Last night was my last meeting with my writing group before I move north. We've been getting together for the last eight and a half years. We met at a creative writing class and have continued to meet up at each others houses for dinner and a glass of wine every fortnight or so since then. When I say writers group, I use the term very loosely, we don't actually do a great deal of writing as such, you know how it is. No, we tend to spend most of our time having a natter and setting the world to right. Well someone has to do it. (By the way looking at the picture above, I'd be the one in the back row looking decidedly 'out of it' just a quick nap before tea.)
We've had some fun times. Like the time we decided to go out and have dinner. One of our number, (we only number 4 by the way), organised for us to go to a local Chinese restaurant to see the owner perform. He's a Chinese Elvis impersonator. We were up for it, so on a balmy summers evening last year we experienced the delights of 'ruv me tender', etc. We were having a lovely time singing along with him, unfortunately he wasn't too impressed with our little karaoke going on in the corner and promptly cut the set short and stomped off to a 'prior' engagement. It wasn't until we went to pay the bill that the waitress pointed out that he wasn't playing for laughs, he takes this stuff deadly serious. Oops!
There's also been the celebrations, a lovely wedding, births of four grandchildren, a surprise 50th birthday party, and Ginnie's first egg, (it's an important time in a chickens life). Other less celebratory moments have included the onset of hot flushes, buying our first pairs of reading glasses and the occasional minor mishap when laughing too hard. Ah the joys of being a 'mature' woman.
And finally there was the memorable evening spent at my house, (it could of course only happen with my family). The girls and I had enjoyed another evening of gossip, wine and laughter, when his Lordship and our son arrived home from a little sojourn to the pub. They duly said their good nights and took themselves off to bed. (The menfolk normally stay out of the way when the 'coven' is meeting.) We settled ourselves back into our chat and about half an hour passed before my son re-surfaced. He ambled through the lounge and into the kitchen to peruse the contents of the fridge. It was at this point that the eldest member of our little group, looked across at me and smiled, "I think a naked man just walked through your lounge, I'll have a top up as you're heading that way." she said holding out her glass as, armed with my cardi, I did a mad dash across the lounge.
Yes, I'll miss our little literary gatherings.
3 at confession:
The Amer'can notion that the English are humorless is quite incorrect. Perhaps humorlessness only applies to Mr. Blair.
So THAT is where Elvis went: to be a Chinese restaurant owner in England. I'll pass the word.
Judging from your photograph in the rear row, you are a handsome woman. Except for the flushes, of course.
Thank you for the link. I now have England, Scotland, and I am holding our for an Irishman. Probably not a good mixture, but I have always been somewhat of a risk-taker. I used to play with nitro as a child.
Very funny, indeed.
God this blogger thing is annoying. I am replying to my chum Attila, but I don't have her comment showing up here yet. I got the email. Don't feel bad, I snuck the posting about the list of players, in just recently. It wasn't there before you asked about them.
Very funny stuff. I really like your blog.
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