PB had her second birthday party yesterday afternoon. I was the only male over the age of 3 in a room of 30, and I lived to tell the tale.

The guests arrived uncannily punctually at the appointed hour of 4pm. Many of the attendees, groggy from their lunchtime naps, seemed to take a few minutes to get into the party atmosphere. However hostess PB, ably assisted by sister JC, had already plunged into the lollies (which unfortunately they have taken to calling candy - damn American teachers) and PB's favourite: chocolate. While sending their blood sugar levels towards the upper limits of human capacity, they decided to test their endurance by gulping down fruit juice like they were an ex-Australian PM setting a drinking record.

The crowd was rocking by 4:30pm. The toys were getting a thorough work-over and the carpet's scotch-guarding was being tested to the limit. Misti the wonder dog was locked away to not scare the natives but proved to be a popular exhibit with some of the braver souls. The paparazzi (myself) was in full swing, snapping various guests in varied modes of play, eating or merriment. At one stage a rumour got around the cops were on their way to turn it down. The requisite quota of tears was reached early on, allowing the party to continue through to the all important sausage/chips part of the day. These disappeared at an alarming rate, leaving the party girl's father desperately lacking in nutrition to get through the remainder of the party.

Finally the moment arrived: the cake. Looking brilliant in a combination of pink icing and chocolate cake, it was well received by the crowd. After one aborted candle-blowing (there's always one kid who has to ruin it for the birthday girl) PB stepped up and did the honours. As is tradition at Hong Kong parties, the guests guzzled their cake and left almost immediately (with party bags in hand of course). Within ten minutes all that was left was a desolate wasteland where had once been our apartment.

We had a two-pronged strategy for dealing with the mess. Firstly Misti the wonder dog did her duties as a vacuum cleaner, sucking up bits of cake and lolly that would escape the human eye. Secondly we had fortunately engaged the services of a helper for the afternoon and she proceeded to make light work of the cleaning up process. Having taken JC and PB out for 15 minutes to try and burn some of their glucose still pumping in their veins I returned to find Mrs M firmly ensconced on the couch and the place looking spotless.

All parties should be as successful.

And now I'm proud to present what I said above in a pictoral exhibition of the event itself. WARNING: the extended entry is NSWD (not safe for dial-up)

Party girl sister and co-hostess JC, ready for the hordes.

The girl of the hour: PB.

Did someone say cake? Guess how old she is turning?

My daddy told me this is the only thing I should ever associate with "blow".

Concerntration is the key.

Damn that's good cake.

It's my party and I'm the queen of the day.

After a hard afternoon's partying, our zonked hostesses need some serious couch time.