In Good Company: Being Waited Upon
...On holiday I am actually smiling ‘Good morning’ to strangers, before breakfast. I ate porridge, egg, bacon, sausage and still said ‘yes please’ to another round of toast and marmalade. We gobbled three more courses at lunchtime, three more at the evening meal, shamelessly nodding ‘yes please’ again to the afters of ripe stilton, even asking for more biscuits to finish off the over-generous lump of cheese...
Enid Blackburn tells of a joyous, if somewhate untuneful, holiday.
Does one ever become weary of being waited upon? I wish I could afford to answer this question. After one wonderful week of sitting across from the beach at table number 12, I find I am definitely allergic to my kitchen sink. It brings me out in sighs.
To think that some people are lucky enough to spend a large proportion of their lives ordering ‘a la carte’ and disordering hotel beds, and grudgingly describe it as living in a suitcase – I love it. I found it so easy to slip into the holiday routine.
Take meal times for instance. At home, except Sundays, I normally push down two slices of toast and two beakers of coffee. The only words I can manage are ‘come straight back or else’ to the dog as I throw him out.
On holiday I am actually smiling ‘Good morning’ to strangers, before breakfast. I ate porridge, egg, bacon, sausage and still said ‘yes please’ to another round of toast and marmalade. We gobbled three more courses at lunchtime, three more at the evening meal, shamelessly nodding ‘yes please’ again to the afters of ripe stilton, even asking for more biscuits to finish off the over-generous lump of cheese.
No wonder my introduction to daughter’s trampoline act was such a flop. Young tots were popping up and down like champagne corks at a wedding, yet when I attempted to lift my feet in the air – nothing happened. I bounced up and down alright, it was like being afloat on a stormy ridden raft, but however hard I struggled to lift my feet up, they stuck to the canvas. The only time they lifted was when I tried to get off and fell flat on my face.
I never mastered the dressing for dinner habit. Whatever I wore, the other guests and I quite never matched up. For our first evening I took special care, selecting my poshest suit and discarding, reluctantly, my trousers. The rest had retained their denim. Next evening I shivered in a thin cotton dress, while everyone else looked cosy in their double knits.
Had I known that on the final evening I was to become part of the cabaret act, I would have chosen my bright pink instead of my old black. Until the young virile guitarist pushed a microphone into my hand inviting me to help him sing I was just prepared to sit and watch. While our two swinging teenagers fled to the toilets he gave me my instructions. All I had to do was keep repeating ‘ba-ba, ba-ba, ba-ran’ while he sang his song.
When I faltered a feeble ‘ba-ba’ he made everyone laugh as he answered – ‘Black sheep have you any wool.’
I was just beginning to get the rhythm when he changed key. He did warn me first, but I thought it was going to be higher, not lower, which added a little confusing harmony for a bar or two. Nevertheless, I kept belting out the ‘ba-ba-ba-ran’ to the bitter end.
In the second part of his act, when he called me again, I confidently grabbed the mike. But this time I was promoted to music stand. This entailed me holding his words in front of him while he looked into my eyes singing, ‘I did it my way.’ Had I joined the early toilet trip I could probably have coped better with this static performance. As it was, my feverish foot tapping was somewhat ahead of the music before we reached the end.
Praise for our duet was not quite what I anticipated – but lavish. ‘I’ve never laughed so much in my life,’ said one gent. ‘I’m still crying,’ said another.
But that’s the trouble with me, on holiday or at home, I enjoy making a fool of myself. I never worry what people think – until the day after, and then it’s usually too late.
Other people’s laughter is like potent wine, it goes straight to my head. This can often prove embarrassing to close family. I do try to keep my talents under control when they are around. When they aren’t – I don’t half show myself up!
