Curioser and curioser

I have seen the future...and it is scarily, scarily, middle class. Maybe even upper m.c. I have just got back, walking down my lovely street and feeling rather suburban, with bunnies in the yards, and fireflies fluttering (do they flutter? hover? anyway.) about, and all very pretty. I have spent a few hours of the late afternoon at a neighbour's house, since she had invited people on the street for a potluck dinner at her place, and since I am still trying to get to know people, I thought I'd go.

And this is where the scary UMC-ness comes in. Now, most of you know that I really like giving dinner parties, and gathering people I like around food I like (though I really ought to do it more). In fact, cooking for friends is one of the things that makes me happiest, and one of the greatest pleasures of being mistress of one's entire house/apartment. And I know that as I get older, it will be a more frequent occurrence. But this thing tonight...with people of varying ages, all older than me, all so terribly proper - the architect, the retired physicist, the psychiatrist, the woman who will do x-rays of incredibly rare 15th century Celtich harps - discussing house prices, and schools, and insurance policies, and holidays in the south of France (yes, it appears that even from here, it's the done thing for sensible middle class liberals) - it was like the Ghost of Dinner Party Future, and it was almost enough to make me not want to host another dinner party, ever.

I thought I had finally come round to the idea of being A Real Grown-up, but I guess not...


Moving swiftly on....

Among the various bits of neighbourhood gossip, and who is moving where when and having what children, I acquired the knowledge that Toni Morrison lives in the neighbourhood, which is kinda cool. I shall keep an eye out for her now.

Up next: some reflections on Liverpool.