Dark side of the moon

My parents entertained a lot when we lived in Las Palmas. I suppose they had just arrived on the island and were keen to create a social circle for themselves. My father had many work colleagues that came to visit from England so they were often having people around for dinner parties.

Nice 1970s family portrait, the sleeping bag stairs

Dinner in those days was a lengthy affair. It was a 3 course meal and everything was made from scratch. We spent most of the day in the kitchen helping my mother prepare the food for that evening. I was often getting told off for disappearing when nobody was looking. It was quite a slog cutting and peeling and washing and drying. I love food but I’ve never had the energy or passion for cooking. I was quickly called back with Where’s Sally? Why isn’t Sally helping??

My parents often invited 2 or 3 couples at any one time. When they arrived we would greet guests, maybe offer them some snacks and then my mother would say it’s way past your bedtime, and we would go off to bed.

On one occasion my father decided to be a bit more adventurous, some VIP guests were coming for dinner and he thought it would be a good idea to hang a couple of legs of lamb in one of our many (unused) bathrooms in Pío XII. He’d heard this would give the meat a more succulent flavour once roasted. This is what you do for grouse, not lamb, he found out later. On the evening of the dinner party, my father discovered the lamb hadn’t had the desired effect he was hoping for and they were starting to give off a funny smell. Quick as a flash those legs of lamb went into a hot steaming oven, my mother wishing my father to the devil and hoping that once roasted, all would be well. Luckily nobody got sick/keeled over and the meal was a success. Close shave.

From upstairs we’d lie in bed listening to the adults talking animatedly and laughing loudly, the clinking of glasses, the clearing of plates. Toward the end of the night, if we were still awake, we would hear my father test out his sound system with the latest music. The music was never played softly, it was turned right up high so as to get the best sound effect. Often it was Pink Floyd The Dark Side Of The Moon or if my father was feeling particularly patriotic it would be Land of Hope and Glory or God Save The Queen.

The morning after the dinner party, whilst my parents lay in bed, Nicola Julia and I would have sleeping bag races down the stairs. We’d get into our sleeping bags, lie back as far as possible so as to gain the most speed and race each other down, bumping from one stair to another. We slipped and slid our way down, the first to the bottom was the winner. This went on and on until we’d exhausted ourselves laughing.

The clearing up came later, ahh not more work I would mumble. Always prepared to get through the mundanest of jobs with the most amount of entertainment, Julia and I would pretend to smoke the leftover cigarette butts in the ashtrays from the night before. I’d say Julia look at this my eyes squint I’d hold the cigarette butt between my thumb and finger and pretend to take a drag like I’d seen cowboys/my father’s friends do.

This was me with old cigarette butt from night before, disclaimer smoking is bad for your health don't do it even if you think like me it looked cool

We had many, many weekends of helping in the kitchen, clearing up the next day so one day my parents decided they would turn the tables and treat us to our very own dinner party. I will never forget the excitement as we were told to go upstairs and get dressed up, they would call us when dinner was ready. I wore a matching yellow flowery crop top and long frilly skirt, an outfit that had been made for us for a wedding we had attended. We came downstairs in all our finery and were waited on by my parents, our dinner presented to us just like grown ups.

Added bonus, there was no clearing or washing up afterwards.

This remains one of my most treasured memories.