By: Blonde One
You’ve heard the old phrase ‘if you want something done, ask a busy person’. Well, this week I’ve realised that I’ve been friends with someone who has probably managed to be busier than the Two Blondes. Miss Helpful was mentioned on a blog back in the summer when she helped with all things relating to a Bronze DofE expedition. She has always been quite efficient but I didn’t quite notice how much until just a few days before Christmas. She decided to get married to Mr Flip-Flop (also mentioned for his contribution to the same expedition) on the 22nd of December. This in itself makes her a busy person, but just wait for the rest …
She finished teaching on the 18th of December.
Then the whole wedding party travelled to our neighbour county Cornwall on 21st December to begin preparing and partying. The venue had the most stunning views across the valley (I think! It was a bit too misty to see for most of the time).
Halls were decorated by Miss Helpful, family and friends. There were hearts, flowers, books, candles, lanterns, sweets and numerous other lovely touches.
Miss H and mum and friend decorated a tower of delicious homemade cupcakes.
All manner of elements of preparation were undertaken at the same time as entertaining guests (quizzes, games and songs to name a few).
After three days/two nights away she returned home to the normal Christmas madness.
If you are still sat there thinking that this isn’t really exceptional, then the last thing to tell you is that she did all of this whilst being 8 months pregnant! If there was an award for being the busiest person then Miss Helpful (now known as Mrs Flip-Flop) would certainly win.
I am full of admiration for Miss Helpful and would have been quite prepared to get up a campaign to have her nationally recognised for fulfilling duties which seem to fall only on the shoulders of women and pass unremarked by most men. Men, of course, have men’s work to do: colonising distant parts, rearranging governments, combating natural forces, being prominently noble, moving around in suits in a responsible sort of way. And, not least. announcing to the world in loud plangent voices that they are doing all these things.
There I was fashioning Miss H’s putty medal when my mind was deflected. For I am not like other men (Though not in that way!), my task is to bring dilettantism to the world and, in general, to be an object of scorn for just that reason. Strange how disturbing I found the absence of a single letter in that village sign you photographed.
In my teens I went up and down the A1 (aka The Great North Road) from and to Bradford (approx 200 miles), sometimes by bike, sometimes hitch-hiking. Not for healthful blondish reasons but because I was fascinated by what Dr Johnson called The Great Wen. In doing so I passed by – or went through – a town called St Neots. You see where I’m going, I’m sure. I cannot bring myself to pronounce your village name, it’s as if I lose a leg in doing so; hippety hop. My world seems incomplete, infected, and I must avert my eyes lest I contract an incurable stammer.
Dilettantism combined with crypto-minimalism; a common ailment, much decried by real men. Don’t worry, I’m off now. As Mr Bennet said: I’ve entertained you enough.
Do parts become more distant as a chap gets older?
Some parts drop off.
Reading your post I went straight to the photograph, and couldn’t find the missing letter (should have read to the end first!), but I did see ‘village of year’!
I wonder if St Neot is pronounced in the same nutty way as St. Neots?