On Saturday Kitty went to one of her dearest friend’s fairytale princess birthday party. That she was one of five Elsas including the birthday girl herself will come as no surprise to anyone with small daughters, although I was quite impressed that they were all wearing different dresses. They played games, ate cake and sausage rolls and choc ices and came home entirely fuelled by fun and sugar so I took everyone out in the garden to burn off a little of that energy. And there in the bottom of the party bag was a childhood classic, a little pot of bubbles.
I remember getting bubbles in a party bag, though not with Anna and Elsa on and I’m definitely of the era where you had to pop the lid off and go searching for the little plastic wand hidden inside and try to fish it out with your little finger without spilling the whole tub all over the floor. And the appeal hasn’t changed a jot in the last thirty odd years. My girls love bubbles, and judging by Pip’s reaction he’s more keen on them too.
I blew streams of bubbles across the garden and Kitty and Elma chased and jumped and giggled and ran. And the camera sat on the table inside, because sometimes it’s just the moment to play, not to run around trying to record it. But then on Sunday afternoon I pulled the bubbles out again to give the girls a little fresh air, and to have a little play with the camera.
And I rapidly discovered that it is near impossible to blow bubbles and take a picture at the same time. Although, with the camera focussing on something else you do get the most wonderful halos and colourful blur.
There’s just something magical about bubbles isn’t there, the way they float, the colours and the way they just disappear into thin air as soon as you pop them with a well aimed finger. There’s a reason they’ve outlasted every toy craze yet isn’t there.