The Writers' Circle

One of Auntie Vera's favourite pastimes was the Sound of Music game. This was where Auntie Vera and her friends would sit together and discuss the order and manner in which they would strangle the Von Trapp children.
Playing the Sound of Music game considerably lightened up the atmosphere within the confines of the old age pensioner's club, and many an agreeable hour or two would be spent debating the different types of ligature that could be used, and why the little blond haired boy should be despatched before his elder brother.
Therefore, it was a bit of a shock when one day a choir from the local orphan's home turned up and started performing a number of songs in front of the denizens of the social centre. What was even more of a shock was that the children were very, very good. The melodies and harmonies were perfect, and they sang sentimental songs that were popular when most of the club members were in their teens and twenties. The skinny, malnourished little darlings completely captivated their audience. During one song, Vera's friend Kitty Gasket, who normally had a far-away look in her eye at the best of times, appeared to be unable to focus at all, and Auntie Vera was so overcome with emotion that a tear rolled down her cheek, and she was forced to retrieve the hankie that she kept tucked up one of her sleeves and loudly blow her nose into it.
At the end of the concert, the woman who had accompanied the children explained that the choir was touring the area, and was trying to raise some money for the orhan's home. Times were hard and funds were running low, and as Christmas was coming they were hoping to be able to make enough money to allow them to buy an extra bucket of gruel this year.
It was an emotive speech that tugged at the heartstrings. Unfortunately it wasn't emotive enough to tug at the purse strings as well. Each member of the audience having suddenly found something else terribly important to do or look at.
Having finished their repertoire, the empty handed choir turned and trudged wearily out into the bitter wind and snow of the worst winter in living memory.

Although no money had been given, this was more of an instinctive reaction than anything else. The members of the pensioner's club had been truly impressed by the children and it was generally felt that something should be done to help the orphan's home in its hour of need. A solution was provided by "Dodgy" Mick Sullivan the semi-retired handler of stolen goods who's wheelchair could often be seen leaving tyre marks on the carpets of some of the less salubrious pubs in the area.
Mick let it be known that he had come into possession of a quantity of high grade knitting wool. He wouldn't be drawn as to how he had come by said wool, but the inference was that it had fallen out of the back of a haberdashery shop and he was keen to sell it off cheaply before the local constabulary's dragnet closed in on him. He suggested that the ladies of the club could use the wool to knit something for the orphans. 
Everyone thought that this was a splendid idea.

Auntie Vera was a very good knitter. Most Christmas's she would knit pullovers for the junior members of her extended family. She was so good that she was able to unfailingly make one of the pullover sleeves four inches too long and the other four inches too short. The unlucky beneficiaries of the pullovers would never complain, and Auntie Vera, knowing full well what she had done would bask in the happy knowledge that all of the people who never visited her were being made to look ridiculous each Christmas morning.
Because of her vast knitting experience she took over the role of knitwear supervisor, and produced a standard pattern for bobble hats that everyone could follow.
Within a week the ladies of the club had produced enough bright red woollen bobble hats for every orphan to be catered for.

The orphan's home was contacted, and the hats were collected the following day.

Bobble hats are very useful things. They keep the wearer's head warm and help to keep it reasonably dry as well, although being made of wool they are not completely waterproof. This fact was discovered when the newly outfitted orphan's home choir returned from a days angelic singing in the damp snow covered streets. Upon re-entering the home the children removed their hats only to find that the bright red dye in the knitting wool was not of the highest quality, in so much that it adhered very poorly to wool but fantastically well to human hair. All of the children now sported bright red hairstyles. When they were lined up to receive their dinner they looked like an open book of matches.
The home's governess was not very pleased by this turn of events, and decided to go down to the pensioner's social club the following day in order to vent her displeasure upon the members of the knitting circle.

Thus it was that the following day a very angry governess marched into the pensioner's club holding aloft a damp red bobble hat and declared in a loud voice: "Who is responsible for this!"

This was not the first time that an angry person had entered the sanctity of the club, and after the unpleasant incident involving the regional manager of Oxfam the previous summer, the club members had developed a standard procedure that they used for occasions like this. In fact there had been so many irate people that had come to complain about something or other that the members now performed the anti-irate person ritual almost automatically.
Mr Pemberton, who had once been a leading light in the local amateur dramatic society leapt from his chair, clutched a hand to his chest and sank slowly to the floor.
"Oh my God! He's having a heart attack" cried Kitty Gasket before returning to her crossword.
At this cry, Dolly Lovegrove of whom it was rumoured had been in her youth more pro than amateur, galloped across the floor of the clubroom and threw herself at the now prostrate body of Mr Pemberton before enthusiastically giving him the kiss of life.
At this point Auntie Vera put on her best outraged expression and lambasted the somewhat stunned governess with her best cutting invective. The poor woman hurriedly backed out of the club.

Despite the regular occurrence of angry people descending upon them, the club members would have preferred to have been left alone to fight amongst themselves and there was much grumbling about the way in which the latest situation had developed.

Dodgy Mick Sullivan who had managed to sleep peacefully through the latest events woke up an hour later to find that someone had let his tyres down.