Skip to main content

St. George's Day

Well, St. Patrick's Day is a pretty big thing over here, as everyone with a smidgen of Irish ancestry (and plenty of people without) suddenly discover their roots and use it as an excuse to dress up and drink lots of green beer. So we came back from a night on the town watching a Storm Trooper swill Guinness and guys in kilts wear silly hats and thought, "Hey! Why should the Irish have all the fun?" So off we went to buy some silly hats... oh no, sorry, wrong story! So we decided to throw a St. George's Day party.


First things first: the food. Can't have a party without food. The advantage of living in a foreign country is that your average English foods are greeted as exotic rarities. The disadvantage is that you can't just go to the supermarket and bulk-buy sausage rolls. You have to start a sausage roll production line. Sausage roll making is actually pretty fun!


Ditto for the scones, flapjack, coronation chicken and cheese twists. We did manage to track down some British biscuits in an Indian food shop, though, including some dodgy bourbon rip-offs. The flapjack was the clear winner in taste tests - everyone was raving about it.




We'd rashly promised "dragon's blood punch" to drink, not having any idea how to make such a concoction. The ever-helpful internet came up trumps, as usual. The resulting mixture of cranberry juice, apple juice and ginger ale (and vodka for the alcohol crowd) tasted good but had a tendency to stain everything pink. We were rather concerned for our cream carpets but such a disaster never occurred.


Of course, no St. George's Day party is complete without vast quantities of English flags. A friend kindly gave us a huge one which made a great focal point, and we stuck up a few strings of small ones. Some quotes and English-themed pictures completed the look.


It's a good feeling when you know enough people to actually consider throwing a party. The process of making friends in a new place is a slow and sometimes frustrating one. You meet people. They say they'd love to get to know you. You have dinner together once and never see them again. You meet more people. One or two introduce you to their friends. You go to a party with them all and promptly forget all their names. It feels like one step forwards, two steps back, but one day you realise you have, if not quite bosom buddies, at least enough friendly acquaintances to throw a party without complete embarrassment.

We were happy to welcome about 20 people, which was a good fit for our moderately-sized apartment. Most were either from church or Graham's work, plus a few we knew from other places. It was a good mix of people and everyone seemed to have fun. We certainly did! Of course once it all kicked off we entirely forgot to take photos, but I'm sure you can imagine. Just think of the best party you've ever been to, then double it! Stay tuned for next year...

Comments

Ann Summerville said…
I stopped by your blog today. Lovely to see St. George's Day celebrated. Very few people know that the Union Jack is not the English flag.
Ann
Ann Summerville
Cozy In Texas

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...

Laid-back Lille and Bustling Brussels

After a night in a tiny AirBnB in Canterbury , where there were chocolates on the table and artwork on every inch of the walls, we boarded a ferry with an absolute minimum of fuss, enjoyed a smooth crossing of the channel, and were deposited in the decidedly unscenic surroundings of the port of Dunkirk two hours later. Once we got past the cranes and shipping containers, though, the countryside was flat but pleasant. We stopped at a small town called Cassel, reached by cobbled roads winding up a hill. On the summit was an old windmill and a topograph telling you the distances to various improbable places; St Omer may have been visible in the haze, but Manchester was surely over the horizon.  In Lille, we found our apartment, unpacked the luggage (one rucksack apiece), and set out to find food. Our first choice was fully booked, so we embarked on that kind of aimless wandering where everyone is hungry and no one wants to actually choose a restaurant. We reached a Lebanese place call...

Canterbury Cathedral

We were booking a trip to France, and I persuaded the family that it was madness to drive four hours to Dover and get straight on the ferry. "We should definitely stay overnight somewhere," I said. "Oh look, Canterbury is very handy - just twenty minutes from Dover." Of course, my suggestion was not influenced in the slightest by the fact that Canterbury contains England's most famous cathedral. On the way down, we stretched our legs on Dunstable Downs, an area of chalk grassland owned by the National Trust. I was pleased to spot a scarlet pimpernel for my 100 Plants Challenge . We also enjoyed watching gliders ascending and descending. We turned onto the M25 and made our way through busy traffic to the Dartford Crossing. This is one of those mythical points on the UK road network, like Scotch Corner and Watford Gap: the name familiar from traffic reports on the radio; the reality - for someone who grew up west of London - a hazy blur of imagination. It turns ou...