Not noodles . . . !

Laughter is good for us. Would you like a laugh at my expense on the subject of noodles?

I'm sure you would!

A few weeks ago I was one of a small group invited to represent our local residents' association at a Supper Party, a party that was being given by the Mayor at the Town Hall.

Such an event had never happened before, it was an unexpected and generous idea. On the invitation was a request to notify the Mayor's office if you had any dietary requirements. I duly 'phoned to say that I was a vegetarian, and thought little more about it.

The evening of the Supper arrived and we all made my way to the Town Hall, curious as to what lay ahead.

If this was the Mayor's definition of a supper, I thought, as we were greeted with champagne in an ante-room, what could possibly classify as a dinner?

My suppers, often enjoyed from a tray on my lap, were in a totally different league to what was on offer at the Town Hall. But I wasn't complaining!

After quaffing champagne and meeting our fellow guests, we were escorted to the dining hall. Here we were shown to allocated seats at the elegant, candle-lit tables.

As a vegetarian, the first course presented me with no problems. For the main course there was duck. This was duly served to everyone else together with roast potatoes and runner beans.

What, you are wondering, was I given?

You can imagine my dismay as the waitress placed before me a plate piled high with the longest, thinnest, most slippery noodles I've ever encountered!

Can you think of anything more difficult to tackle at an elegant civic reception than a plate of wriggling noodles?

The ones that actually reached my mouth were delicious. But, try as I might, the others slipped from my fork, evaded my knife, and even fell into my lap. To make matters worse, I had been provided with a knife and fork, but no spoon. How can you twirl your noodles around your fork without the aid of a spoon?

Everyone else munched their way happily and delicately through the duck and roast potatoes. I alone, unhappy and self-conscious, struggled to cope!

Finally, despairing of ever coming to terms with the willful and slippery noodles, I abandoned my futile efforts . . . and accepted defeat.

Turning to a fellow guest, I tried to make light of my predicament.

"The sort of meal," I said sadly, "that should be eaten in private with a towel on your lap and no-one to watch!"

The Mayor had done his residents proud . . . the setting was memorable . . . the guests impressive . . . it was just the greatest pity about the noodles!