In the evening we had a surprise party for Owen. Our Program Coordinator had fabricated a ‘host home meeting’ with Owen and his counterpart to get them out of the house beforehand. When they finally came back, walked through the door, we turned on the lights and shouted ‘surprise!’ and I could tell from the flash of terror that momentarily crossed Owen’s face that we had indeed surprised him very much. There were balloons decorating the room and a high table with a beautiful pearl embellished table cloth, which I later learnt had once been his host mum’s wedding dress. We had fizzy drinks, gizzards (which I accept is chicken and asked no more), and an iced cake that had cost us almost £20 in English money. We played games and danced (except me because I have given up dancing). Recounting this makes it sound like a scene out of an Enid Blighton book. It didn’t feel that way at the time, but if I’m honest, perhaps it should have.
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