by Amanda Egan
Quality of donated tombola goods is not to a high enough standard. Must be checked on a daily basis and any ‘past sell by date’ or ‘undesirables’ can be saved for next Harvest Festival.
Oh, so it’s not good enough for us but it’s OK to poison the local pensioners with?
Must have a crèche set up in the nursery area manned by 3 nannies or au pairs - the committee will pay them £10 for their services.
Apart from having to cook all the pizzas and prepare bagels, they’re also expected to work (on what is probably their day off?) for less than the minimum wage. Vonder vot Olga vill hev to say about dat?
Vintage clothes stall must be cancelled. Too degrading. Nobody wants to wear second hand clothes so will be a waste of profitable space. Araminta has kindly recruited a friend who designs corsets and bustle skirts. (Prices from £275 upwards)
Poor Fenella now has the job of telling her own friend that she’s been refused a stall to sell her ‘rags’. And, silly me, not realising that no one else wants to wear second hand clothes, despite their pedigree.
Recipe book to be completed at least a week prior to the fair so that we can start to take orders and judge print runs.
So far we have 5 recipes for the book. One each from me, Fenella, Jenny, Sarah and Eva (our two eager helpers). We’ve been met with total apathy by everyone else. Must do reminder letter tomorrow and get things moving.
Had another ciggie and went to bed unable to sleep with all manner of things rushing through my head. Dreamt I was sacked as fair organiser because I was caught leaving a piece of used chewing gum as a tombola contribution. Fenella was left to do everything, wearing nothing but a bunny girl outfit with a real rabbit’s tail because fake fur wasn’t considered ‘de rigueur’.
Don’t think the nicotine is agreeing with me.
Thursday 25th September
Mrs S back from her first computer class. “Well, Libbybeta. I was right. I am very much the oldest person there but I quickly made friends with Skunk and Dean - such nice boys, really. They have eleven tattoos and fifteen piercings between them, although I could only see nine. They also showed me a place I can go to in my computer where I can watch any Barry Manilow ever recorded.”
Bet Skunk and Dean found it hard to contain their composure when they saw Barry strutting his stuff but I’m glad she’s enjoying herself and that her classmates seem to be so accepting.
Caught up with Elle on the phone - she’s feeling quite pregnant now and very sick. Felt really sorry for her because she’s trying to remain as high powered as ever and finding it all a bit much. Her man - Rob - sounds lovely and is begging her to stop work so that he can take care of her and the baby. She won’t hear of it though and is determined to work to the bitter end and then return as quickly as possible.
Never knew my sister came from the ‘other breed!’ Fenella reckons she’ll change her mind as soon as she’s had the baby but I’m not so sure. We’ve got a hat bet riding on it and I really rather fancy the lime green silk jobbie I tried on last time - here’s hoping.
Had an email from Poo confirming all changes made at yesterday’s meeting. She’d also added:
‘This morning, a jar of Robinson’s jam was left in the tombola box. Although within its sell-by date, we would prefer only Bon Maman or such like. The jam has been removed and placed in the store cupboard for the elderly.’
Sometimes wonder if they’re taking the piss. Fenella assured me they’re not. The jam has been quarantined because it’s considered to be common - but perfect for those who are too old or too grateful to know otherwise!
Called Ned at work to have a giggle about it but he wasn’t really in the mood - too preoccupied with culling rumours.
Head in sand, head in sand …
Friday 26th September
Ned came home with a bottle of cheap bubbly - only one redundancy and that was old Jeremy who’s been hanging out for it for two years now. Phew, head now out of sand until next time.
Had belated laugh about the jam fiasco and discussed what might be acceptable but reasonably priced for our contribution.
“We’ve got that foul liqueur your mother brought back from Magaluf. That doesn’t have a sell-by date on it and if it’s not good enough for Manor House, I’m sure it’ll give the OAP’s a buzz!” Ned joked. “Or I could always pick up a couple of fancy jars of mustard or something from Harrods on the way home one night. Not Colemans, of course, that would just be too, too crass!”
“Do you ever wonder what kind of mad world we’ve moved into?” I asked as I poured us both another drink.
“Often,” Ned nodded. “But I just content myself with knowing that Max is happy and we’re doing the right thing by him. None of the other crap matters and we just have to take it on the chin and roll with it. We’re not the only ones to see the lunacy in it all so we just might be in the sane minority.”
Got told off then for lighting another cigarette.
“I know we can’t afford them but I just need them to get me through the stress of the fair and then I’ll give up again,” I defended myself.
“I know a much better cure for stress and tension, Libs.”
Had a much needed early night.
Ding dong! - all stress gone!
Saturday 27th September
Mum phoned to ask what we wanted for Christmas! Says she wants to be fully prepared and is doing all of her shopping online and making sure she leaves enough time for delivery. Think three months should just about do it.
Tried to have a laugh with her about the tombola but don’t think she quite grasped it. Four bottles of Yardley bubble bath and talc will be in the post this afternoon, as her contribution. Oh well, the local oldies will at least smell good this Harvest Festival because you can guarantee that’s where they’ll end up.
Eventually gathered that the main purpose of her call was to confirm that she’d been invited to us for Christmas, as she’d only “heard it via Elle and Harriett.” When I told her of course she was invited, she said that was good as her train arrived at King’s Cross at midday on the 22nd - which coincidentally was the same time as Ria, Ned’s Mum’s, train! “That way it’s only one collection and not two. Quite clever of us, don’t you think?”
Yes, very cunning indeed, Mum.
Finished the conversation after insisting I really didn’t want a home electrolysis kit for Christmas. “Oh but Libby, every peri menopausal woman should have one. You don’t want those whiskers to get out of control, you’ll be a slave to them.”
And Ned definitely wouldn’t want the Brut Aftershave Gift Pack she’d already bought - bet that will now end up in the post with the Yardley contributions!
Spent the evening wrapping Father Christmas gifts in colour co-ordinated paper and bows as instructed. Purple and gold for the girls, green and silver for the boys.
Ned slumped back with a glass of red wine after we’d hit the hundred mark and said, “Thank God that’s over.”
Didn’t have the heart to tell him there was another stash under the stairs with the lucky dip prizes. Still haven’t asked him if he minds doing a stint as Father Christmas - damn, should have done that after last night’s bonk. Remember for next time.
Oooh, next time? Think I feel another early night coming on.
LATE, LATE, LATE!
Have just recruited my first Father Christmas. Wish they were all as easy as that but I’d get myself quite a reputation at the Manor House gates if I used the same tactics.
Sunday 28th September
Went to F&J’s for lunchtime drinks and ended up staying for lunch, evening drinks and Sunday tea. Fenella was insisting that we stay as, “ Josh always buys half a hog or the back end of a cow when I send him to the butchers and then I’m left to come up with imaginative ways to use the rest of it up. You’d be doing me a favour.”
Shaaaron phoned while we there. Is no day sacred? She and Poo had been discussing the cookery book and decided that children’s illustrations were t
oo ‘cutesy’. Could we organise photos for the book? Adding, “Sure it shouldn’t be too difficult and it will look so much more professional. We’ll leave it in your capable hands!”
“They want blood, I tell you,” Fenella raged as she lit us both another Silk Cut. Ned and Josh looked on disapprovingly but we were past caring.
Josh came up with the theory that at some point the committee members had been high-powereds who just needed to feel important by constantly upping the ante. “Don’t rise to it. Just get on and do what you can with a quiet dignity.”
Fenella stubbed her ciggie, “That’s it, I’m taking ‘The Tao of Pooh’ out of the downstairs loo - I’m sick of your half arsed philosophising. Go and carve the fatted calf while Lib and I finish bitching.”
Several bottles of wine and about forty fags later, we’d convinced ourselves we could do an excellent job of the photography ourselves - thereby saving money and coming across as fantastically well organised multi taskers.
We now have a camera full of photos of the roast, the gravy, the veg and, for some reason, Dog & Dot, Dog & Brown, Splodge & Dot, Dog, Splodge, Brown and Dot …
To review (and probably discard) in the morning.
Monday 29th September
Slight hangover combined with ashtray-mouth. Walked to school, as had sneaking suspicion I might be over the limit. Met Fenella, who’d had the same idea and was sporting a huge pair of Jackie O sunglasses. “Shit, Lib. I don’t know if it’s you or the school that’s turned me into such a lush. Sure I never used to have hangovers on a Monday.”
Yeah, right!
Went for coffee in the park as it’s the only place you’re allowed to smoke without feeling like a leper.
Came to the conclusion that it would be unworkable to photograph everyone’s culinary contributions so we’ll cheat and search Google for images that look vaguely representative of each dish. Might get Mrs S on the job as I think she needs something to break her eBay addiction - so far she’s bought three pairs of leisure panties, a new swing for Bazzer-the-budgie, a 1950’s Babycham glass and a garden gnome.
When my mobile rang, I instantly panicked that it might be the school saying Max had had an accident or something - touch of ‘Lou-itis’. Can’t say I was relieved to find that it was Poo.
“Libby, Hi. We’ve just been discussing the fair and decided we don’t want to deal in cash this year. So tiresome having to count all those coins and notes! Though it would be a good idea to have some kind of ‘Manor House Currency” - a bit like Monopoly notes - that people can purchase prior to and on the day of the fair at a little ‘bank’ you can set up in the office. If you could arrange multiples of 50p, £1, £5 and £10 that would be great. Leave it to you then, shall we?”
Took me a while to convey the message to Fenella as I was in some kind of trauma-induced trance.
“What bollocks,” was all Fenella managed when I finally spluttered it out. “It seems as if no sooner we deal with one insane idea another one pops up.”
Both lit another fag and stared blindly into the distance, like a couple of asylum inmates on day release.
Tuesday 30th September AM
Still trying to get our heads around the ‘funny money’ idea.
Ned and Josh seem to think they’ve got it sussed. The maximum amount of work for us, prior to the fair, creates the minimum amount of work for the committee, after the fair.
Seems more like a plot to send us raving mad.
Fenella jokingly suggested we string up some washing lines in her kitchen to let all the notes dry and then store them neatly in one of Josh’s old brief cases in the cellar - wouldn’t want them falling into the wrong hands, would we?
Heaven help us all but, in particular, the two manic women who seem to be happily taking on these banal tasks - can only imagine we were very evil in previous lives or very stupid in our present ones.
PM
Eventually came up with a suitable idea for each denomination of note and a rota for selling them in the weeks leading up to the fair.
Mobile and landline have been ringing non-stop. I figure if I ignore them and don’t check email, I’ll manage to stay ahead.
Won’t let the bastards get me down.
Final text from Fenella as I fell in to bed:
SORRY, HON! JUST WNTED 2 TELL U … I KNOW WE AGREED NOT TO BUT ANSWERED MY FONE BY MISTAKE. EMERGENCY MEET WITH WITCHES AT 09.00 HOURS @ SKOOL. DON’T KNOW WHAT ABOUT. HAVE ANOTHER FAG AND WINE AND DON’T LET THE BASTARDS GET U DOWN. C U THERE. XX
Have resorted to ostrich routine again but, alarmingly, had another Delhi Delight dream.
Wednesday 1st October AM
Emergency fair meeting - about ???
Of all the days to wake up with a pulsating zit, size 12’s crow’s feet and gravity-defying hair it had to be today.
Tried to perform beauty miracles while feeding stroppy child and under-the-feet-dogs. Max had the hump because Mia doesn’t want to be his friend anymore - broken hearted at five. She won’t sit next to him at circle time and keeps poking her tongue out at him - which incidentally is green. Assume it’s something to do with the Energy Drink and not toxins.
She’s bloody lucky to have any boys after her with a tongue colour. Tried to placate him and told him that girls often do stuff like that if they really like a boy.
“But that’s just daft, Mummy. You don’t do that with Daddy and you really like him.”
Wasn’t really the morning for the whole ‘Venus/Mars’ discussion so just gave him an extra box of raisins and told him to see if they’d win her over, “Ladies always like gifts,” I explained as I bundled him into the car with his book bag, sports bag and lunch box - how they ever expect these kids to cycle to school is beyond me.
Contemplating the dreaded meeting ahead as I drove. Hair plonked up in deliberate ‘casual mess’ and half a ton of Miracle Elixir and foundation had left me looking vaguely polished. Wore best jeans, t-shirt and tailored jacket to come across as efficiently in control - the antithesis to what I was actually feeling.
Dropped Max off and noticed Mia looking across at him and doing the hair flicky thing all of us girls seem to do when keen. God we start young don’t we? Don’t think he’s got anything to worry about in the lurve department.
Met Fenella in the staff room where we sat and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
“Well, we’ve obviously got nothing better to do than sit and wait for the coven to arrive, have we?” Fenella reached in her bag for her Silk Cuts then realised where she was and put them back. Think our rediscovered addiction could be spiralling out of control.
Jenny appeared with coffee for us and said that Shaaaron had just called to say she was running late, “issues with the gardener”, and would be with us within the next ten minutes.
“Probably shagging him in the potting shed, like a modern day Lady Chatterley,” Fenella laughed as she slurped on her coffee.
Shaaaron finally arrived at 10 to 10 and we got down to business.
“Ladies, we have two issues to discuss today, aside from the fact that we feel you’re doing an excellent job.”
Gee, thanks.
“We’ve had a suggestion from a mother that it would be a super idea if we could sell salt dough figures of the children in Manor House uniform - like these.” With that, she produced two cute figures of a boy and a girl dressed in school kit. “Now the company that makes these is terribly expensive and we wouldn’t make much profit. So we’d like you to organise a small team of our artier mothers to put together say … 250? OK. The next point we need to address is some type of uniform for the parents helping on the stalls. Last year nobody knew who to give their money to. Sure you’ll be able to come up with something fab. Hmmm?” Much shuffling of papers and brushing down of invisible fluff from Armani jeans, indicated that the meeting had concluded.
Fenella cleared her throat and said very slowly, “So … new ideas and brainstorms filter through fr
om … wherever and we’re just expected to accept them without question and get on with it? Is that what I’m hearing?”
God she’s brave - I just sat there brushing off blatantly visible clumps of Dog and Dot hair from my M&S jeans, quivering like a girl.
Shaaaron stood, gathered her things and said calmly, “Yes Fenella, that’s exactly what I’m saying. As Christmas Fair coordinators, you’ll simply be doing your job. See you at the meeting next Tuesday to discuss your progress.”
Just hope she didn’t hear what Fenella told her to do as she left - but if she had heard her, she would have found that it was physically impossible and probably illegal.