STRIP THE WILLOW

Armed with my carefully wrapped tin of biscuits, and wearing my mink coat, Jeanette and I set off for the Women's Rural Institute December meeting at the village hall. Twelve staunch ladies braved -2. I was pleased to see that my gift wrapping held its own, indeed one parcel was curiously wrapped in newspaper which had been gathered into a topnotch and trimmed to look akin to a pineapple. Other exotic wrappings included stylish use of holly, berries and mistletoe and elaborate ribbons and bows.

But the most exotic offering of all was me in my mink coat. Apparently I looked just like a Hollywood star! Although quite which one, no one was game to say. The interesting thing about wearing a mink coat is that everyone feels a need to come and stroke it. A bit like being pregnant when people suddenly feel it is perfectly appropriate to come up and pat one's stomach.

Jane was there to teach us the finer art of making Christmas wreaths - all from natural materials. First we each had to take a length of willow about two metres long. Via a series of maneouvres which made us look like Houdini extricating himself from one of his more devious escapades, we then learned how to bend the willow into a circular frame. Or in my case an egg-shape.

The next bit was the difficult part when one could choose to decorate the frame either with birch or larch twigs, or the slightly trickier grand fir leaves. I elected for the fir as it smells divinely Christmassy. The first four fir branches which I twisted into shape then mysteriously fell out of the willow frame so I started again. Finally I had a messy looking object for which I held out little hope. But with some judicious use of wire and by adding some baby pine cones, I began to think that maybe my Hallelujah moment was coming. Tomorrow I will buy some tartan ribbon to complete my very first wreath.

Once we had all had tea and mince pies, photos were taken:

Then it was time for the official proceedings which were mercifully short. The highlight was singing the Scottish Women's Rural Institute Song (1994) to the music of Holst's Jupiter. You may not immediately think you know this tune but it is one of those fervent rousing songs normally associated with completely different lyrics and sung at footballl matches. This version was specifically written to be sung at the end of WRI meetings, under the instruction "and not too slow". 

Meeting highlights:

1. The WRI made more than 80 pounds at last Saturday's fair from sales of cups of tea and mince pies. Marie was given a bottle of wine and a jar of sweets for working like a trojan throughout the day.

2. The Secret Santa Gift wrapped in newspaper won the competition!!!  Extraordinary. It was chosen for its environmentally-friendly choice of recycled materials.

3. The annual dinner is to take place on January 14th but I will have left by then. The ladies want to arrange a farewell party for me which will undoutedly be afternoon tea. I have to prepare a list of guests which is a political minefield and one I am terrified to walk through.

When Jeanette and I arrived back at our cottages, we had two new arrivals contentedly grazing in the garden which we then toasted with local Edradour whiskey.

We noticed that their heads move. No, seriously! It's not the whiskey talking, I promise.