Those who do not wear an apron need not apply

I was asked by a work colleague yesterday if I wanted to join the village WI (Womens Institute). She stressed it was the young and funky arm of the WI and not the alternative old and frumpy arm with discussions about incontinence pads in church halls.

After I'd finished chuckling to myself I looked at the national WI website. From what I saw there is nothing young or funky about becomming a member, although, I do share some of the attributes of the ladies in the photos; badly fitting bras, unkempt hair and choco belly paunches.

My initial thoughts are that the WI spend their time baking, arranging flowers, rustling up soft furnishings, drinking tea in church halls and generally being 'homely'.

If I'd looked in more detail I would have found a disclaimer : Those who do not wear an apron need not apply.

I started thinking about what I could offer by way of skills.

So, I can't sew ...

Last night after a painstaking hour I finished sewing name labels into the 4 year olds new school shirts (whatever she eats for lunch has stained the old ones beyond funny). Three shirts, one hour ... with swearing. I know, I know - "BUY THE IRON IN LABELS", I hear you. Let me explain. I bought the sew in ones because it seemed more ... well, wholesome. Ironing name tags into my child's clothes seemed like cheating. I now realise that this would have been the sensible option. The ones I did last night look like they've been sewn by a blind person on a roundabout wearing mittens.

Flower arranging ...

I rarely get bought flowers (ahem) but every so often I buy them, again, in a bid to feel wholesome. Flower arranging to me goes like this; remove from packaging, plonk in a vase (probably the wrong size) and then watch them die over a period of a few days. If they have enough water they're lucky.

Cooking, baking, feeding my family ...

The husband does most of that, he enjoys cooking. I see it more as a time consuming operation which results in something burnt or inedible ... and a lot of washing up. Occasionally I have a wave of enthusiasm and decide to make something. 9 times out of 10 - even when following a recipe I fail. My husband eats my offering out of politeness, but his face is usually screwed up in disgust.

I made rice crispie buns last month with the children. Easiest thing in the world, apparently. Three ingredients, melted chocolate, golden syrup and crispies mixed together - no oven required. The rice crispies didn't mix properly with the chocolate which resulted in something which could have been used to fill the holes in our road which are killing the suspension on my car.

Homemaking ...

Let's not even go there.

Today my colleague told me about her first WI meeting, in a bar, after darkness fell, with alcohol. More positive than the 'meeting avec drinks' is the trip they are planing ... to Paris to visit the continental markets.

Bring it on.

I might just turn up to the next meeting wearing a beret, clutching a copy of Delia's: How To Cook (I have to show willing at least) and dazzle them with my wit. They'll be laughing so hard they'll forget to ask for recent example of my crocheting or basket weaving work.