All Gong and No Dinner

On Friday, as Shifty roamed around our garden - I suspect, unconventionally upright - serenading us with his latest ditty, I considered the coming weekend. Actually, shortly after being introduced to Shifty, he'd picked up L-S Dave's acoustic guitar, strummed a few chords and said, in what I thought was a rather presumptive tone, 'I expect you're wanting me to sing now'. Effervescent, three-sheets to the wind, looked blissfully acquiescent and, true to form, continued talking loudly throughout the performance. I have long since developed a technique to block out distractions. 

There's a mantra among open house hosts that, in weeks one and two, sales are limp whereas it all kicks off in weeks three and four. So that Friday, as week three neared, I was feeling very positive. Things had gone to plan then, we hadn't sold all that much art. Shovel loads of jewellery had exchanged hands, scatter cushions, bags, the odd purse but not the stuff that's written on the tin. 

Later that evening and fully engaged in culinary pursuits I continued to be spurred on by imagining the returning  hoards of Arnies, no doubt planning their purchasing strategies as I baked, who would shortly be beating a path to our door. I have to admit there were some doubters in my camp. Heavenly's husband mentioned that it wasn't week three but week four when sales happened. Matt disagreed, he'd heard of cases where sales had only peaked once the open house season was over. Hmm, either some slippage needed to be built into my expectations or my troupe were, as the Americans say, 'losing suction'.

Rain notwithstanding, on Saturday we had a healthy stream of visitors who said some lovely things about the art on their way out. Still there were few sales.  United by blitz spirit, customarily my troupe are to be found sharing memorable anecdotes and even revealing occasional lapses of moral responsibility. But by Saturday evening even their stoic courage and endurance had collapsed into hysteria and madness. Conversation took a more deviant turn as it settled on sales. PMT, before they left for sunnier climes, made no secret of their preferred ploy - tripping up guests when they arrived, turning them upside down and shaking the change out of their pockets. Now Kenneth unveiled his idea - filling an old pram with his wares and taking to the streets. Heavenly, perhaps because she was running a fever, suggested darkly that while he was at it there may be a spin off business to be had by ringing a bell and wailing 'bring out your dead.' Hmm ... can't wait for Sunday!