I left late this morning. It was deliberate. I was going to a gathering that normally starts late and because I prefer to creep in at the back I was leaving later even than the time it was due to start.
As I arrived I could hear music floating out from the building. As I opened the door I could see six people at the front playing musical instruments or singing into microphones. At the back I could see six people also standing. Part of the reason they were standing was that there were not enough chairs. So I joined those at the back and shook their hands or gave them a hug depending on the relationship.
As I looked out over the people standing between those at the back and those at the front... at the people who had arrived early and therefore had chairs... I saw different reactions going on. Some were singing, some were not, some had their eyes open, some closed, some had hands above their heads, others by their side. All were peering at a screen onto which an overhead projector was showing words with some letters missing off the side of the screen and some letters with parts removed where the printing had been scratched away over time.
I had been been only fifteen minutes late and over the next twenty minutes two families and a few other people arrived. They crept in, looking for chairs. Except those young enough to be in a buggy and therefore took their chair with them. A whole mixture of clothing, nobody dressed smartly, some more interesting than others - like the jeans with almost more hole than material. Nice jeans, but why let all the cold air attack your legs in winter?
The music continued. One singer was too far from the microphone to hear her. The other was singing passionately, eyes closed and obviously highly involved in the song, but singing flat. Maybe it would have been better if she had been too far from the microphone.
Within the middle ground had evolved a row of young people. They were distracted by each other, enjoying their own company. Not singing. Chatting quietly while not disturbing others. Or they were exchanging meaningful glances along the line. At an unbidden signal the young people stand up and leave. They climb the stairs to gather together away from adults.
The adults meanwhile sit down. Fortunately someone had found some more chairs so we could all be seated. Some bright blue bags are passed round and people stuff money into them.
At length the trumpeter from the band clips a microphone to his shirt and starts to talk. It's nothing new he is saying. I have heard it before, many times. With variations, as other people have alternative perceptions about the book and person he is talking about. Everyone who manages to get hold of the microphone at the front is 100% convinced they are right about their interpretation. They often spend as much time correcting the errors of others as espousing their perception as truth. I am sure I would be the same if I got the microphone. Probably a good job that it happens very infrequently that I get it.
The people at the back are muttering corrections to the person at the front. At least the muttering will stop me falling asleep, as I normally do. The person at the front has just said there was a time a few years back when God told him to play. A mutter from the person on my right wondering if it was Scrabble and not the trumpet.
Funny gathering this. At length we shall have coffee and everyone will relax.
Today there is cake as well as biscuits to go with the coffee or tea. People talk about their week. Good or bad. People express how good the cake is. Others wonder about the recipe and how it was made.
People talk about next week and what will happen. Animated, lively discussion. Someone asks where the cake came from and who made it.
All manner of questions until they find the maker of the cake. Nobody brings out a book. Nobody sings about the cake or the maker. But it was good cake and the maker told us how bake another.
