I didn’t even cry.
I checked out the weather forecast every day this week (Met Forecast: There will definitely be weather on Saturday. What kind? Who knows?) The weather was manic every day, changing from so-so to hurricane, sometimes hourly.
When I spoke to BooBoo on Friday night she was surprised. “You’re not hysterical” she said somewhat accusingly.
“Duh” I retorted, stung by her inference that I didn’t care about the Friends of the Weybridge Centre Spring Fayre. “It’s not like it’s my Festa di Independenza barbecue, is it?”
There’s important, and then there’s really not important in the larger scheme of Life.
The committee spent Friday afternoon getting set up. This involved moving every bloody piece of furniture out of the lounge at the Centre to set up the tables for the inside stalls. The Manager, tottering around on her six inch heels, watched. At least Sanjay used to help.
I was in charge of commissioning the stalls this year, and I thought I did a damned fine job. Unfortunately, at 6:45 am on Saturday morning, the Face Painter rang to cancel. Her child was ill. At least that’s what she said. It might have had something to do with the gale force winds.
At 8:45 the Food Van lady rang to say the parking spaces we’d promised her had cars parked in them. I had reminded Skinny in the six inch heels to put cones in the spaces at least five times. Urghh! I did enjoy going to the estate agent office and demanding that the woman parked in our designated spot move her car immediately. She actually said to me “I don’t appreciate your attitude.” And I said “Sweetie, you haven’t even seen my attytood yet.”
Of course, none of the stall holders liked their allotted spots and kvetched. So, moving tables and bickering ensued.
The Mayor officially declared the Fayre ‘Open’ at 11:00. In my Weekly Weybridge is a Small Town moment, her chauffer said to me “Have we met before?” “Yeah” I told him. “You were at my table at the Pesach Seder at my synagogue last year with the previous Mayor and his wife. And I sat you with my friends at the Thanksgiving Dinner when their Mayorlinesses came.”
We had a sizeable crowd come through, but they were browsers not buyers. I don’t think most of the stalls did very well. The two Jamaican ladies selling Jerk Chicken and other Caribbean food got a little hostile. I hoped they wouldn’t put a voodoo curse on me.
At 1:30 sharp, the overcast skies and biting wind morphed into a torrential downpour. People left, people didn’t bother coming, and the already grumbling stall holders started packing up. I am never doing another Spring FFFFayre.