One Plankton, Two Jamborees
December 19, 2011 § 51 Comments
Two jamborees yesterday, one at lunch time – eighty people – and one in the evening – sixty or so. Charlotte said she was only going to be at the evening one for twenty minutes as she was knackered and didn’t have my stamina. I don’t have my stamina. But I am not married so the difference is, I have to find it, otherwise people will give me shit and say I have no right to complain, it’s all my own fault, and they’ll get at me along the lines of, “Well, of course you’re never going to find a husband, you moaning pain in the hole, if you stay in all the time and never make the bloody effort.” So it is, I am the personification of effort. I am effort writ large. My first, middle and surname is fricking Effort. I am Effort in an outsize fucking Father Christmas suit.
To that end, I have been going out all the fucking time, days and nights, more days and more nights, on the trot. At yesterday’s lovely lunch, I spoke to a man whom I had commissioned months ago to go in for a little light match-making for me, to no avail. His wife said he was bloody useless and when he’d tried to match make her sister, he’d come up with a gnome. He asked me again what my criteria were. I thought, don’t get me started. Then I thought again. Kind, I said.
“Five or ten million?” he laughed. I told him I was no gold digger and merely solvent would be a fine thing. Though if he had anyone in mind…? Joke. He didn’t. No joke.
At the evening thing, there were whole vistas of friends, all married. The one who had given the dinner with four single men a week or two ago was there. She hollered at me, “You must come and meet this couple! They’ve got a single, male friend, hurrah!” She tugged me over to them and introduced me as someone who might like to meet their SMF (or SFAR, as the case may be?) I was so embarrassed I went the colour of the festive fruit cordial and immediately changed the subject to the first thing that came to mind: schools! ANYTHING not to prostrate my humiliation in front of these strangers. Luckily, they were happy to talk about schools for hours and hours, in fact I had coincidentally hit upon their chosen topic and on we rode onto and into and all the way around the subject till I was blue in the face with talking and hearing about the relative merits of X school versus Y, and little Josie and tiny Tootie in one or the other. We never did get onto their priceless SFAR.
In fact, I had an extremely warm and merry time because 101 friends were there – well, slight exaggeration, I think there were only sixty guests altogether, but I knew and am very fond of most of them. Food and drink came round in tsunamis of plenty and generosity, born by smiling children (my heavenly hosts have hosts of kids, all roped in and charming). I ate like a plankton pig and teased and giggled and bantered (as teenagers will insist) with dumplings of mates.
One flattering fellow voted my shoes the best of the whole evening, which was marvellously consoling for all the gip they had been giving me two nights running, turning me into a walking wounded of Downton proportions. It was nearly midnight when I took my limping leave of all the friendly, happy couples; inconspicuously changed into my flats in the hall; and let myself out of the large front door into the midnight frost, feeling every bit as flat as my responsible shoes, only flatter.