Pictorial blethers

By blethers

And still they came ...

...And still the wonder grew ... This is the scene about halfway through this morning's Holy Trinity Christmas Fair (and yes, we know it's not even Advent yet, but there are only so many Saturdays you can put on these things, and there are several churches in this small town). People kept coming in; I don't know how the front of house workers managed to clear the early birds away from the tables but somehow space was found and more cakes and pancakes discovered in the kitchen and all were fed and watered/tea-ed/coffee-ed and sent on their way. There was a raffle and an infuriating quiz and stalls and a buzz ...

And we missed most of it, Mr PB and I, because our chosen vocation on these occasions is dishwashing. There are several reasons for this, not all admissible, but it's strangely hilarious to lurk in the tiny kitchen, waiting for something to do ...waiting ... waiting ...and then to plunge into a flurry of activity as dirty plates and lipsticky cups are borne in on plastic trays. Newly-washed and dried crockery is snatched off to be relaid in front of new people, the coffee-machine is filled and refilled, chatty visitors repulsed (there really is very little space in that kitchen) and fingers grow rubbery and pale pink in the hot water. (I hate rubber gloves).

After it's all over, I feel ever so slightly like a character in one of Barbara Pym's wonderful novels. Excellent Women, perhaps?

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