I was on fire at our cribbage group this afternoon.
Not actually blazing, don’t be silly, but really there was no stopping
me. I won every single game I played – two threesomes, two pairs and an extra one for luck. I could do no wrong. It made up for the previous session when I lost every single game I played. This is the great thing about cribbage. One minute you are
up, the next you are down. Mr B says it’s all down to the fact that I had such a good teacher...
This was our last session before the summer break
but Delia, who with partner Jim organises the fortnightly Tuesday afternoon cribbage group, is already considering how she can accommodate even more people when the new term begins in early September. Delia is a Very Kind Soul who is worrying about all the
people on the waiting list who may want to join us in September and feels honour bound to open up her home to even more of us. What am I planning to do, she asks me, about all the people on the waiting list for our popular Nomination Whist group? I tell her,
guiltily, that I haven't given it as much thought as perhaps I should have done.
So now I am in a bit of a quandary. I feel I would like to follow Delia’s
shining example of generous hospitality – but ten people at a time is about all we can manage in our house for an afternoon of cards. We already have to haul the card table and four spare chairs out of the garage on the morning of every session, push
the chairs and sofa back against the walls and use up most of our matching mugs when it comes to serving up the mid-session refreshments. I decide I will not worry about it for the moment. After all, that’s what summer breaks are for, isn’t
it? A chance to breathe in deeply before re-entering the fray once more.
The question of numbers was also taxing the convenors of our Questers group, whose quarterly
meeting was this morning (yes, it was, indeed, a busy day for Mr B and me.) There are now over 100 members of our popular group and lots of people longing to join us. And I think I have trouble with the Nomination Whist crowd. Marion, our convenor, tells
us that if we want to be a Quester then we have to turn up to meetings, help organise outings and always - but always - reply to the emails she sends us.
B and I arrived early because we were helping to set up our Wish You Were Here display (see Saturday’s blog) for the delectation of our fellow Questers. We weren’t quite early enough to witness a major battle of wills between our convenor,
Marion, and the teacher of a new dance class, both of whom were adamant that they had booked the largest room at the village hall. My friend Pam described the battle with relish.
Marion held firm
– it was all a question of numbers and there were far more of us, than there were of them. Good point. Round One to Marion. The dance teacher spluttered in response that we were just going to be sitting there in rows while her tiny tots needed
lots of space to run around, pointing their toes and trying to skip. (It’s not easy to skip, you know. Those of us who have learnt the skill in our distant youth have probably forgotten what a feat of coordination it is.) Round Two to the dance
You may be wondering how come I know so much about infant ballet classes, given that you probably can’t imagine me in ballet teacher mode,
all black leotard and tights with my hair in a bun. Well, I owe my inside knowledge to the countless afternoons I spent waiting for the Youngest of the Darling Daughters to finish her ballet lesson held in the Parish Room in the lovely village of Staplehurst.
I shamelessly spied on her through the window, week after week, listening to the ballet teacher exhorting her young charges to dance around the room “like fairies” – at which twenty pairs of feet would thunder around the hall. “Now
imagine,” Miss I-Will-Turn-You-All-Into-Ballerinas-If-It-Kills-Me would suggest, “that there are tiny baby bears sleeping under the floor and you need to dance very, very quietly....” Off they thundered, once again, this time fluttering their
arms like infant birds falling out of their nests in an ungainly fashion. Fortunately the baby bears were sound asleep....
So anyway it was all square
between Marion and the dance teacher and who knows what might have happened next – but then the rest of the Questers all started arriving and not only were there more of us but we were a whole lot bigger than the tiny tots arriving for their ballet.
The Dance Teacher decided she couldn’t win and flounced off in high dudgeon to marshal her littluns into the small hall. I suspect it might not be the end of the matter but for the moment at least peace (of sorts) was restored.
When it comes to the Numbers Game - and I include cribbage in this - there’s no beating us.