Christmas with the Old Farts.

When I mention the Old Farts, I am usually referring to my parents. I have called them the Old Farts since they were middle aged, so it has never been a slur but more a family joke and uttered with great affection. This year, I was lucky enough to have a double dose of Old Fartiness, because I was not only with my parents but I also spent half of Christmas Day with 105 genuine old Old Farts.

Two years ago, my sister went to visit her in-laws over Christmas, so my mother, father and I decided we would do something for charity, as it was just the three of us. I say we decided... actually my mother volunteered us and then told us we were all going to help the local Vicar with her Christmas lunch, for the elderly and the lonely. My father, in slightly 'bah humbug' mode, announced he was not at his best making small talk with a large group of strangers, and decided he was much more suited to doing the Meals on Wheels. He would be in his car and not have to talk to anyone for a few hours... perfect. So he was the driver, I was the waitress, and the partnership worked very well. We would find the address of the Meals on Wheels recipient, I would jump out, and as my Father parked the car, I would take the meal inside, have a little or a long chat (depending on the person), run back to the car and we would go to the next person on the list. Dad then drove home whilst I joined my mother back at the Village Hall to help serve drinks and food to the guests. My fathers' only responsibility, once home, was to turn the oven on ready for the turkey and then remember to come back to the Village Hall 3 hours later, to take some of the old folk home. Unfortunately Dad, exhausted from his driving exertions, promptly fell asleep as soon as he sat in his armchair, and not only forgot to turn on the oven but forgot to come back to the Village Hall. Lots of shuffling pensioners waited impatiently for their chauffeur to return, and after a frantic phone call he turned up, irritable and bed-headed from his afternoon nap! But we all agreed that we had really enjoyed it, so when my sister told us she was away again this year, we decided to volunteer anew. Unfortunately, my mother wasn't feeling a 100% on Christmas morning, so my parents stayed at home to prepare lunch whilst I went off in search of the other Old Farts.

We all met at noon in the reception area of some private flats, that had allowed their space to be turned into a 'pop-up' restaurant for the day. Waitrose had very generously donated £1,500 to the Charity and also provided the tree and decorations, so the space looked stunning. We had about 8 volunteers in the kitchen and maybe 12 of us on the floor, each with very specific jobs. Initially, I was given the job of Waitress, but the Vicar soon realised I was better suited to Greeter, Stick and Zimmer frame organiser, Name Tag Writer, Barmaid, Loo Escort, Raffle Ticket Seller, Quiz Master, and basically anything that involved talking. I wonder why? But the old dears, especially the women, love a good natter so it was a good match.

As I poured more and more sherry, things got quite animated and one table of 5 men, all over 80, got so rowdy I labelled them the 'naughty table' (which they loved). But as the day wore on, I began to get a little worried about the amount of alcohol being consumed and asked the Vicar if any of them had driven to the venue. She laughed and said that considering the average age was about 92, she didn't think so. When I then suggested going round the room, asking everyone to put their keys in a bowl just to be on the safe side, she put her arm around me and said, "Juliet, I'm not sure if you were around in the 70's, but asking a group of strangers to put their keys in a bowl, meant something else entirely!" Haha… our very fruity Vicar.

So, apart from the 'naughty table' becoming a little frisky, there was only one man I had to give a slightly wide berth to, and his name was Kevin. Two years ago, Kevin took a bit of a shine to me, and would grab my arm or leg every time I passed his table, quickly becoming a little more amorous than I would have liked. He became so 'touchy feely' that the Vicar refused to let me drive him home on my own, in case he 'tried something'. Haha. Kevin was 70 and in a wheel chair... I'm still not quite sure what the Vicar thought he was going to do!! But this time Kevin wasn't quite so shy with his advances, and after asking all sorts of awkward personal questions, he put his hand on my bottom and demanded that I take him to the bathroom. Um. Now there are rules we have to follow in these situations... the women take the women to the loo and the men take the men, end of discussion. I tried to explain to Kevin that he needed a male helper, but he was having none of it and shouted out quite dramatically that he wanted Juliet, or no one! Why men I've dated can't be quite so loyal, I don't know. It took a quiet word in his ear from the Vicar for him to back down, and the rest of the afternoon he behaved like an angel.

I did make a very special friend during lunch though... the lovely Scott. After giving him a few extra sausages with his meal, he began to follow me around the room, occasionally nudging me and looking at me with the most handsome dark brown eyes. He was a guide dog. A beautiful shiny black labrador who obviously had a thing for chipolatas wrapped in bacon. He was owned by the equally divine David, a blind man in his 50's who was so charming and kind, I was tempted to hang out with him for the rest of the day.

There were some other wonderful characters too; A 90 year old Jamaican woman called Phyllis, who had come over to England almost sixty years ago. She was very shy and softly spoken until she won the raffle an hour later, and leapt out of her seat with a loud whoop, exclaiming “I've won, I've won, I've never won anything before!”; Another lady called Edith was 102 and the best dressed in the house. She sat very demurely, in a beautiful red crepe tea dress, handbag tightly held on her knees, and every time I went over to check on her, she would take a sip of sherry and tell me about another operation she'd had. The elderly do love talking about their health, and I may not have learnt all their names but I certainly knew who'd had what done; There was Doris in her late 80's, who loved to dance and had turned up in a matching sequin shoe and dress ensemble with an elaborate feather fascinator perched on her bouffant. She would disappear every 20 minutes and I got a bit worried, so when she left the room the next time I followed her, finding her happily dancing around outside whilst puffing on a cigarette; Albert was another Centenarian but incredibly grumpy. He complained about everything, from the music to the drinks, and when I put the Christmas pudding down in front of him, he looked at it it with disgust and said, “I hate Christmas pudding, always have... Get me some cheese and biscuits would you?” I laughed and said, “Albert, we aren't in some posh London restaurant where you can order a La Carte. I'm afraid its Christmas pud or nothing”. He harrumphed and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I only just managed to crack a smile from him later on, when I went round doing the raffle tickets and seeing his £5 note on the table, picked it up, put it in my pocket and said, “Oh Albert, you shouldn't have... I know I'm a good waitress but this is just too generous!” I saw a slight quiver of a smile on his lips and then he banged the table and shouted, “Raffle tickets!”.

It was amazingly successful and most of the Old Farts seemed to have a really good time. There were some lovely lovely people there, guests and volunteers both, and I just hope they are all there in two year time when I do it again. From what I gathered, there will be another twenty guests reaching their hundredth year by then, which is just staggering. But if they are reaching that ripe old age by being a little saucy, drinking too much sherry, wearing beautiful dresses, having the odd fag, dancing, and being incredibly grumpy most of the time, then I'm all for it!