Sunday, 12 March 2006

No razor for me

I’ve postponed getting organised for a bit. I did a piece of work and emailed it to the appropriate people who were duly impressed as it was one of those things that’s useful but never becomes urgent, so it’s made me look really on top of things. This effect will last for at least a week so everyone will leave me alone.

I have to spend tomorrow morning on the phone however booking a venue for a lecture as the place already booked will have the builders in unexpectedly. This is not something I look forward to; I used to be somewhat telephone phobic and although I have overcome that, I still am not entirely comfortable making lots of phone calls. Emails are an absolute blessing as they save me from the telephone.

This morning was busy as I was sidesman at one church service and organist at the next, so I had earned a visit to the village pub by 12.30. There are about 10 of us who fairly regularly go along before Sunday lunch (don’t know if the others go in the evenings as I don’t) and they were almost all there. One wife, who was dutifully at home cooking lunch, was missing. Even my husband arrived, which is a rarity. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m the only woman who regularly turns up solitarily; couples come or he does even if she doesn’t but not the other way round. I don’t actually drink more than the other women, maybe (oh, pathetic I sound) it’s that some weeks it feels like the only purely social occasion I get. The solution is in my own hands, true, but asking people in creates Work For Me and I don’t always feel like letting myself in for this in advance. However, if I happen to have plenty of food cooking I love to sweep up people and bring them home for lunch, particularly enjoyable as it's an unexpected pleasure.
I do feel a little shy if I turn up at the pub and no one I know is there, but there's always someone to chat to (though in a country village pub taking pot luck company is not always interesting in a good way). The publican’s daughter is presently raising sponsorship money for a gap year teaching in South India (I’m glad to say the village church trust fund has chipped in a decent amount) and Anna the barmaid has offered a sponsored head shave. I have put in a fiver – is that small amount mean? It’s what most people have stumped up, and some less. I wouldn’t do it for worlds, especially if I had a fabulous head of curly red hair like hers. The landlord himself is losing his beard in the same cause so I will sponsor him too of course. But a little easier to cope with I should think? Though I wouldn’t be his wife dealing with the stubble as it grows back, far too abrasive. It’ll be interesting to see him clean-shaven, I never have in the 8 years they have lived here.

2 comments:

PI said...

I don't think a fiver is mean. But then my financial nous arrested when I stopped earning years ago. I always had a soft spot for Norfolk where my first husband hailed from. In the fifties it was positively feudal.

Z said...

There is still a bit of feudal here even now.

I'm glad you don't think I'm mean. I'm keeping some in reserve in case she needs to do more fundraising later. I want to know what her dad will shave next.