So there we were, rocking all over The Enchanted Village Hall to five vicars singing I want to be break free by Queen.
With a flick of a wrist, their dog collars were off, discarded for the evening as a collection of grey heads and people the wrong side of 50 whooped and hollered.
Earlier my neighbour, Mrs Champagne-Charlie, muttered that it all seemed a bit like community singing at an old folks’ home and then guffawed when she saw my attire and prodded her husband with her elbow.
‘Oh,’ Mr Champagne-Charlie said, doing the mashed potato to I'm a believer. ‘Where on earth did you get those?’
‘You can cut your sarcasm,’ I said. ‘You’re hardly in a position to mock, with your toff’s trousers the colour of calf scour. This, dear neighbour, is the rock chick look.’
Because Mrs Bancroft had arranged for Dogs Without Collars – five Dorset clergymen – to appear for one night only in aid of the three parish churches.
And my job was to look after them.
‘Sorry,’ I said, when asked to help on the bar, ‘I’m with the band.’
Once a groupie, always a groupie.
So I rocked on through the night, brought firmly to heel by Mr Grigg for the last dance.
And do you know, I even won first prize in the raffle.
Love Maddie x
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