Post mortem

Did anyone else, other than Mark, not get their invite to the barbie?
Early indications are that the invitation for the Wilkes family went astray in the postal system somewhere near Godalming - on the eastern end of the Portsmouth Road. Even though Mark didn’t get his invite (which is a shame because I’d even included the timetables of buses that run between Perth and Stratford-Upon-Avon, not for the 197 service though; because that goes via Meadowhall.) which meant he didn’t make it to the party, there was a representative from my Huddersfield Uni* days who did turn up... and I’d not even asked him to come. Actually, that’s not strictly true, I did invite him - I just told him that the party was starting five hours later than it actually did... he didn’t fall for it though. Bartlett, or Simon as I am slowly getting used to calling him, was in fine form on the night regaling everyone with his stories of encounters with kangaroos, two metre-long tiger snakes, and pretty wildflowers. I wouldn’t mind but he’s only been in the country for five minutes and he’s already had adventures that put the rest of us to shame. So, Bartlett (he did have another nickname in College but I can’t really use it in polite company) was in charge of storytelling, and one of our neighbours was on cooking duties (he had quite rightly worked out that the choice was to take charge of the barbie or go hungry). I’d even managed to get out of the car-parking chores, by giving the job to George. I had provided him with all you need to be a car park attendant, namely: a high visibility vest; a limp, a chip on the shoulder; and a hatred of everyone else on the planet. He carried out his task with great gusto, in fact at one stage he tried to park someone on our driveway who was attempting to visit their friends who live three doors up from us. So, with all of my duties delegated elsewhere I was left free to mingle and socialise... okay I was left free to mingle and tut each time someone skipped one of the songs on my carefully crafted playlist. It was a good job that I’d prepared 30 hours worth of top notch music for our entertainment because several hours’ worth of material disappeared in the blink of an eye. Obviously I’m not really up on the rules of social etiquette (having the social skills of a brick), but surely even touching your hosts remote is a definite no, no (as well as being a feed line for a ‘Carry On’ style joke). Personally, I like to give a song more than a bar-and-a-half before deciding that none of the attending guests are going to like it... call me a bluff old traditionalist if you like. I’ll name that tune in... oh, no I can’t because we appear to have gone on to the next one already. (You may want to read this bit in a raised, slightly agitated voice, to get the desired effect).
Deep breaths... I’m calm now.
Next subject.
This weekend we split-up into boys’ and girls’ teams to do male/female bonding type things. I think we may have got the roles a bit mixed up though because Hattie and Wendy went off to tackle the elements and the great outdoors whilst George and I went shopping.
Perhaps it was hearing Simon’s tales of daring-do in the bush (more ‘Carry On’ feed lines anyone?) that spurred Wendy to want to go camping. I’m not sure that they were exactly roughing it in the back of beyond though. In fact they were on a campsite with all available amenities, although, in truth, they might have had to cope without a socket for the hairdryer.
In fact mine and George’s shopping trip should have been a bit more dangerous than that. We braved a CD sale run by RTR FM. Once a year they sell-off all of their promo CDs in order to raise some cash and make a bit of space in the office. The sale takes place in the back room of a pub, with very low lighting levels and all the CDs dumped into boxes, or lined-up in no discernable order. It has to be said that it wasn’t unlike Mark’s music filing system back in our Uni days – although, of course, it was cassettes back then; and at least the CDs at today’s event were in cases. The event was heer heaven; it took me back to the days of rummaging through the Woolies bargain bins. George loved it too. He spent a couple of week’s worth of pocket money but managed to pick-up some real bargains, one of which was by a band that he knows I dislike intensely... which is clearly a bonus.
Whilst driving to the record sale, we passed a sports oval where various teams were playing football. A little further along the road we passed a second sports oval where various teams were playing cricket. Still further along the route we passed another oval where various teams, of mixed gender and age, and bedecked in club colours were playing Frisbee. No, I didn’t believe it either, but they were still playing when we drove back again. I didn’t even know it was competitive, How do you win? I thought that you just threw the Frisbee in such a way that your mate had to go and pick it up from in front of the attractive lady in the bikini sat three doors up the beach from you. And then he would return the favour. But surely that’s a game where everyone wins.
Anyway I’m off. Next time I’ll tell you all about Harriet‘s ballet shoes, and how she took 7 seconds off her 50 metre freestyle PB. I might even to tell you about the Halloween ‘pool’ party that George attended
See you soon.
H

*okay, so technically it was a Polytechnic when I started there