Tonight my six-year-old, is one of six kids from the International School in Oslo, going to meet the King. They will be presenting paintings they were asked to produce on Friday – I guess you could say they were commissioned – to a group of people, one of whom is the King of Norway. Another is the Minister for the Environment & International Development. It’s in connection with a conference on the environment, taking place in Oslo today.
So she goes off to school with her hair braided, ready to unleash her curls on royalty later in the day, while I polish her black patent shoes (‘Are you sure they match, mummy?’ Of course, they do!) and try to get the stain, which looks suspiciously like glue, out of her red velour party dress. The chipped green nail polish from Saturday has already been removed from her fingers.
She’s not in the least bit fazed by the fact that the King is finally getting to meet her. Of course, I’ve hung out with him before when the Irish president was here, but today I’m just acting as lady-in-waiting/dresser/chauffeur/agent. I’ve a feeling I might as well get used to it.