The week that got away

You know, there were some things that happened this week that were worth writing about, really; that is, for anyone who wants to read my take on my life, rather than anything controversial or cutting edge.
One of the reasons I've hardly written anything this week is that I've been really busy helping to organise the end of year parents' dance at the children's school. I've never done anything like this before, and I must say it requires a considerable degree of organisational skill, what with co-ordinating parents and buying accessories and designing table decorations for the lowest possible cost, and so on. I can't think why women who've spent time on voluntary committees aren't in higher demand in the workplace. I'm sure that anyone who can juggle four or five conflicting mothers could run the average office with one hand tied behind her back.
Anyway, I spent two very pleasant evenings constructing pineapple-shaped menus with friends (don't ask), sitting chatting and eating cake as we cut out leaves and drew on knobbly bits. And it struck me that shared communal activity of that kind is really quite rare in modern life. Sure, we go out with friends, or have dinner with them, and many people have craft-type hobbies at home, but the sewing-bee mentality of sitting in a room with friends and together constructing some kind of useful community thing, is not something most of us do very often. Yet, it's really enjoyable, when I come to think of it. Sometimes I think we don't even notice what we're missing, half the time.
But there are still bastions of traditional culture out there, if you stumble across them. Younger daughter has become interested in playing chess, and was invited to her first proper chess tournament, last weekend. So we drove half-way round London to a ramshackle church building, where cheerful volunteers were selling baked potatoes and chess books, and lots and lots of pre-teen children, mostly boys, were running about with anxious parents behind them. Like all these things, it seemed to be a whole different world. The children were set up in a hall, playing chess against the clock, while the parents were (wisely) not allowed in. We were all herded into a ramshackle upstairs room, where, I am delighted to say, they seemed to pay no attention at all to health and safety regulations. There was one really steep staircase, where everyone kept banging into each other while going in opposite directions; and the floor was covered with peeling carpet tiles, and we all had mugs of tea and coffee perched on tables or the floor, where we felt like it, and relied on common sense to stop anyone getting burnt. Every so often a child would emerge, smiling in victory or morose in defeat: and when all the children had reappeared (there were more than 100 of them), they'd start the next round. And they had a formal award ceremony at the end, where everyone had to stay and politely clap the victors: and E even won her age group for girls, so I could be proud and doting. It was great.