I have just (10.00pm) got in from a woodland charity talk. It was a very local gig, at the WI in the neighbouring village, so it took me six minutes to drive back, which helps average out last time, when I went to Thundersley. I can't see myself getting a more local booking than that unless the neighbours decide they'd like to host a woodland charity talk in their front room.
The woman who books the speakers rang this morning in a state of suppressed panic to check that I was going, which was cutting it fine, supposing I'd forgotten, or double booked myself. I was fairly relaxed about not hearing from her earlier, since I knew that they were expecting me because they'd said so in the write-up of their previous meeting in the parish magazine. Actually, according to the article they were not expecting me, but somebody with a different name. We were discussing this at my brother in law's at the weekend. When you have a name that almost nobody knows how to pronounce, many people fail to hear it, and transpose it into a vaguely similar but more familiar name.
The local WI turned out to be a feisty lot. The Chairwoman started the meeting by ringing a medium sized cow bell on a ribbon, which produced cries of Moo Moo from the front row. There followed a spirited and quite lengthy discussion about whether the national annual convention should be at a larger and grander venue than the usual Albert Hall (as featured in Calendar Girls), either Wembley Stadium (which would cost more) or the O2 (which would cost more still). This provoked howls of protest from the local ladies, who thought either a waste of money which the WI did not even have, and more hoots of derision at the idea that they might like to pay extra for entertainment following the usual proceedings. Then they got on to a national meeting involving second hand hat sales (or swaps, I didn't gather). The Chairwoman demanded to know who on earth wanted to wear a hat that had been on an unknown person's head, and a lively discussion of nits and the evils of children's dressing up boxes containing hats ensued. I felt rather nervous by the time I took the stage.
They were well behaved after that, and all looked interested in hearing about trees and woodland, except for one who yawned throughout, but there's usually one, and nobody went to sleep (a particular hazard with pensioners' friendship groups in the afternoons). They didn't have many questions, seeming more interested in getting on to the tea and cakes, and gossip. They were very good cakes, and I had a small second supper which I didn't need, but enjoyed. I had to judge the competition for an arrangement of spring flowers, which I did more or less at random, since I have no idea how you judge flower arrangements. (The boss once had to judge them at an RHS show, and was given a crash course in judging at the last minute by somebody high up in the national floristry association. I just make it up).
I didn't get caught by the railway crossing gates going either way, otherwise it would have taken more than six minutes.
Addendum I should be glad I am not judging next month's competition, which is for An Edible Necklace. The mind boggles.
No comments:
Post a Comment