Maddie’s World
In her weekly column, Maddie Grigg shares tales from her life in rural Dorset . . .
IT’S the Lush Place’s Book Club party and we’re up at the craft centre, enjoying a delicious lunch. While we wait for our food to arrive, Mrs Bancroft, who is celebrating her birthday today, suggests we play charades.
She has helpfully put film, book and song titles in my hat for us to select. As she’s done all the thinking, she’s excused from taking part.
The party organiser, the Fragrant Mrs Putter, chooses a film and I soon guess it’s “When Harry Met Sally”, although she does not mime the famous scene in the café. Which is probably just as well because we have our village reputations to think about.
Mrs Reed acts out “The Sound Of Music”, which is rather appropriate, given that she’s the one who fired up four of us to become “Three Tarts And A Vicar” for the village fun day last year.
Then the Angel of the North, a closet thespian, decides to try her hand at “Angels And Demons”, a film from the “Da Vinci Code” stable. The contrasting facial expressions for both angel and demon result in a fit of the giggles until it’s my turn.
I don’t know about you, but my forte at charades is in guessing and not acting.
I try my hardest to depict the song “The Only Way Is Up” without actually singing it, but no-one has a clue what I’m on about, especially when I realise I’ve told them it’s four words when it’s actually five.
The book-club ladies give up then ask me what the song was meant to be.
When I tell them, they’re still none the wiser, even when I tell them it was made famous in 1988 by Yazz and the Plastic Population.
I find out later it’s the official theme tune for television series “The Only Way Is Essex”, but not being a fan of reality TV, I’ve never watched it and I doubt the other book-club ladies have, either.
Thankfully, we’re saved by the food, which is served with a smile, then confusion as most people forget what they’ve ordered until the Fragrant Mrs Putter pulls out a matrix of everyone’s choices on the set menu.
There’s plenty of it, and very good it is, too.
There is a break between the main course and pudding while we all surreptitiously undo our belts under the table or arrange the fabric of our dresses to accommodate all that extra girth.
At this point, I lean down to my left to pull out a present from my basket for not only Mrs Bancroft but for the rest of the ladies.
I’ve wrapped them up in newspaper, but there is no mistaking what is underneath.
I’ve got books for everyone – some new, but mostly second hand – and what fun I’ve had in selecting them.
There’s “Unsheltered”, a brand-new book by Barbara Kingsolver for my friend, Pelly Sheepwash, who loves anything by this best-selling author of “The Poisonwood Bible”.
I’ve bought an Agatha Christie-style thriller for Mrs Bancroft, Matt Haig’s “Humans” for Mrs Reed and a novel called “The Beach Hut” for the Angel of the North, because that’s what she calls her shed.
There are more books for the other members and I’ve even found one for Bubbles’s daughter, who I learned at the last minute would be joining us.
The books were surplus ones from my own shelves or bought online and from charity shops.
Everyone is engrossed in their reads until the surprise pudding arrives: a huge pavlova with lots of little baby ones, topped off by a tall birthday candle for Mrs Bancroft.
We sing a tuneful “Happy Birthday”, the Fragrant Mrs Putter does the honours and portions up the meringue and we all tuck in. Silence, at least for a moment, reigns supreme. ■