My decision to hand over Programme Coordinator
responsibilities will, forever, rankle. Tasked as I was with catering
necessities and dressing room decor, however, the impossibility of monitoring the
minutiae of performers was beyond even my legendary capabilities. Yet my
regrets remain manifold. The Poetry Evening was well attended, it is true, resulting
in sufficient takings to bolster the flagging coffers of the Church’s bank
account. Frittering away money on the Vicar’s penchant for organic bread must
not be tolerated when superior collecting receptacles are needed. I will
mention my priorities during our next impromptu morning coffee Tuesday hence at
ten o’clock. Indeed, I might even promote the idea of the Embroidery Guild taking on the
task of creating velvet pouches: rectangular ones to encourage banknotes and
round ones for coinage, the latter for those unfortunate members of the
congregation whose generosity is lacking.
Another positive result of the event was the take up
of flyers for my Tippet Tying Instruction. A number, I noticed, drifted into the
wastepaper basket though, judging by the sartorial inelegance evident during
the evening, I am confident of the need for accessory management.
Nevertheless such misdemeanours are comparatively peripheral.
My original suggestion of a Poetry Evening encompassed honouring the delights
of Walter De La Mare and William Wordsworth. I should have known better when a
local youth tendered his organisational skills. It seems his offer to source
poets was no more than literary hijacking.
With an appearance more gypsy than gent, the long
haired man I had witnessed loitering outside the Village Hall and whom I was
considering reporting to the local constabulary if not for being sidetracked by
wilting canapés (hardly surprising given the kitchen staff’s inattention to
sunlit surfaces) appeared on stage and, with excessive verve, delivered the
most racy language I have ever encountered. Equally shocking was the audience’s
enthusiastic response. There was but one saving grace: many attendees I failed
to recognise, having clearly journeyed from neighbouring estates (not the
landed variety).
Hourly tisanes of peppermint tea throughout the event
neutralised my trauma. Performance poetry is a medium to which I had never
previously been exposed; I will ensure that I never am again.
