Monday, April 24, 2006

Gnargg, phwaaatt,errrgraaa......

...I said when I had managed to get my power of speech back.

And why had the Queen of the Gob Grail lost her words? Well, I'll tell you.

In the dark and distant past I must have had a dream. I dreamt that I ageed to talk to (oh dear can hardly say this and have unusual embarrassment) the Women's Institue. The dream unfortunately came true and tonight I trotted along to the meeting with a bag full of stories and a pocket full of witty poems with which to tickle their supportive undergarments.
The first thing that I had to do after being met by MaureenBlueRinse was to pay JoanPurpleRinse for the flower that she had donated.

'I'm sorry?'

'Every month one us brings in an offering from the garden and we pay to see it and then the money goes to our favourite charity' a glowing MaureenBR said.
I coughed up twenty-five pence from the bottom of my sack and took my place on the dais - I made the mistake of referring to it as the stage and recieved a tap on the back of the hand!


Here I sat in a 'dais' whilst the almalgamation of four WI's waded through an hour's worth of backslapping, announced the winning recipes for potato and radish jam (no they didn't, I made that up, it was squirrel and sausage) and talked about the achievements of Maureen and her Blanket Crusade. Wasn't quite sure that I had got the hang of this one as I had lost the will to live sometime after the first minute, must be some kind of march to the holy land with warming bedcovers.
Oh God I'm up.
I opened with a mirthful ditty about the Queen's knickers, a (prize winning) poem that I happen to be quite proud of and one that goes down really well in the pub!!
Oh dear, the ladies failed to make a crease in their carefully powdered faces but not to be put off by a bunch of mad knitters, and yes there were two knitting in the front row, I sallied forth with my life as a struggling writer.
What was wrong with me, public speaking is as easy as falling off a large horse, I've usually got them rolling in the aisles by now. I had very carefully tailored my speech, edited the language and told them what I thought that they would like to know.
Oh help - they hate me.
I looked around the room at the stony, sober, corsetted chests. Not an eyebrow raised, not a hint of a smirk - I'd lost it somewhere on the road here, it was dead and dying and I was never going to get it back- ever, I'm ruined!
I finished quickly and recieved a luke-warm clap from Janice, who made the tea. I presumed that she was a wannabe WI as they wouldn't let her sit down with the blue rinse team.
Then I tried to sneak off.
'Ah Mrs Minx' Joan PR said 'that was umm, very interesting, very interesting indeed. However, this fantasy of yours, I don't think any of my ladies read fantasy, scientific or not.'
I couldn't speak until I had got home and forced a large vodka down my throat. I have written a large note in my diary and put up a poster by the phone.
'No WI's ever again for me'
And anyway what's wrong with fantasy as long as you've got a few scientific facts in there!


skint writer said...

Now who's having a rant!

(nice one ;-)

Maxine Clarke said...

My God it sounds terrible! Did it really happen? Please come and talk to me instead, I would love to hear your stories and poems.
How could those philistines be so cruel? I have sat through endless excrutiating children's "show" evenings usually just to see the glimpse of the top of the head of one of mine, and however dreadful, good manners dicatate that one claps and rewards the people who were brave enough to get up there on the -- yes, the s word -- stage!

Not that any of this would apply you you, Minx, I just know your talk was great and I would love to hear it. (But don't put it in one of those podcasty things as that is definitely one beyond me.)

Unknown said...

There's nowt so queer as folk from your own county.
All true I'm afraid Maxine except for 'Janice'. There was a tea person who had been excommunicated to the back of the room and she 'looked' like a Janice to me although I never caught her name. Feel also that Joan Purple Rinse will pop up in disguise in a future fiction as she was just too colourful to be ignored!

Anonymous said...

So very funny.

Drip, drip, splat, splat--the sound of flop sweat!