A Midweek Crisis … in which I am deeply disturbed.
It has recently been drawn to my attention that there have been shenanigans going on within the massed ranks of The 1951 Club. Yes, shenanigans. I know. I can sense an almost audible gasp of shock amongst you. Perhaps you should sit down and have a brandy. Maybe two. A photograph has recently come into my possession. Let us call it … Exhibit One.
As you can plainly see, it features those fine actors Helen Worth, Nigel Havers and Simon Rouse. It looks innocent enough, until I reveal to you mes amis that they were … ALL BORN IN 1951 and are therefore, by default, members of The 1951 Club.
They are seen here apparently in rehearsals for an episode of Coronation Street. But appearances can be deceptive. For it was really a covert emergency meeting of the 1951 Club’s Manchester branch which I didn’t even know existed. How am I aware of this you may well ask. I shall tell you. I just happen to be quite well acquainted with one of the young ladies who works in Corrie’s make-up department. Her name is …. well let’s just call her Donald.
She was able to get close enough to hear some of their conversation and this is the gist of the discussion …
Firstly, they want to replace Watkins, my ancient and loyal social events secretary, with a younger model. He is a very spritely 87 years old. Now, I am all in favour of younger models …
But I really have to draw the line when it comes to ever replacing Watkins. Over my dead body. Or his, if push comes to shove.
Secondly, they want to move our regular social gatherings from the first Tuesday to the second Wednesday of each month. This would clash with my Bridge night. No way José. I mean, they’ve yet to turn up anyway.
And then finally, to cap it all, they want a bloody new clubhouse. What’s wrong with the one we’ve got, I might ask.
A lick of paint here and there. A door. A tub of flowers and it will look perfect. New clubhouse. I don’t think so.
Watkins is understandably very upset by this sorry turn of events. In fact, I have had to lock him in the cellar for a few days until he calms down. Mrs Watkins is feeding him pate de foie gras and cider via a straw through the keyhole. I expect all will be well soon. Meanwhile, if you would like to send poor old Watkins a message of support, then by all means do so via the comments section. I daresay he’d appreciate a few kind words.