My mother taught me to ‘never volunteer’ for anything.
I happily followed this decree for many a long year, until a few years ago I was rather bitten by the fund raising bug when I was helping a friend with a project very close to her heart.
Since then I have become increasingly involved in various fund raising activities until now, all my friends quail when I start to get that ‘raffle prizes’ look in my eye.
This year I had the brilliant (I think) idea of scrapping the school Christmas Fair, giving everyone a break, and asking them to donate a sum of money which would effectively give them a Get Out of Jail Free Card AND a warm, fuzzy glow from having done good things for the community.
Sadly, not everyone bought into this plan – which was a shame, and the Christmas Fair has rumbled inexorably on, bringing a fair amount of unnecessary anguish into many people’s lives. Including, in large part, my own.
I am not bitter about this. Not at all.
Well, maybe a bit.
So, the fair is this Saturday and we are in that final forty eight hour, frantic rush to get everything done.
I have now accepted that Santa will go on, regardless, but I have not given up entirely on my Machiavellian scheme.
Jason is the person who first put this idea of paying to not have a Fair. He trotted out the usual; ‘Oh bloody hell. I’d pay not to have to go.’ when the subject first reared its festive head.
It came to mind this evening when I was trying to plan how my day would pan out on Saturday.
We then spent 20 minutes negotiating how much money a day of freedom from helping me would be worth to him, with Tilly as a hysterical onlooker.
We have agreed on £50 to miss the Christmas Fair and £25 to miss Tallulah’s mass which takes place on the morning of the fair.
It’s a deal.
I am one happy lady.