The Women's Institute Christmas Party

The Women's Institute Christmas Party

Our village sparkled with an extra touch of elegance this week as over 30 members of our Women's Institute, graced their annual Christmas Party in a tapestry of sparkly finery and enthusiasm, whilst unleashing their inner party animals intent on having a jolly good time!

Welcomed warmly by the ever vigilant Nancy-May, they entered the Methodist Church Hall, adjusting a variety of unfathomable headgear, and embarrassing flashing tops for a trip down memory lane – or, more accurately, a trip down the rabbit hole of their past pantomime performances. Pat's IT savvy husband, was shipped in purely for this special occasion, and as he dusted off the Sony DV tape and wrestled with the archaic technology, the excitement in the room was palpable. The grainy footage flickered to life, revealing a sea of homemade costumes that looked like they had survived a glitter explosion! There was Margaret, our usually demure member, sporting a flouncy tutu that could rival a peacock's plumage. Brenda, our President, seemed to have mistaken the pantomime for a runway show, strutting with all the grace of a catwalk model in her Queenly attire! As the ladies cackled at their younger, more theatrically ambitious selves, they couldn't help but marvel at the fact that their yearly pantomime tradition was not just about the performance but the laughter, camaraderie, and the questionable fashion choices that came with it. Who knew our WI had such a hidden talent for comedic brilliance, to say nothing about Pat Jones's amazing voice. The Sony DV tape might be ancient, but the memories and the laughter were timeless.

Meanwhile, our Christmas Fairy, aka Nancy-May, had quietly waved her wand and arranged another room with a long table upon which were a mountain of freshly baked scones, still warm from Sheila Jones's oven, generously slathered with jam and dollops of clotted cream. Our ladies, seasoned experts at balancing a wine glass in one hand and a scone in the other, approached the indulgent spread with the determination of seasoned connoisseurs. Joy Taylor, renowned for her impeccable manners, took the lead, delicately biting into her scone as if engaged in an ancient, refined ritual.

In a delightful twist of tradition, the Women's Institute decided to elevate their party by turning the classic pass-the-parcel game into a riotous affair of epic proportions. Each member arrived armed with her own parcel, costing no more than £5, wrapped in an eclectic mix of recycled paper, glitter, and, of course, a liberal application of sticky tape – because one can never be too careful when it comes to parcel security.

The Methodist Hall buzzed with an air of anticipation as the ladies took their seats, each clutching her tightly wrapped surprise. The games master, Brenda, our President, known for her impeccable sense of organisation, took centre stage with a mischievous glint in her eye. A poem containing many 'left' and 'right' words was read, and chaos ensued.

Picture this, a room full of sophisticated women, clad in Christmas jumpers and sensible shoes, frantically passing parcels like a well-choreographed comedy of errors. The parcels whizzed through the air, narrowly missing one person's head antlers and grazing the top of another's perfectly coiffed hair.

One member, determined to outmanoeuvre her peers, executed an unexpected pirouette, sending her parcel sailing across the room. Another, caught up in the spirit of the game, attempted an ambitious juggling act with her parcel and a glass of mulled wine – a move that would surely go down in WI history?

As the poem continued, the once orderly circle of ladies dissolved into a whirlwind of laughter, shrieks, and a few strategically deployed handbags to protect against overly enthusiastic parcel passers. The village hall transformed into a battlefield of flying parcels, with each woman desperately trying to keep hold of the best wrapped one.

The grand finale approached, as the poem came to an end. Brenda, with a theatrical flourish, declared the game complete. The ladies, panting and flushed from the unexpected workout, gathered in a circle, their parcels now thoroughly mixed and mingled.

And so, in a glorious display of camaraderie and unbridled merriment, the Women's Institute redefined the pass-the-parcel game, proving once and for all that a little chaos and a lot of laughter can bring even the most refined ladies together for an afternoon of unforgettable and complete silliness.