Mirror, mirror

Mirror, mirror on the tree, who can be lovelier than thee? Oh, if only this one could talk. We had seven gorgeous sixteen-year-old girls here for the weekend to celebrate my daughter’s very belated 16th birthday, and needless to say, I am shattered.  Forty eight hours of high pitched, hysterical laughter, incessant chatter, feeding and more feeding and yet more feeding has left me a mere shadow of my former Gravatar self.  I had braced myself for an invasion of hair dryers, straighteners and make-up, but they never materialised. (The mirror in the tree was a bit of forward planning to take the pressure off the little Sherkin bathroom). We pitched a large tent in the garden and kept everything crossed that they would see sense and sleep indoors. By 1am, they had all crept back in but before they did, I tossed and turned and fretted in my bed and then calmed as I listened to their endless squeals of  laughter ringing out across the garden. It struck me that this was a moment in time; a time to cherish while she is still under our roof (well, in this instance, packed into a tent in the garden in frosty martime conditions, off-season and totally mad for this time of the year). Under pressure from the ever-persuasive girl who said: ‘But Mum, it will be fun and they will love it.’ And they did. They talked the days and nights away. They walked the island. They played cards and sat by the fire, taking turns in the rocking chair. And blink, they have gone.