You may wish to ponder why its such a surprise as we have one EVERY year , however Frobi seemed to be oblivious as I chauffeured him to Cafe C where the gathering throng were hiding in the garden shushing each other and tittering as all surprise guests do.
Frobisher was carping all the way there that at his age all he wanted was a nice quite birthday dinner and perhaps a celebratory cup of cocoa before retiring early for the night , and should he be spared , maybe a gentle constitutional and a nice rest would set him up for the next year .
Predictably on being 'surprised' , opening a mountain of presents and hitting the cocktails , all those gentle plans were soon forgotten and he was off making lewd suggestions to the bar staff , cavorting with the drag act , screaming like a girl and dragging strange women in off the street to partner his frenzied dirty dancing.
You can just imagine the final result
I had volunteered to cop the early shift the next day to clean up and get the cafe open for the daytime and prepare for another birthday party in the evening .
The Cafe floor looked like a herd of passing hippo's had been wallowing and I had to move all the furniture to one side of the room , then sweep and double mop and then move it all the other way , collect all the debris and wash all the tables and chairs and then put everything back . A very pale and wan Frobisher staggered in about 11.30 en route from his hotel to home , probably leaving a trail of sick down the high street .
I managed to slouch through the days service and James eventually surfaced about 3 pm looking somewhat worst for wear and here we entered familiar territory . James having a fit of the vapours trying to prepare the restaurant for the party , Beast having a nervous breakdown in the kitchen trying to sort out the dinner for 30 and Mr C refusing point blank to get out his festering pit until 5.30 pm....the party was kicking off at 7 .
Still being professionals
***beast chokes slightly at this point***
we pulled it all together in the nick of time , despite the kitchen bitches turning up 40 minutes late and half cut. Frobisher staggered back still looking rather delicate and gamely did some washing up after Mr C had a tantrum , following a bit of an incident with a chocolate gateaux and accidently sacked the washer up(Easily done when your hung over I am told) .
Still the meal service was as smooth as silk and the party was a triumph , and our guests staggered off in the early hours to hit the fleshpots of Weymouth belching gently as they went.
However I cannot help reflecting that unless Frobisher shuffles off this mortal coil in some bizarre sex related accident we could have another 30 of these 'surprise' birthday weekends to get through......
You may ask what happened on my birthday , I will tell you ,driving Mr C to the supermarket , a kentucky fried chicken dinner and a lengthy lecture on my short comings......I am not sure which of the three gave me the squirts but my money is on the Kentucky.....
It seems blatantly obvious that God and the Colonel hate me !