There’s nothing like a good aul knees up. The event of the year on the school’s social calendar is the fundraising ball. The theme was butterflies and we were thus requested to bring wings of some sort. No problem there, my bingo wings would do. So the black dress which I wore to the one and only black tie event we attended together, 3 years ago, was dug out of the back of the wardrobe. Without a centimetre to spare a barring order on carbs was intended for the night. Bet into the frock and donning the ‘hold-it-all-in-knickers’ off I trotted to the black tie event, Himself in a tux. Now, I have to mention the shoes. New shoes at that, on their second outing, all set for the dance floor. Couldn’t wait to show them off. There were gasps , oohs and aaahs and ‘where did you get those fab shooes?? Can I see the soles?? Did you purchase in London?’. The ladies what lunch intrigued, burstin to find out where I had purchased. ‘Oh just something I picked up at home in Galway’, I nonchalantly replied, flying the flag for the West. The ‘cha’ and ‘deputy cha’ were busy buzzin around the room making sure all the committee ducks were in a row. Allocated our seats the auction of various items to raise funds for the school dictated the ebb and flow of the evening in between courses and tut-tutting over the quality of the beef. Bidding was allowed by men only, resulting in one peacock trying to outdo the other, flashing their tails. One of the supercilious peacocks at our table had his tail worn out. His bidding hand was up and down all night like a know-all up at the top of the class. One of the auction items included someone to come to your home to cook paella for 10 people. The vivacious Spanish lady offering said service was sat at our table, she kept the chat light and the craic good and revelled in stories of eating donkey in her part of Spain. Plenty of them, I thought, in the field at the back of our home place. The night whizzed by with plenty of wine, laughs and givin it loads on the dance floor. And the shoes stayed on, comfortably.
I didn’t exactly flutter home like a Red Admiral and the following morning I wanted to climb back into my cocoon. The ceann was truly rattled. At the school the post mortem of the evening continued and I was informed by one lady that she went home at 12.00 on account of being told the same story 4 times by the same person. It could have been me. She said it wasn’t. ‘Well if you spent the night on the dance floor like the rest of us, they couldn’t catch you to re-tell their story’ I replied. She wasn’t impressed, same wan has a face on her like a burst bag a’ cement at the best of times.
