It's lovely. It really is. A proper honor. But with that honor comes duty and responsibility that I'm really not sure I'm qualified for.
During my brief period of being a fast track graduate trainee in a bank (brief because I hated it and was spectacularly bad at selling personal loan insurance to people who didn't need it) there was a lot of talk of networking. To be successful, it seems, you had to schmooze your way to the top. It was nothing to do with your skills or intelligence but everything to do with your ability to go to parties, work out who the important people were and talk to them This was probably what made me decide that a career in banking wasn't for me. That and the fact that I hated meetings. I always sat thinking, "If we just did this instead of talking about it the problem would be solved."
I was invited, by email, to a 'cutting of the Queen's birthday cake' celebration earlier in the year and I wasn't sure. I felt I had to accept. I thought it was my duty, even though I was worried that I might accidentally forget where I was and refer to the leader of the council as Slimball Susan or something. On the day when I had to let them know I decided to accept and soon a nice invitation arrived in the post for me and a guest. I told the Long Suffering Husband who said, "A church service? It's not my thing but of course I'll come and support you," and then promptly booked a golf weekend away for that day. My son looked at me as though I'd grown another head when I suggested that he would like to come with me.
On the day, my daughter was unexpectedly home and she said that she would, "love," to come with me. I spent the day feeling ever so slightly sick. I couldn't work out what was wrong but I couldn't settle. I paced the house and checked in the mirror to see if I was still there. I was. There was no getting out of it. I looked at the invitation again. An afternoon tea reception starting at 4pm. "I wonder if I could have hot water," I said. "I'm sure you can," soothed my daughter. I was getting more and more anxious. She stroked my arm, "Are you sure you want to go?"
"No, no, don't make me," I wanted to shout but instead I said, "I've got to. I said I would. I think I should. I'd be letting the orchestra down if I didn't." She reassured me that everything would be fine. I could take my notebook and write things down or pretend to be part of the catering team, whatever I needed to feel comfortable.
Ten minutes before I looked in the mirror again. I was still there. Still no reason not to go. Where was my invisibility superpower when I needed it? I checked the invitation again. "Afternoon tea reception starting at 4pm and the Celebratory Songs of Praise Service at 6pm, followed by a glass of wine and cutting of the birthday cake."
I started to hyperventilate.
"It's okay mum, breathe, what's the matter?"
"At. Least, Three. Hours......Three...... I. can't. be. nice. for. three. hours."
"Look mum, if you don't want to go, I wouldn't mind."
"But I should."
"They probably won't even notice that you are not there and if they do just say you were ill."
"I could do the church service and watch someone cut a cake but a two hour afternoon tea with people who think I'm called Hilary."
"Why would people think you are called Hilary?"
"I don't know. That's just what happens."
I didn't go. I felt bad about it. I had let my whole orchestra down. I worried that the Mayor would change his mind and decide that due to my inability to network we weren't going to be his charity of the year. I knew I'd never be invited to anything ever again and felt a guilty sense of relief.
A few weeks later, it seemed as though my absence had not been noticed. They probably spent the whole afternoon calling some poor woman named Hilary, Julia. We were still the Mayor's charity.
Then a new invitation arrived in the post. Would I and a guest like to watch the carnival procession from the Moot Hall balcony? I liked that idea. It might be fun. The LSH said he would come with me and promised not to book any golf games.
The LSH has a new friend at work. A lady (yes, women can be engineers!) who works in the next pen (I don't know why engineers are kept in pens) had come to ask him if he would ask his colleague to be quieter when he was on the phone. The LSH was surprised but spoke to his colleague and then introduced the two, so they could understand that they were both nice people, who just happen to be on different ends of the volume spectrum. All engineers are on some kind of spectrum. This lady also happens to live in our town and we have bumped into her a few times at the park or the supermarket. She talks to the the LSH about the town whenever she sees him. She has made it her personal duty to commend it to him and tell him all about it's charms.
"Are you still enjoying living in Maldon?"
"Erm. Yes."
"It's such a wonderful town. I don't suppose you've had much time to explore it yet."
"Well, I've lived there for 22 years, so maybe not."
"Oh. You know about the carnival then?"
"Yes I do. It's funny you should mention the carnival because my wife has been invited to watch it from the balcony of the Moot Hall this year."
"Oh, I'm really cross about that."
The LSH was taken aback, wondering what I had done to offend this woman. He ran through the list of possibilites in his mind and decided that they were endless. He must have shifted uncomfortably, looked at his watch and cleared his throat.
"Oh, sorry. Not your wife. I don't even know her. I'm sure she's great and deserves to be there. No, it's just that I haven't been invited this year. I want to be on the Town Council but they tell me that there won't be a place for me until someone dies."
The LSH sympathised and said that I'd told him about the tie, suggesting that she might not need to kill someone if she was a man.
"Anyway, you'll really love it. It's such a fun afternoon. Everyone gets dressed up, you have a fabulous lunch and then you go out on the balcony to watch the carnival."
The LSH swallowed hard. "Dressed up? I was going to wear my shorts."
"Oh no. If it's really hot the men can even take their jackets off. It might be a good excuse to get your wife a new frock."
"I don't think she'd like that. She told me she was going to wear jeans."
"Oh, she can't do that. Be a dear, get her a new frock."
By the time the LSH got home he was in a bit of a state.
"Do I need to buy you a dress?" he asked anxiously before telling me about his conversation.
I've checked the invitation and the start time is 12pm. The procession starts at 2.30 and will get to the end of the High Street by 3.30pm. That's three and a half hours of schmoozing in uncomfortable clothes.
I started to hyperventilate. I looked in the mirror. Still no powers of invisibility.
The LSH rubbed my arm. It will be fine. You can do it.
"I'm sorry. How did I do this to you? You'll hate it."
"So will you."
He was right. My breathing shallowed even further and I checked the mirror again.
"We'll be fine. We can be two introverts together but I'm not wearing a suit."
If only VIP stood for very introverted person then I'd be fine but I have just over a week to keep looking in the mirror and hoping for invisibility. They would definitely notice if mine and the LSH's seat at the dinner table were empty.
"It's okay mum, breathe, what's the matter?"
"At. Least, Three. Hours......Three...... I. can't. be. nice. for. three. hours."
"Look mum, if you don't want to go, I wouldn't mind."
"But I should."
"They probably won't even notice that you are not there and if they do just say you were ill."
"I could do the church service and watch someone cut a cake but a two hour afternoon tea with people who think I'm called Hilary."
"Why would people think you are called Hilary?"
"I don't know. That's just what happens."
I didn't go. I felt bad about it. I had let my whole orchestra down. I worried that the Mayor would change his mind and decide that due to my inability to network we weren't going to be his charity of the year. I knew I'd never be invited to anything ever again and felt a guilty sense of relief.
A few weeks later, it seemed as though my absence had not been noticed. They probably spent the whole afternoon calling some poor woman named Hilary, Julia. We were still the Mayor's charity.
Then a new invitation arrived in the post. Would I and a guest like to watch the carnival procession from the Moot Hall balcony? I liked that idea. It might be fun. The LSH said he would come with me and promised not to book any golf games.
The LSH has a new friend at work. A lady (yes, women can be engineers!) who works in the next pen (I don't know why engineers are kept in pens) had come to ask him if he would ask his colleague to be quieter when he was on the phone. The LSH was surprised but spoke to his colleague and then introduced the two, so they could understand that they were both nice people, who just happen to be on different ends of the volume spectrum. All engineers are on some kind of spectrum. This lady also happens to live in our town and we have bumped into her a few times at the park or the supermarket. She talks to the the LSH about the town whenever she sees him. She has made it her personal duty to commend it to him and tell him all about it's charms.
"Are you still enjoying living in Maldon?"
"Erm. Yes."
"It's such a wonderful town. I don't suppose you've had much time to explore it yet."
"Well, I've lived there for 22 years, so maybe not."
"Oh. You know about the carnival then?"
"Yes I do. It's funny you should mention the carnival because my wife has been invited to watch it from the balcony of the Moot Hall this year."
"Oh, I'm really cross about that."
The LSH was taken aback, wondering what I had done to offend this woman. He ran through the list of possibilites in his mind and decided that they were endless. He must have shifted uncomfortably, looked at his watch and cleared his throat.
"Oh, sorry. Not your wife. I don't even know her. I'm sure she's great and deserves to be there. No, it's just that I haven't been invited this year. I want to be on the Town Council but they tell me that there won't be a place for me until someone dies."
The LSH sympathised and said that I'd told him about the tie, suggesting that she might not need to kill someone if she was a man.
"Anyway, you'll really love it. It's such a fun afternoon. Everyone gets dressed up, you have a fabulous lunch and then you go out on the balcony to watch the carnival."
The LSH swallowed hard. "Dressed up? I was going to wear my shorts."
"Oh no. If it's really hot the men can even take their jackets off. It might be a good excuse to get your wife a new frock."
"I don't think she'd like that. She told me she was going to wear jeans."
"Oh, she can't do that. Be a dear, get her a new frock."
By the time the LSH got home he was in a bit of a state.
"Do I need to buy you a dress?" he asked anxiously before telling me about his conversation.
I've checked the invitation and the start time is 12pm. The procession starts at 2.30 and will get to the end of the High Street by 3.30pm. That's three and a half hours of schmoozing in uncomfortable clothes.
I started to hyperventilate. I looked in the mirror. Still no powers of invisibility.
The LSH rubbed my arm. It will be fine. You can do it.
"I'm sorry. How did I do this to you? You'll hate it."
"So will you."
He was right. My breathing shallowed even further and I checked the mirror again.
"We'll be fine. We can be two introverts together but I'm not wearing a suit."
If only VIP stood for very introverted person then I'd be fine but I have just over a week to keep looking in the mirror and hoping for invisibility. They would definitely notice if mine and the LSH's seat at the dinner table were empty.
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