Last week was our anniversary. Not wedding anniversary, book club anniversary. Ten years - and many, many books - since we started.
We introduced a new member into our midst and everyone was asked to be on best behaviour so she would not be scared off. There were eight of us in the original line-up, of which five remain. We have gained a few more and had some 'one-hit-wonders' (ie eager participants who actually only manage one meeting per year, or worse, one meeting full stop), but on average are similar numbers at each get-together.
In celebration of the 10-year anniversary, each founding member was asked to recall an amusing anecdote from previous meetings.
I recalled the one about our name.
The Lovely Radiographer recalled the instance when we ate all the food on offer and left nowt for her husband (who was out training for the marathon). He subsequently had to order a takeaway and renamed us 'The Bookclub Trough-ers'.
Belfast Blonde recanted her bookstore mishap.
But the winning entry came from our Doctor of Psychology who remembered how a discussion about a book ("An Instance of the Fingerpost" by Iain Pears) led to one of the Kevinettes actually reading - and finishing - this tome, thinking it was what we had agreed upon for the following meeting.
It was some 691 pages long.
She is no longer a member. Funny that.
But it does not seem to have deterred our newest recruit, although she did ask more than once exactly what we had agreed to read for next time.