I CAN'T stop giggling about the wonderful tale of the Women's Institute members who dressed as pirates, only to discover that the speaker was talking about being taken hostage by Somali pirates.
I keep trying to imagine Captain Colin Darch's face when he walked into the April meeting of the Parkham WI in Devon to see a band of ladies in eye-patches, stripey shirts and funny hats.
He'd lived in fear of his life at the hands of ruthless, blood-thirsty mercenaries, only to find himself greeted by a stern-looking woman with a plastic cutlass hanging from her waist.
It reminds me of the time, in the dim and distant past when I too was the victim of mistaken identity at a WI. I'd arrived to speak at a village hall - somewhere on Teesside, I think - only to discover that the ladies were expecting Peter Barratt, of garden centres fame.
Just like Colin Darch, I dug in and did my best to satisfy the expectant ladies by giving my talk on newspapers before judging a pot plant competition.
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