Get­ting birth­day boy to dress up as monk

Harefield Gazette - - OPINION -

THE first week­end in Oc­to­ber saw us in Wales at Ruthin Cas­tle for FJ’s* birth­day. It was a me­dieval ban­quet and cos­tume was op­tional. Mr F made a great monk, and see­ing him ne­go­ti­ate his skirts was a hoot. I was in red vel­vet and wim­ple but, hav­ing bought it from an Ama­zon fancy dress site, I wasn’t sur­prised to spot a woman dressed iden­ti­cally, as soon as we ar­rived.

My new twin turned away em­bar­rassed but I just mut­tered ‘snap’ as I passed. Al­ways best to brazen it out.

A bit of the head­dress went un­der my chin like a posh ban­dage, which I thought rather fetch­ing un­til FJ’s brother-in-law said he hoped my toothache would be bet­ter soon.

The meal for we non-meat eaters was good: four cour­ses, start­ing with a yummy veg­etable soup and end­ing with a rich le­mon pos­set.

Sadly the car­ni­vores – most of our 30-strong party – were served with un­der­done chicken, which re­sulted in cross ex­changes with the duty man­ager.

Eat­ing was done with hands and dag­gers, which was fine un­til it came to the coleslaw. Thank­fully Mr F had con­cealed plas­tic forks in his cossie.

After some singing by a group of comely wenches, it was an­nounced that I had won the lim­er­ick com­pe­ti­tion. I’d almost for­got­ten we had been set this chal­lenge over pre-din­ner drinks. My prize was a pur­ple quill biro.

We all sang There’ll be a Wel­come in the Hill­side be­fore set­ting off, but at­tempts at Land of Hope and Glory by Mr F, me, and a cou­ple from Manch­ester, quickly pe­tered out.

Go­ing home in the taxi, I was sit­ting in the front and chat­ted to the Welsh driver about the re­cent Scot­tish ref­er­en­dum and in­de­pen­dence in gen­eral. I’d had a few drinks but I vaguely re­call FJ (who was dressed as a wench with mob cap) hiss­ing at me from the back seat: “Mum, are you talk­ing pol­i­tics? Please don’t get us thrown out of the taxi.”

SIL**, dressed as an apothe­cary and clutch­ing some odd po­tions, was so quick to get out after pay­ing that he left a stuffed rat in the cab. I hope that wasn’t seen as a ges­ture from his English pas­sen­gers.

Email me! bmail­bar­bara@ gmail.com and catch up at www.getwest­lon­don.co.uk/au­thors/ bar­bara-fisher/ * **

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