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Happy Birthday Lola B!

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Having had a bonfire party almost every year of her life, with wellies and sparklers and marshmallows on sticks and baked potatoes and scary halloween pumpkins filled with blood-coloured spaghetti, my younger daughter chose a girlie party.  Two ladies came to make up and embellish the nine girls, and the girls primped and preened and lavished praise on each other.

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They also each made a scrapbook page of themselves – photos festooned with scraps of paper and stickers and gems – for an album for Lola B to keep forever.  Most of them had slept over the night before, like caterpillars still in their chrysalis, squashed on the sofas in sleeping bags and under duvets, cooing and screaming with anticipation and excitement as presents were unwrapped and passed round.  Rapt, they watched Reece Witherspoon in Sweet Home, Alabama get the right man eventually – the one with the dog – and absentmindedly fed themselves with popcorn and passed our own uncomplaining wolf around for cuddles.  Afterwards they left behind traces of themselves – odd socks, hairbands, a jumper, a coat or two, and sweet wrappers – and a tired birthday girl…

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