It was Friday the 13th...
At very short notice, my usual venue canceled on me this week, so I had to find somewhere else to hold a class on Friday night. Cue stress and panic - and great expense - but I finally managed to track down a suitable place.
Frustratingly, the providers of the new venue held me to the very minute of the one-hour time slot I asked for and so shortly after 6PM, I found myself waiting in the car park with Marta to be allowed to get in and get the room set up. Then the girls arrived. And finally, a little man arrived and unlocked the doors and let us all in.
I was fortunate in a lot of details. It was a pleasant evening, so we weren't huddle up against the cold or the rain. The girls were very pleasant and understanding. And they had all been informed about what to expect, so the fact that I met them in advance of the class didn't result in my giving away any surprises.
The class itself went smoothly. We actually got in and got settled about ten minutes before they were due to start, although a couple of interruptions meant the class itself didn't get underway until just after 7PM, which was when we were due to start. I warned everyone that at 8PM on the dot, the little man would probably be harrying us to finish up and leave, but I assured them that we would wind down at our leisure and would leave when we were ready to do so.
There was a competition among the group. One of the girls had promised that the best penis picture would win a cocktail after the class. This was great in theory, but she then went on to draw the absolute best picture I'd seen in a long time. I went through the usual routine - my favourite part of any class - of choosing a small selection of my absolute favourite pictures and setting them aside, then picking out my very favourite from that small selection. And there was no way I could pass up the brightly coloured, beautifully drawn, very happy looking picture - despite the fact that I couldn't help thinking she'd made me look a bit like Tony Blair.
The proposed winner protested. She couldn't be the winner. She couldn't buy herself a cocktail, apparently. So I compromised. I picked out my second favourite picture as well, and put the vote to the group. I held up both pictures and requested an applause-o-meter response from them. It was a close thing, but the group did back me up and she won the competition. So she and the runner-up settled on their own compromise and agreed to buy each other cocktails.
I asked for a copy of the picture. I suggested that perhaps it could be scanned and a copy of it emailed to me. She offered to take a photograph of it and email the photograph. At least that's what I thought she had suggested, but shortly afterward, once I'd got dressed, I realised that all the pictures had been left behind and that one was among them.
I was going to keep them aside, scan them all and then illustrate this posting with some of my favourites. But a little while ago, I got an email from the bride with some photographs, so now I don't need to do that. I should post the originals out to the girls if they like, though. It seems a shame that they left without any souvenirs.
At 8PM on the dot, an internal 'phone started ringing in the room. Marta answered it a couple of times, but nobody ever spoke to her. It seems that the little man was trying to give us a nudge and remind us that it was time to leave. At around 8:20PM, I got dressed (something I almost never do while the group are still around, because I hate to break that continuity) and we packed everything away. The girls left, then the little man came in - a lot less friendly than he was at the beginning of the evening - and we finally vacated the premises at around 8:30PM.
At very short notice, my usual venue canceled on me this week, so I had to find somewhere else to hold a class on Friday night. Cue stress and panic - and great expense - but I finally managed to track down a suitable place.
Frustratingly, the providers of the new venue held me to the very minute of the one-hour time slot I asked for and so shortly after 6PM, I found myself waiting in the car park with Marta to be allowed to get in and get the room set up. Then the girls arrived. And finally, a little man arrived and unlocked the doors and let us all in.
I was fortunate in a lot of details. It was a pleasant evening, so we weren't huddle up against the cold or the rain. The girls were very pleasant and understanding. And they had all been informed about what to expect, so the fact that I met them in advance of the class didn't result in my giving away any surprises.
The class itself went smoothly. We actually got in and got settled about ten minutes before they were due to start, although a couple of interruptions meant the class itself didn't get underway until just after 7PM, which was when we were due to start. I warned everyone that at 8PM on the dot, the little man would probably be harrying us to finish up and leave, but I assured them that we would wind down at our leisure and would leave when we were ready to do so.
There was a competition among the group. One of the girls had promised that the best penis picture would win a cocktail after the class. This was great in theory, but she then went on to draw the absolute best picture I'd seen in a long time. I went through the usual routine - my favourite part of any class - of choosing a small selection of my absolute favourite pictures and setting them aside, then picking out my very favourite from that small selection. And there was no way I could pass up the brightly coloured, beautifully drawn, very happy looking picture - despite the fact that I couldn't help thinking she'd made me look a bit like Tony Blair.
The proposed winner protested. She couldn't be the winner. She couldn't buy herself a cocktail, apparently. So I compromised. I picked out my second favourite picture as well, and put the vote to the group. I held up both pictures and requested an applause-o-meter response from them. It was a close thing, but the group did back me up and she won the competition. So she and the runner-up settled on their own compromise and agreed to buy each other cocktails.
I asked for a copy of the picture. I suggested that perhaps it could be scanned and a copy of it emailed to me. She offered to take a photograph of it and email the photograph. At least that's what I thought she had suggested, but shortly afterward, once I'd got dressed, I realised that all the pictures had been left behind and that one was among them.
I was going to keep them aside, scan them all and then illustrate this posting with some of my favourites. But a little while ago, I got an email from the bride with some photographs, so now I don't need to do that. I should post the originals out to the girls if they like, though. It seems a shame that they left without any souvenirs.
At 8PM on the dot, an internal 'phone started ringing in the room. Marta answered it a couple of times, but nobody ever spoke to her. It seems that the little man was trying to give us a nudge and remind us that it was time to leave. At around 8:20PM, I got dressed (something I almost never do while the group are still around, because I hate to break that continuity) and we packed everything away. The girls left, then the little man came in - a lot less friendly than he was at the beginning of the evening - and we finally vacated the premises at around 8:30PM.
It's definitely not a venue I'll use again, but in the end it went pretty smoothly and we had fun.
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