Out raising funds with the ladies who lurch

IT’S that time of year again when all the ladies get together for the fundraising lunches. Now, some remain ladies and go home at a reasonable hour and others drag the arse out of it and don’t vaguely resemble ladies. Like me. And the awful thing is that I go with the intention of doing so. I have a friend who used to object strongly to the expression, ‘will we go for one or two?’. She maintained that we all knew it would be a lot more, so why ask ridiculous questions. At the last lunch that I attended, somebody asked me if I had had any trouble finding parking. I looked at them in complete bewilderment. Why would I be driving when wine was included in the lunch? Obviously I start off very ladylike and practice my demure pose. Just in case the photographer loses his marbles and asks me to pose. I should know by now that he won’t. He only approaches the young nubile ones. I just expend energy unnecessarily, sucking in my cheeks. And then after the few pre-lunch drinks, I tend to lose my reason. I must have had a deprived childhood and missed out on party bags because I just love the bag of freebies and find myself combing the other tables after the meal in case somebody has forgotten theirs. The same applies to the free chocolates. I stop short of the wine left in glasses. But I have no doubt that day will come. And then when the sensible ones are all waving goodbye at each other, I’m the one heading for the hotel bar to ensure that I end up as one of the ladies who lurch. Now I’m not heading there on my own. I tend to hang out with people who don’t know when to go home either. In fact, when one of them got home the other night, she texted me ‘homh’. I’m just glad the photographer isn’t around at the end of the night.