Country life
Good intentions
Leanda de Lisle
It's not vety cool to be one of those country women who sit on charity commit- tees, but my reluctance to become a living cliche was outweighed by the knowledge that, if I didn't sign myself up as a fund- raiser for someone, I would end up doing nothing for anyone. I'm afraid I'm a lazy pig. It took quite an effort of will just to turn up at the charity events hosted by my father- and brother-in-law this weekend. On Saturday night there was a dinner- dance to raise money for a hospice charity and on Sunday a hunter-trial in aid of the Children's Society.
The dance took place in a blue and white marquee that was too big to fit on the plat- form that the house sits on. So it was marooned on the grass, well away from the house. This must have disappointed some of the guests. I certainly would have been disappointed if I hadn't been in the house with the rest of the family, enjoying a glass of champagne before dinner. The front door was left open so that various friends could join us. I went to say hello as they arrived, but there seemed to be quite a few people I didn't recognise. Who on earth were they? The hall became fuller and fuller until I could hardly move. What was going on? Well, of course, the 400-odd people going to the dance had seen the open door and assumed that my father-in- law's invitation was an open one.
My father-in-law didn't seem to mind. In fact I think that, like the rest of the family, he was glad that all the guests were getting a proper welcome. However, I was rather concerned that 400 people might drink his cellar dry. So I made a determined effort to save as much champagne as I could by con- suming several glasses in quick succession. I had quite a rosy glow by the time we were driven out towards the marquee and I floated across the grass in my sleeveless dress, unconcerned by the wind and the rain. I knew I had to eat all my dinner if I was going to soak up the champagne. I sus- pected that this wouldn't be easy. I was still haunted by the memory of the first course we had at the last charity dance I went to up here: prawns and melon. The worst English food is always as pretentious as it is disgusting.
On this occasion we were presented with a new variation on the warm salad. Chick- en stew on a bed of frisee lettuce. It was followed by sad salmon en croute and then white stuff in a brandy basket on a fruit coulis. I can't say it was the best meal I've ever eaten, but I was very grateful for it. When my brother-in-law asked me if I would be prepared to be a fence judge at the hunter-trials I was sober enough to say no. Others, filled with bonhomie, readily agreed and then danced until 4 a.m., apparently oblivious to the repercussions of their generosity.
Unsurprisingly, not all the fence judges managed to get up at 8.30 a.m., although my husband nobly did. I fell out of bed at 9, but allowed myself a large breakfast before I walked across the fields to bring him a thermos of coffee.
The ground was hard and the weather blustery, which didn't bode well for the event. People are reluctant to take part in a new hunter trial at the best of times. No one wants to be confronted suddenly by huge Badminton-style fences. However, my brother-in-law had organised a good course and my sister-in-law kept the spectators happy with home-made cakes and jams. So there were still plenty of horses waiting to go round the course at 1 o'clock. I felt a tiny twinge of guilt when I left the fence judges to their work and returned to the house for a Bloody Mary and roast beef. Still, I got over it. As I said, I'm a lazy pig.
Do you suppose there is a special hell for slothful gluttons? I am fearful of spending eternity going for the burn in front of an exercise video. I really must try to bake a few more cakes for the NSPCC. With luck, a few pounds of self-raising flour will help elevate me into a heavenly bed, with a pile of good books and tub of Haagen Dazs Caramel Cone Explosion ice-cream beside it.
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