JNW’s Halloween Challenge: Party

Crows 07.10 (10)

Caw Caw

They said it would be a halloween party, food and drink supplied. Just dress for the occasion, black preferred, and bring your own bird. There will be organised flights and caws. Everyone is welcome, just make sure that the magpies stay away, they get greedy, especially if they see something twinkling somewhere. We crows are a closed group, we are a genuine murder .

NW’s Halloween Challenge: Party

Daily Prompt: It’s My Party but I will only be there as an Observer

You’re throwing a party — for you! Tell us all about the food, drink, events, and party favours you’ll have for your event of a lifetime. Use any theme you like — it’s *your* party!

White Lily

A party? for me: no, I do not think so, I fall asleep at most parties. It is too strenuous for my advanced years. Everyone is drinking and I only drink mineral water or tea. Then we have the smokers, and smoke gets in my eyes, up my nose and in the surroundings. Reading this, I must be a real misery guts, no fun. Of course I like a plate of food, but who organises it all – me, because it is my party. Your guests must be entertained, so there will be music, dancing and fun. I hope the neighbours do not complain about the noise. As far as the dancing is concerned, that might have been ten years ago, but my bones and muscles refuse to move with the rhythm today. We will all have fun I hope, but reading through what I have written up to now I very much doubt it. I have the solution.

One day I will breathe my last breath, I will no longer exist and annoy everyone with my loud voice, my boring life style and of course my daily prompts, the gifts I will leave behind me for the world. I might be posthumously discovered and a plaque erected on the WordPress Wall of Fame, although after my remarks about the Great New Look and the Missing Pingbacks, it might be that they would prefer to shovel a few unlike clicks over my name and remove the famous “Angloswiss” trademark to the forgotten ones, although they will probably still be automatically collecting my annual fee for a dot com web address. I must remember to tell Mr. Swiss or my son to cancel my subscription should I pass onto the happy blog hunting grounds.

As I am a dismal miserable person, allergic to all sorts of parties I have decided that when I am gone I will stipulate that my passing should not be a sad occasion, after all many will be glad to have a daily blog less to read. No, we should have a party and celebrate: so park the coffin in the corner, spread a tablecloth over the lid, to prevent alcohol and food stains, and let’s party, or let you all party. I will not physically take part in the action, will just be watching from a spider’s web in the corner (you never know, I might be reincarnated) to see that everyone is having fun.

You can tell stories about the departed (me) and how she was a modest writer, never praising her own fantastic wonderful blogs, and never being disappointed that she was not awarded the Pultzer or Nobel prize for her great and unforgettable works of literature. Reminiscences will be revived of how she always made a point of pinging back to her fellow bloggers, until that fateful day when WordPress decided to stop the fun and design a clean graphic grid to spread uncertainty and disillusion amongst the fellow bloggers. Memories will be exchanged of my efforts to conquer this anti-social WordPress behaviour and a praise will be told of how I cut through the grid and discovered how to pingback, yes it was resurrected to a new and wonderful start.

Ok, I am now carried away, we are celebrating my death with a party and not that of the great new look. Have fun everyone, and please be careful not to spill the beer or empty the potato chip packet into the coffin. I would like to have a comfortable resting place. You know how disturbing eating biscuits or sandwiches in bed can be when the crumbs remain in the folds of the sheets. The same effect is achieved between the silky layers inside the coffin. On the other hand, to be practical give me a cremation after the party and the party remains will just be incinerated.

When the party is finished, you can pass the hat around. I will not be there to pay the bill. Not only am I miserable, but mean.

Daily Prompt: It’s My Party, but I will only be there as an Observer

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Daily Prompt: Party Animals (?).

After spending time with a group of people, do you feel energized and ready for anything or do you want to hide in the corner with a good book?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us PERSONALITY.

Two slugs going for a walk

Slugs seem to be party animals, one is rarely alone. If it has been raining and everything is wet and damp, it is a group party. “Come and munch what you can, no holds barred Let us have fun in the garden, but do it at night, when the humans are not around to see you and make a salt attack” seems to be the motto. Are they different to humans?

I am not really a party person. In my younger carefree, “drink what you can, do it for a laugh” days, and always on the hunt for something as single as I was, I liked a party. You never knew who you might meet, perhaps the George Clooney/Brad Pitt of your life. Then I was ready for anything, although mostly I did not remember very much the next day..

Four kids later and now being a golden oldie, I reflect on those days and think “how did I do it”. If we happen to get an invite for an evening with friends, my main thought is “I hope we can be home by midnight”. I hate not having enough sleep, and retiring at three in the morning is not my idea of enjoyment. What really makes party life interesting is food. Someone else organises the food and the entertainment. As far as entertainment is concerned I let the others get on with it. I sit on my chair and see what the buffet has to offer. The only time when I am active is to pile my plate with something interesting. There might be crab, prawn or even shrimp with all sorts of fascinating sauces. If you are really lucky the buffet might be warm. I am quite partial to spaghetti with various sauces (I love sage in butter and cream), and also various parts of a chicken body can be inviting. And the deserts: you name it I will eat it, everything from ice cream to cake through crepe suzette. Admittedly I am diabetic, but there are tablets to take in compensation.

The liquid to drink with it all does not bother me. My younger days, when it was a sort of competition to see who drank the most and got happy and life and soul of the party are gone. To be quite honest I do not even remember how much I drank and whether it was funny. The main memories are mostly the day after when my first stop the next morning was the bathroom, realising that alcoholic enjoyment was not a morning after thing. I remember the feeling that the right and left side of my head was fighting with each other, trying to decide which direction to go. I had a general “wish I could die” feeling. Afterwards the question “why do you do this?” would arise. I do not have any wonderful memories of the time. Today I am happy with a glass of water, cola, something cold. I stopped drinking the hard stuff many years ago. I now even remember what happened at the party.

I am not completely anti-social and do enjoy an interesting conversation. It does not have to be one of my topics. It is the interesting part of life to hear what the others have to say. Of course if it is some sort of “I am the big I am” type that only wants to talk about I, me and myself, I let him/her run out of conversation and I concentrate on the buffet.

Most friends of my generation tend to make their social events sometime in the afternoon meaning we can all go by latest early evening. They are the parties I enjoy. You still have the rest of the day to relax and think “it was a nice afternoon”. After spending time with my sort of group of people, I can still relax with a book, or even retire to bed at a sensible time.

I hate blackmailing efforts to get me to a party. I remember when I was a working woman and all sorts of social events were organised.

“You must come, everyone will be there”

“Huh, who is everyone?” I would think.

Worse was when my boss would say, “You have to come, it will not look good if you are not there.” There were times when I almost hated my boss.

I just loved the organised entertainment combined with sport, especially where I worked. First of all we climbed a mountain together to have a meal in a restaurant where the mountain bear and goat say goodnight to each other, if we all survived. There might be one of these new sports parks nearby where you swing from tree to tree on ropes (all organised of course). I usually found an excuse not to go. I was not sure if party accident insurance was included.

What we all do in the name of fun, the human can be so self-destructive sometimes.

Daily Prompt: Party Animals(?).

Daily Prompt: RSVP

Plan the ultimate celebration for the person you’re closest to, and tell us about it. Where is it? Who’s there? What’s served? What happens?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us CELEBRATION. 

Nera and Tabby celebration

“Now let’s see … we could invite Röschti, Bobinette, Mr. Grey, Boubou ……”

“Mrs. Human, what is the meaning of that silly photo and why are you making a list of our despised enemies, the territory thieves, the felines that we hate most of all.”

“Nera feline, we have had such rainy weather and you and your litter sister Tabby have been couped up indoors, not wanting to get wet. Now we have nice warm summer weather, so I thought to celebrate we could invite some of your friends over for a sort of belated birthday party.”

Nera and Tabby looked at me as if I was ripe for the island, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes. Even their whiskers were twitching.

“Mrs. Human” said Tabby “we are felines, we do not celebrate anything with the exception of Bast’s birthday or a plate of tuna fish or salmon: and together with other felines definitely not.”

“Tabby is right” added Nera “have you ever seen cats sitting paw in paw and having a conversation, or laughing together?”

“Well, come to think of it no, but I thought it would be a good idea. You could invite all your feline companions to a plate of salmon and perhaps play a few games.”

“Mrs. Human, have you ever seen a feline play a game? Not even “catch the mouse” is a game. It is a serious pastime and afterwards the only celebration we have is to eat it and the word companion does not exist in meow”.Nera stamped her paw in emphasis of her intelligent remark.

“Exactly Mrs. Human, felines are not human. We live for the moment, I, me and myself and the word “party” or “celebrate” also do not exist in meow, so you can throw your list of invitations in the garbage can” said Tabby.

“Of course” continued Nera “if you insist, I could have a meeting outside under the apple tree with Tabby and  Fluffy, our apprentice feline. You can then invite all those hated felines on your list. Take some photos of our “celebration” when we start fighting, scratching and hissing. I am sure they will look good on your blog, nice and colourful. Scratches do tend to leave nice deep red lines on the skin.”

“Yes Mrs. Human, now that would be a celebration to enjoy.” Said Tabby”

“You mean I can join in” Fluffy arrived on the scene. “Let me know when it is all happening and I will especially sharpen my claws for the event.”

“Felines this is beginning to sound like a war and not a party. I was thinking of something more like fun. Meowing a few songs together and getting to know each other better. “

“Exactly Mrs. Human; we will do a lot of communal meowing, and very loud. We will definitely get to know each other. There is nothing like a fight with sharp teeth to discover the various flavours of different felines.”

“You know what felines, let’s forget the whole thing. Just go and have a sleep and when you are awake there will be a plate of tuna waiting for each of you, perhaps I might even decorate it with a candle.”

“Ok Mrs. Human, we agree, but forget the candle, you cannot eat it.”

Daily Prompt: RSVP

Birthday Party

Here we are at the graveyard filming the great occasion. We are a little early viewers, as we know that zombies prefer to appear only when the sun has completely disappeared and the moon is high in the sky. Thanks to advanced technology we are now able to film occasions in the so-called underworld.

Today we are celebrating a birthday, not just a birthday, but that of the most well known zombie living here, if we may use the term. He is not the oldest, but he has been active for so long that he is the idol of the cemetery. Yes, Rasputin just did not want to lie down and die as we all know. After many attempts by poison he still came back for more. After overcoming death and becoming one of the first recognised zombies, he decided to leave his home country as he just did not feel wanted, and after long travels eventually found his home in our little graveyard which is said to have originated from the days of the Great Plague.

As the camera sways over the grass and stones, we can see a phosphorescence surrounding some of the graves. These are those belonging to the “grufties” the colleagues and fellow zombies in the Rasputin group. As the sun has slowly disappeared from view and the fiery appearance of the sky has now turned dismal, we can hear the creaking and rattling of bones. The moon is now ascending and I believe that I can see the first zombie appearing out of his gruft. Yes it is Deadly Earnest, the spokesman for the group.”

“Good evening, may I ask you a few questions on this honourable occasion.”

“You may, but I might be a bit short on answers. You look very tasty, can you come nearer. Is that a camera, am I being filmed?”

“Yes, thousands of people are watching you through the country at this very moment. Am I near enough? Please stop gnawing at my hand, I need it to hold the microphone.”

“Tasty, tasty, I just love a gnaw on a finger bone. Ok, I get the message, I can wait, Ha…Ha…Ha, zombie joke.”

Taking a few steps away from Deadly Earnest, I will continue. “Does Rasputin know that his birthday is being celebrated this evening?”

“Of course, he does, he gave out orders that we should not spare any expense. My friend the chef will be able to give details. He is very good at preparing specialities and is at this moment arising from his grave. In his time he was a well known person, serving last meals to the victims ready to be hanged; Mort come here and introduce yourself. This nice tasty gentleman is making a television film about Rasputin’s birthday party.”

“Good evening, I am pleased to meet you.”

“Your name is Mortimer?”

“Yes, but they all call me Mort, suits the situation much better, don’t you think Ha…Ha…Ha.”

“Ok Mort, what are you planning to cook for Rasputin on his birthday?”

“Cook, cook??? Are you out of your mind? We will not cook for Rasputin, the food just has to be prepared. Just pep it up a bit. You know what they say, food must be a feast for the eyes. First of all as a starter I will be preparing a blood sausage. An original recipe gathered from one of my fellow zombies, used to be one of the best butchers in town in the days before he arrived here. As a main course it will be fresh cut steak, one of my colleagues is at the moment shopping for the steak. No need to get the food too early, it has to be fresh, a nice healthy red colour.”

“And will Rasputin have a birthday cake?”

“Of course, but that is not my department. The ladies will be arranging that little surprise. Here comes Lucretia, I am sure she can give you more details.”

Cameraman, your camera in this direction please. Then just kick them away, I told you to wear a long sleeved shirt and not a t-shirt. They seem to be developing quite an appetite for arms at the moment.”

“Hello, I am Lucretia, you can forget the Borgia bit, that was my name in the olden days. Today one name is enough. Yes, my girl friends and I had to do a lot of thinking about a cake. Good old Raspy does not have such a sweet tooth, but we finally found the solution. We decided on a sandwich cake containing a raw liver paté and decorated with a wonderful sticky sauce made from the fruit of deadly nightshade.

Do I notice a cut on your finger Mr. Interviewer. Oh dear. Can I lick it clean for you.”

“No, no thank you it will be ok, I will just cover it with a plaster.”

“Oh, what a shame, you should let it dry out in the air.”

“Thank you Lucretia, no problem and here comes the man himself. Good evening sir, Mr. Rasputin and may I wish you a happy birthday from our viewers all over the country. This is indeed a great occasion, how many years is it?”

“Good evening, fellow zombies stop sniffing around this television man and his crew, they are here to make a programme about me. Unfortunately we must let them go home afterwards in one piece.

You were asking how many years? You know after a while years just do not count any more. As long as there are always little delicacies walking around to spice up death, then the years are not so important. So if you will excuse me, my fellow zombies are calling. The table is laid; Lucretia what a wonderful cake. I can smell it from here; just beautiful and filled with raw liver. You see Mr. Interviewer, even in death the ladies worship my presence and spoil me. So if you will excuse me, I would now partake of my birthday food.”

“Then I will leave you to your party, and thank you for the interview: just one further question. Are their other festivities planned this evening?”

“Of course, my friends and I will take a walk into town, it might be that we develop hunger early in the morning.”