Gaffe Faff

The veneer of middle-class civilisation that once covered me has worn very thin - I reckon I scraped most of it off along with the Exmoor mud from my boots over the past 18 years. It was therefore with some trepidation that I accepted an Invitation to Lunch from a local lady and her husband who Do Things Properly. Ten people would be at table, at least four of them already known to me as Upright Churchgoing God-fearing Good People of the Parish.  The very words scare the hell out of me.

And the tenth person was the vicar himself.

I took a bath and washed my hair.  Irrationally I tidied the house and emptied the cat litter tray. I pulled out several pairs of knickers and socks and bras and studied all for the correct number of holes in each and no extras.  I hunted for the ironing board and an iron.  Two pairs of trousers were pulled from my 'clean' cupboard and painstakingly pressed. I wondered why there was steam coming from the garments: mine is not a steam iron:  It does Hot, Warm, Cool and TurnMeOnForGoodnessSake.  My conclusion was that the trousers were damp in the first place. 

Tried on a Laura Ashley blouse (I told you that veneer was old) and looked in the mirror.  Removed said blouse, probably last worn in the late '80s, when I last did being a Lady who Lunches. Times have most definitely moved on. Found a fairly decent combination of blouse and jumper and donned them.  Pulled the first pair of trousers off the ironing board - hell, in a good light they were green, they didn't match. Removed them. Tried the black pair, very smart but a bit tight and ... oh shit, there were holes in the thigh seams.  Checked the clock, running late now.  Snatched third pair of trousers from cupboard and hauled them on instead - bit damp, unironed, they'll bloody well have to do, damn damn damn why did I ever say I'd go?

What on earth does one talk about (getting into the Mode now if not exactly the Mood) with a vicar and flock who might know the words bastard bugger shit and damn but certainly would not use them or expect to hear them at table. MUST remember to tone down usual form of conversation.  Can one discuss dried flowers perhaps? One does remember something about doing genteel gardening and drying the pruning efforts on the Helichrysum and Larkspur. One could talk about horses but the audience couldn't.  One most definitely can NOT talk about one's work.

shit hell damn why did I say I'd go? Slipped into already-polished (slightly) high heeled shoes, felt better being taller but worried about keeping them clean between cottage and car. Removed shoes, put on wellies. Felt instantly short and frumpy again.  Walked to car, got in once safe from mud, put posh shoes back on, lobbed wellies into bag.  Checked time. Definitely running late now.

All the way there, round narrow lanes up and down hills, lectured self: must not drink any alcohol. Must not eat too much - trousers somewhat tight, must lose weight. Best just keep mouth shut. What if the vicar wonders if he'll be seeing me in Church next Sunday (he won't) What if Cauliflower Cheese is on the menu? Or something else one hasn't been made to eat since childhood?  Changed plan. Decided glass of wine GOOD idea. Can always walk home.

*****

Home again now.  Really enjoyed Lunch - turned out I knew everyone and the veneer just plastered itself all over me again. It was somewhat out of practice and I know for a fact at least five Rude Words got out but it didn't seem to matter. My long-unused Table Manners wobbled a bit but held up well considering, ditto clothing. And the vicar turned out to be jolly funny and everyone found at least two laugh-about stories to tell (mine were Almost Clean and Not Coarse) and four hours past extremely pleasantly.

Maybe I'm still fit company for decent human beings after all.  Maybe I haven't completely Gone Native. If I ever get asked to Lunch with Sarah and Malcolm again I'll look forward to it very much indeed - but will remember to wear much looser gear: my outfit really needed a bit more more yardage to let a meal as delicious as that inside it.