It’s Not Fayre

I have written before that anything with the word ‘fun’ in the title, is generally not fun. For example, a fun sized Mars Bar is tiny, a regular sized Mars Bar is much more fun. There is also nothing enjoyable about a fun run. I typed ‘fun’ into Google and the top match was funeral (certainly not fun) and then fun yoga poses (no idea). So I was dismayed to be given the job of organising the annual summer ‘fun day’.

Apparently last year’s was a disaster as nobody turned up. The reason for this, I discovered, was there was a very large country fayre a couple of miles away at the same time, which was much bigger, more famous and so everyone went there instead. The day after I was given this task, I saw an advert had been placed in the local paper for my fun day, which was due to be held (once again) at the same time as the country fayre. I showed the advert to my manager.

“It says in the paper that our fun day is on the same day as the country fayre”

“Yes, that is right” She replies.

“But you said it didn’t work last year”

“No, but we always do it on that date so we will keep it the same”


I started sending emails to local groups asking for people who might want to run stalls selling products or advertising their services. Nothing came back. I put adverts on social media. Still nothing came back. So off to the manager’s office I went.

Adverts in newspapers… Maybe a little outdated.

“I am having trouble generating interest for the fun day, I was wondering if there was a budget, we could hire some entertainment”

“No, the fun day only uses volunteers” She unhelpfully informed me.

“But what if nobody is interested?”

The day before I went to the supermarket to get some cakes and sweets (the chef wasn’t in as he was working at the country fayre), we set up all the tables in the car park and crossed our fingers

The big day arrived. A family from down the road came to drop off some unwanted second-hand stuff we could sell which included a Russian language thesaurus and a teddy bear with a missing leg. Also, a ten-year-old girl came to sing two songs. Seeing there was not much else happening, the girls mother asked me if I wanted her to sing the two songs again.

£100 for 20 minutes?

After around an hour of people looking at their watches and telling me what a shame it was, I heard the chimes of an ice cream van down the road. I rushed out. I explained my predicament to the driver who phoned ‘the office’. I was informed that he could stop in for 20 mins for £100.

I had (wrongly) assumed that ice cream vans just keep the money they make from sales but obviously not. No matter how many foreign language thesauruses or supermarket cupcakes I sold, there was no way I had £100 to give him so we parted company, I am sure he sped up as he went by the fun day.

When I got back from pleading with an ice cream driver, the manager came to find me. I had missed the photographer from the local paper…

I don’t think I have ever been more relieved to flick through the local press and find our article had not been published (there was, however, a four page spread on the country fayre). Just in case you were wondering, the teddy bear with the missing leg remained unsold.

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