at boarding school for 7 years. I’m not even sure we even had birthday parties every year. I think they were reserved for special years. I remember one (at school) to celebrate me becoming a teenager, but only because I had purchased some Cream Soda (aka liquidized vomit) for the occasion.

I believe sleepovers must be a fairly recent import from the US. Unlike Halloween, video games that have been turned into films, excessive packaging, Doctor Pepper and Loyd Grossman, I think it’s a pretty good one. What is there not to like about staying up late with your best mates, toys, and all the food you really like? We should have them as adults.

Anyway, Nancy told me I had to buy a secret stash of sweets for her to take. Having relieved a local sweet shop of a large selection of its confectionery, we also had to take our chocolate fountain. (Incidentally, there’s a sign that you got too much stuff when you have your own chocolate fountain). I felt a bit like an auntie getting her nieces worked up just before bedtime, but Nancy and her friends’ sugar rush would just not be my problem.

The house is quiet this evening. We will have only Tilly’s company until tomorrow afternoon.
We will all pay for it tomorrow, of course. Going to bed very late, deliberately waking up at just after midnight for the illicit feast and arising early when the first child has to get up to use the toilet is not a good recipe for a good mood at 6pm tomorrow.

*One game we used to play was where one of the boys went into the girl’s room with a sleeping bag over their body and the girls had to guess which boy it was. The girls had a 100% record (he was taller than me), so we schemed to enter their room both inside this sleeping bag. Unfortunately, we became disoriented on the landing outside the girl’s room and disappeared down the stairs collecting bruises and cuts on each step.

2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Sharon Livingstone on September 20, 2010 at 7:52 am

    My mother always encouraged me to have sleepovers at my friends’ houses. I don’t know why.


  2. Posted by Marilyn Bishop on September 20, 2010 at 7:32 pm

    Not only did you have parties but I gave them for other children too. Boys over a certain age don’t warrant a party – they are far too boisterous.


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