Coffee mornings and cold pavements

This weekend I have been entertaining the Blues, standing around in the freezing cold, talking France (and French), patting dogs, doling out croissants and selling books.

It started with the Blues.  Friends of mine are active in the local Conservative party group, and they were looking for a speaker for their coffee morning.  Now historically I am not of that persuasion, but let’s not get political here.  It was a gig.

Moving swiftly on.

On Friday morning there I was, clutching a stack of flash cards and dressed to suit – not quite twinset and pearls, but I had abandoned my usual jeans and tee shirt for a skirt and respectable jacket.  And facing an enormous audience of, oh, at least 20 people.  It was, I realised, my first attempt at solo public speaking since I stopped doing a proper job and became an author.

I was, of course, speaking to my second favourite subject:  life in the Languedoc.  My first favourite, of course, being dogs,as any friend of mine who has been bored to tears by me will attest. Luckily everyone was kind and supportive.  I was careful to look round the room as I talked, and I saw smiles and even some laughs, and a lot of sagacious nods:  they knew, they had been there.  Even more delightfully, many of them came up and bought the book afterwards, and its sequel collection of short stories.

Well, I thought, that wasn’t so bad.  Then realisation dawned.  And dawned was the operative word, because the following day I was up well before the sun had climbed out of bed.  Patrick, my stalwart and self-styled roadie, was about to ferry me, my banner, my croissants and my books (to say nothing of the dog) to East Grinstead.  East Grinstead!  It’s in East Sussex! A long, long drive from my neck of the West Sussex woods.  I should have thought of that.  But, truth to tell, I was so excited and delighted to be invited to sign books at the lovely East Grinstead bookshop that I had given little thought to actually getting there.

The day hadn’t boded well.  The trusty BBC Weather app had said fine all week – except for Saturday, when it was going to rain.  Typical!  In the event, rain only settled in from about two o’clock.  The morning I spent, at my request, at a table out on the pavement, ‘engaging’ as modern parlance will have it (or, worse still, ‘reaching out’).

The British public is a curious beast.  Have you ever shaken a tin for charity at a street corner and watched people scuttle by, casting furtive glances at you from the corner of their eyes?  What, I often wonder, are they afraid of? So it was with my modest little stall.  On the other hand, many people did stop to chat, even accept a cautious croissant (free) and even, bless them, to buy the occasional book.  These were the people who made it all worthwhile.  My blessings go to the young couple who stopped to let me cuddle their dog and stayed to talk dogs and France.  When I offered the husband a bookmark he said no, very firmly.  He wanted a book!

I recall with fondness the French lady who stood patiently while I trotted out my rusty French.  And the German lady who wanted something not too difficult in English – she pronounced ‘Tales from the Pays d’Oc’ to be ‘not too complicated’ and promptly bought the book.  Another elderly lady stayed for a long chat, bought ‘At Home’, went off and found her gentleman friend (‘he has money!’) and came back and bought ‘Tales.’

I learned two things that morning:  I like people – most of them – and I can even stand the cold when I have interesting company and endless cups of tea.  A word here has to go to John, who owns the bookshop, and his wonderful team who made me feel welcome, even when the rain forced me indoors and I was taking up a table in their café.

If you are ever in East Grinstead I urge you to visit the wonderful bookshop – not only is it friendly but it is a proper bookshop in the old-school sense.

I just wish it was a bit nearer.