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Meetings are held on the first and third Tuesdays of the month at Dancox House Club Room, St Clements Gardens, St Johns, Worcester from 7.30 pm to 9.30pm.
If you want to know more about Worcester Writers' Circle, please telephone Sue Round, Secretary 01905 619062.
Probably the oldest writers' circle in the country, we have grown from half a dozen enthusiasts in the dark days of the Second World War, to a thriving and productive group of people who share their experiences, successes and pitfalls at each meeting. We have a wide range of writers, some published professionals, some occasionally appearing in magazines, and many newcomers eager to see their name in print.
At a normal meeting, we read from our work, sometimes on a theme set for the evening and we offer advice and reactions. A cup of tea and a chat of course, and discussions about markets, successes and rejections. Sometimes we have a speaker from amongst our ranks, or a guestjoining us for the evening. Our interests are wide - stories, Westerns, nostalgia, poetry, biography, roofing and cats have all featured at our meetings. If you can get to Worcester, (that's the one in Worcestershire, England) give us a try.
FAMILY TREE-CREEPERS AND OTHER SCAVENGERS
by John Newton
We can so easily fall prey to their cunning: picking up their tabs,clearing up their messes, putting our shoulders to their wheels.
I'm talking about scroungers.
Some of these blood-suckers have honed their skills down to a fine art so that you, the mug, actually feel good about satisfying their wishes without realizing you've been conned.
You first come across them at school: 'Lend us your rubber/ruler/pencil,' and you do, like a fool, and you're lucky if you ever see it again.
You've got an important exam and you're waiting to go in. You are well prepared but you're nervous. There's a tap on your shoulder, 'Oh, damn!' Says a whining voice, 'I've forgotten my pen', and you lend them your spare.
Its been a long day at the office but who cares? Its your wedding anniversary and youre in a hopeful mood. As you tidy your desk to leave, a colleague pokes a grinning face round the door, You dont happen to be going my way, do you, old chum? He asks.
He knows full well you live five miles in the opposite direction but hes in with the boss so you don't want to cross him up. You hesitate for a fraction too long so he adds, The wifes got the car, you see. So THAT'S his reason for being a monumental pain in the neck? You never liked him, anyway.
No problem old chap, you mutter.
You're a pal,' he says, 'wont keep you a mo', and you settle back at your desk and contemplate home and what special treat awaits you. Will it be asparagus followed by a nice piece of sea bass with coriander sauce and new potatoes, your favourite meal? She usually comes up trumps on these occasions.
Fifteen minutes later the colleague reappears. He has a large parcel under his arm and seems impatient. You get the impression that you've kept HIM waiting.
A mile along the road, Would you mind if I dropped this off? He says, patting his parcel, Its for a friend.
No problem, you say, tell me when to stop. Youre wondering if the sea bass is in the oven yet. And that sauce you cant let that stand for too long.
Its not far, you are told, 'you turn right at the next roundabout and keep on till you see the third set of traffic lights.'
Eventually you pull up outside a smart house in an unfamiliar suburb and wait in the car while your passenger goes to make his delivery.
Ten minutes later he gets back into the car, Are we ready for the off? he asks and you notice a whiff of alcohol.
Right, you say, time we hit good husband street.
He's profuse in his thanks when you are dropping him off but slams the car door as he leaves.
When you eventually get home, theres a distinct air of hostility. Furthermore, the asparagus has gone limp and the sauce is nasty but you pretend not to mind.
What you should have done is kill the thing off at the start. Unless you are a born liar with an aptitude for spontaneous deceit, you need to have a battery of excuses, preferably half-truths, up you sleeve. How about, I would gladly take you, old friend but the cat got locked in the garage last night and did a mess on the passengers seat. But if you don't mind the smell?
You really have to be on your guard against these people. If you're not quick off the mark, they'll manipulate you, in the way that high-powered salesmen do. Before you know it, you're in a psychological straight-jacket and left with only two possible courses of action: either you are inexcusably rude (and tempted to hit them on the nose) or you comply with their wishes.
You are particularly at risk after a family bereavement, 'I was so fond of your old dad', says someone you thought was only one of his casual acquaintances. 'D'you think I could have some little memento say that picture in the hall? He knew I always admired it.' Being rocked off balance by the loss of your loved one, plus suddenly having rather more in your pocket than you are used to, you generously promise to let him have the said picture. Later on, you learn that this little gesture has cost you the best part of a five hundred pounds.
Then there are the invaders; those that try and move into your home for an unspecified period. Much cheaper than a B&B or hotel, of course. Cheaper for them, that is. These predators usually lay the bait many weeks in advance of their target date. Typically they'd say they might be coming to your area and they'd love to stay the night and catch up on all the gossip. You haven't seen them for years and it seems a good idea at the time. Then it hits you. They were never that much of a friend. You're stuck with a problem until you know exactly when they plan to arrive - and leave. Their final strike will come as a phone call out of the blue giving you very short notice of their arrival. They'll give you just enough time to stock up the fridge and get some wine in but you must be prepared with a caste iron excuse to fob them off.
The worst are the ex-pats. Not only will they rub your nose in the great wealth they've accumulated by working in a tax-free country, but they'll expect you to match the high-living standards they are accustomed to, with five-star hospitality. These long-haul freeloaders are as like as not to arrive with some cheap, last-minute gift, maybe, a string of wooden beads from Addis Ababa or a packet of endive, bought for a couple of euros at a Calais superstore. You know, or you think you know, that they're on an all-paid company trip and will be putting in a phony claim for accommodation when they get back. But you are too polite to accuse them.
One of the best means of defence is to invent a convincing reason for your spare room being out of action throughout the whole of the time when they are likely to be at large. You have to bear in mind that these cadgers are persistent and often over here for several weeks. Furthermore, they are going to be suspicious. It is far better to keep them well away from your place and this is best achieved right at the start.
Beware of family tree-creepers. We recently had a near miss from one of these; a second cousin thrice times removed. We received a letter saying what an interesting time he'd had traveling round the country, putting the final dots and dashes to the family tree. He'd stayed with relatives all over the place, most of whom he'd never met before. He wondered if he might spend the coming weekend with us checking through the details.
On your bike, cousin.
I am more than fortunate to live in a very old cottage. It is well worth the sneers and derision of my friends and family who like to tease me about the cost of its repair but it provides a perfect excuse for repelling invaders, 'Sorry. What a shame. We've got the builders in again. There's a nice little pub up the road, though. Would you like me to book you in? They only charge 125 a night and they do quite nice dinners.'
Copyright © 2004 John Newton