The organisers of our quarterly Questers meeting have set up a table for me at the back of the village hall. They have even made me a notice for my table which reads “Worthing Museum” in large capital letters.
I feel Really Quite Important. There is nothing like sitting at a table with a notice on it to make you feel important I find.
task is to collect money for the visit I am organising to said Museum. This visit is not until early September but we are into holiday season, are we not, so I need to gather in the “readies.”
Mr B has yet to join me as he is parking the car. Usually we park in a most convenient road opposite the village hall, but when we arrive this morning we see there are notices dotted all the way along the road announcing that
resurfacing works are imminent. Valiantly, Mr B dropped me at the hall and drove off to find somewhere else to park. He knew I had important work to do...
share my table with my friend Pam. She, too, has a notice in front of her but hers reads “Foredown Tower” in capital letters. She, like me, is collecting in money for a Questers visit though her job is complicated by the fact that her trip costs
£3.50 which inevitably means she is struggling to find change when everyone presents her with a fiver. My visit, on the other hand, costs £5 which is far easier to handle. I don’t feel any less important, having to share a table, and
the advantage is that we can have a general natter when we are not otherwise occupied.
It is amazing how few people seem to read my notice, despite the bold type
and capital letters. “Are you collecting for the Sussex Prairies visit?” asks one. I refrain from pointing to my notice and asking if it looks like I am collecting for Sussex Prairies and patiently explain what I am collecting for. “Oh,
am I down for the Museum?” she asks. I check her name. It is not on my list. “Can you put me down anyway?” she wants to know. I explain that I am limited to 20 people, 10 on each of two talks. She huffs a bit as if it is
all my fault, then moves onto Pam: "Are you collecting for the Sussex Prairies visit?” she asks. Pam rolls her eyes at me and we try not to giggle.
time the meeting starts I have collected in £50 but there are still four people who haven’t paid. Pam appears to be faring a little better than I am. I can’t decide whether I should email the Errant Foursome or telephone them.
Suppose they have decided not to come after all? I will be left with four places which I absolutely must fill because I have to pay the Museum £50 for each talk. Pam doesn’t have to worry about trifles like this because she will simply have to
pay for whoever turns up at Foredown Tower. Next time I volunteer to organise a Questers visit I shall bear this in mind.
The quarterly Questers meetings
always follow the same agenda. A report back, with pictorial evidence, from the visits undertaken since the last meeting – four this time, two of which Mr B and I graced with our presence; a run through all the visits already planned, such as my museum
visit and Pam’s trip to Foredown Tower; details of research carried out into potential visits; and finally a call for ideas for future trips. We all have to fill in sheets indicating which trips we are interested in, whether we will need a lift, or conversely
whether we can offer places in our cars. By the time we get to the end of the meeting, our heads are all swimming with so much information that we all feel quite dizzy.
In fact, we don’t know if we are coming or going...