I flowed by upon a little stream of consciousness.
We soon regretted our decision to let the comic turn take the floor. It was immediately obvious, after he had done so, that a floor is essential for the traversing from any point in the room to any other point in the room. This was pointed out by Mad, Bad, Byron – his parent’s ‘actually’ named him this, trying to give him an individuality that only his name possessed – who tried to pop to the bar for a ‘swift half’ and ended up stranded in a no-man’s land that resembled a gravel quarry at dawn – or any other time of day (or night) as the time of day here is not relevant in any universe.
We put up posters, held raffles and tombolas, served cream teas at £2 a pop, and balloon-modelling demos also at £2 a pop. There were old-fashioned fizzy drinks, such as Dandelion & Burdock at £1 a pop, and we press-ganged – literally – our dad’s (Pop, Pops and Pop) to serve the first serve at the fund-raising event that was our inaugural Tennis Competition.
All-in-all, we managed.