My passion for, and commitment to, that most
quintessential English celebration which infuses my diary at this time of year
is well documented. And rightly so. I have been a regular attendee of The All
England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club since Papa first settled me on a velvet
seat in the Royal Box. He may have momentarily popped down to the locker room
to partake of a hand rolled Havanna or two with HRH, but his absence was
sufficiently lengthy for me to cultivate what quickly became a lifelong ardor
for backhanders.
Yet despite
my obligations, I have been obliged to return to The Hall where, with more than
a soupçon of displeasure, I find myself
undertaking crucial work for the Village Fête. It is all quite intolerable at such
a late stage. Indeed, the event may have been my inspiration but, really,
despite an initial and healthy burst of enthusiasm from the ladies of the
village, the Committee has dwindled to myself (Chair), the Deputy Librarian who
rarely attends our weekly meetings despite my frequent postal reminders, and
the local Meals on Wheels representative, who turns out to be more mince and
mash than scones and cream.
With
the celebration a mere two weeks hence, planning time is now of the essence.
Immediately
after perusing today’s luncheon menu, therefore, I contacted a number of
potential benefactors to persuade them of our need for both quality and copious
raffle prizes. I look forward to the
arrival of appropriate deliveries from my chosen donors. Heaven knows, if the
county’s Care Home is to stand the remotest chance of replacing those blemished
mattresses, generosity is paramount.
My
subsequent task involved penning a note to the village school Headmistress
requesting further details of her somewhat courageous suggestion of a fancy
dress competition. There were mutterings, reported to me by Cook, that a
cluster of senior girls, overflowing with unregulated hormones, were contemplating
transforming the event into something akin to a St Trinians débacle. Clearly, there is no room in
village life for such outlandish behaviour. I shall do my utmost to ensure both
skirt lengths and conduct remain within the boundaries of polite society.
As
far as catering is concerned, Farthing Hall will, of course, lead the way. The kitchen staff are fully aware of my
expectations.
After
a somewhat exhausting day, reasonable headway in both marquee décor and ticket design has, I believe, been
achieved. Barring any unforeseen hitches, I shall return to the Championships
after breakfast tomorrow. The Master is likely to accompany me. After all, there’s
nothing that satisfies him more than the occasional double handed lob.
