Yep, it’s that time of year again when the village gardeners and amateur jam & cake makers up their game and hone their skills to produce the most outstanding exhibits/entries for the forthcoming village fair; my parents included.
Last year, if you remember was a bit of a dog’s breakfast owing to the cake fiasco so everyone is all the more determined to ensure that this year’s is a huge success. Unbeknown to me, yet again I have been volunteered for duty by my well-intentioned father who is trying to make amends for last year’s debacle as even a free year’s supply of his blackberry wine has not redeemed him in any way shape or form with the formidable ladies of the Women’s Institute. It would appear that I am to be a car park marshal and regrettably not the western kind where you get to wear a shiny badge, ride a trusty steed and carry a gun. I will be donning a high-visibility luminous vest or poncho, weather dependent and disappointingly without even a trusty taser in my holster either. I have been advised that after a day ushering cars and passengers in and around the field set aside for this purpose, I will feel like I have done a day’s hard labour. Although on the upside I will be provided with a walkie-talkie; I can already feel the power coursing through my veins but the addition of a cattle prod would have sealed the deal for me.
This job is the least favourite of all fete volunteers apart from the judging of the most beautiful baby competition, on account of all visitors wanting to park as near to the entrance as possible. Heated disputes have become commonplace amongst friends and neighbours in previous years regarding a coveted car parking space alongside the main arena but as my marshalling buddy is the church verger no doubt I will have to refrain from cussing anyone out or I may find the congregation praying for my lapse at the next Sunday service. Alternatively, I will always succumb to bribes.
I keep reminding myself that it’s all in a good cause although I suspect I will spend the day with a face like a bulldog chewing a thistle.