All the Fun of the Fayre
Everyone is obliged to go to the annual work Charity Fayre. I don’t know whether it’s the feeling of obligation or the ‘y’ in Fayre that annoys me more. But there we go, it is for a good cause and that’s what really drags me there. Not the heavy hints dropped by the Events Manager who runs it, not the peer pressure of colleagues asking every five minutes if I’ve been yet. That’s why I was able to bring myself to stump up a fiver for a 2013 calendar titled ‘High Flyers’, featuring company directors in cheesy poses on the golf course.
The Fayre also features handmade jewellery put together in an unusual, some would say impractical, fashion by the CEO’s wife. It’s her hobby apparently. There’s usually a Wii bowling competition and a cake stand too. That’s about it. Apart, of course, from the tombola.
The tombola takes up one wall of the boardroom where the Fayre takes place, two trestle tables loaded with goodies. And not quite so goodies. The problem started because three years ago, I was the Tombola Queen. Every ticket I bought was a winning one, every prize a bottle of champagne or high-end face cream. I could do no wrong. In the end I had to stop buying tickets and donate some of my winnings back because the Events Manager had turned purple with rage that I was decimating her beloved star attraction.
I went back the next year. Got in early – I was waiting outside the door before the Fayre had opened actually. And I just couldn’t get a single winning ticket – I spent fifty quid and the tickets were 50p each! I eventually returned to my desk with my tail between my legs, clutching an odious luminous pink, previously owned, makeup bag.
But this year will be different. I’m 20 tickets in – I’m only allowing myself 40 this year – and, ok, so far the only thing I’ve won is a bottle of HP sauce but at least it’s not the bottle of amaretto that’s clearly been opened and swigged from. 20 more tickets, 20 more chances at the Moet and Jo Malone. I am back on the horse.