SPAg blog

THE END OF THE YEAR

It has been a particularly difficult end to the year.  Never has the business been more fickle.  Knowing it is the same for everyone is not much comfort.  It seems impossible that such seismic change can happen in such a short space of time.

When no amount of effort or hours or enthusiasm can affect change, difficult decisions have to be made. If there is a Christmas fairy I have only one wish: that such decisions did not have to impact on the team.

Seeing everyone throw themselves into the carol-athon and how genuinely moved they were by the dignity of Gloria’s family and their unnecessary gratitude for our efforts, does, however, provide perspective. 

 

 

Whatever the New Year brings, I know indisputably that the team at SPA are exceptional human beings.

TEA WITH GLORIA’S FAMILY

Today, we invited Gloria’s daughter and brother – Elizabeth and Rodriguez - to the office for tea so we could present them with the proceeds from the carol-athon.  £1,245 was handed over, with only a small sum of £95 retained to be used to purchase a tree and to inscribe a plaque to be erected in a corner of the community garden so that for evermore it will be known as Gloria’s Corner.

 

 

12 February, 2009 at 12.30 has been provisionally agreed as the date and time when we shall have a proper ceremony to plant the tree and inaugurate the plaque.  We are hoping everyone in the neighbourhood will be able to attend.  

CAROL-ATHON – IN AID OF GLORIA’S CORNER

It was a very strange and mildly disquieting experience to walk out of the office at 8am on a cold morning and with a limited team (Suzanne, Malcolm and Doo-Dah) and without any musical accompaniment sing carols at the start of a nine hour charity effort.

There was a distinct crossing the road to avoid our motley crew singing tunelessly and hesitantly.  At that moment the idea I had conceived one night suddenly seemed extremely ill-conceived and the prospect of non-stop carolling an unnecessary torment for all parties.

But then, like so many things, suddenly we got bold and noisier and infinitely unavoidable and the moneys started to roll in.  We were joined at various times of the day by a steady stream of people from SPA doing their singing shifts, plus other neighbours including the lovely people from the architects across the road, Norman Ackroyd the hugely famous artists who dragged himself from his sick bed, Ian from the garage who said he wasn’t very good at singing and was clearly lying because he was quite dreadful (but good to have along nevertheless!) and my stoic mother and her friend Evelyn who made a special journey from Sussex to lend a little backbone to the affair.

The spontaneous generosity of people passing by who all wanted to contribute to the memory of Gloria including taxi drivers, local businesses, friends and customers of hers over the years.  A special thank you also for the people who invited us into their offices to endure a special carol recital including design company, Redjacket and the lovely Christoph at Delfinos who plied us with much needed coffee.

Gloria’s brother Rodriguez came down in the morning to join us and was there when the press came to cover the story.  Later in the day 3 lovely ladies tagged along and sang and rattled the collecting buckets for the last two hours.  Only when we had finished and they came to the office for a cup of tea and to help count the proceeds did we realise that one was Gloria’s daughter, Elizabeth plus her aunt and a god daughter.

The final tally for the day was the fantastic sum of £1,340.45.  THANK YOU EVERYONE.

 

 

 

 

YPANTS – WE DID IT!

On 8 December we delivered over 5,000 pairs of new pants to the London warehouse of Crisis.  This means we achieved our target of taking responsibility for collecting enough pairs of pants so that every guest in the Crisis Christmas shelters in London sould receive a pair and a spare.  In fact, what with the pants that are still coming in, we are in range of achieving twice the number we set out to gather. 

As we said in the promotional material – pants aren’t just for Christmas – in fact, I think YPants are with us for some time to come!

Thank you everyone who so generously donated.  It is a truly worthwhile cause.  Thank you also to Time Out who very kindly gave us a free advertisement which helped the campaign reach people outside of our immediate circle.  For example, only this morning, we received 40 pairs sent to us by Wendover School– thank you so much.

We also got some very good PR (now there’s a surprise!)  Notably, the Daily Express (see below) well done Chanelle:

91 YEARS OLD AND PANTING WITH EMBARRASSMENT. . .BEACHCOMBER

Daily Express

EXCUSE me if I am a little shaky this morning, but I have just received a telephone call from a young lady who was very effusive on the subject of underwear. With scarcely a word of introduction, she said: "I want to talk to you about pants." I have had calls of this nature before - though not, I am pleased to say, for many years now - and I normally treat them with a degree of stoicism, trying to conceal any shock I may feel, but clearly expressing my lack of interest in the subject. Yet this call was somehow different. For a start, it was not accompanied by heavy breathing, and even more strangely, it was, as I mentioned at the start, a young lady.

To clarify the matter, I therefore came straight to the point and asked her whether she was using the word 'pants' in the transatlantic sense of trousers, or whether I was to understand that she intended the English meaning of undergarments.

"Undergarments," she said unequivocally.

"Solely male undergarments?" I asked, "Or are we talking generalised pants here, to include the female version commonly known as panties, and perhaps even including panty-hose, whatever that is?" "Mainly, if not exclusively male, " she replied, which rekindled my suspicions.

"If you are about to ask the colour of said garments that I am at present wearing, I should like you to know that I do not make a practice of divulging such intimate details to callers. Are you a dirty phone call?" I said.

"Goodness no!' she said."Whatever gave you that idea?" And that was when the embarrassment set in. I stuttered an apology, and said I hoped that I could be forgiven, as when an elderly gentleman is phoned by a young lady wanting to talk about pants, it is all too easy to jump to unwarranted conclusions.

"No," said the young lady gallantly, "it's I who should be apologising. I should have made myself clearer from the start. I'm phoning from the Big Pants Appeal, you see, to tell you about our project to get as many people as possible to donate new pairs of pants to be distributed by the charity Crisis at its shelters for the homeless. Plenty of generous people donate used outer clothing to charity, but there's a desperate shortage of underclothes. That's why we have set up a web site at www. ypants. com to let people know how they can do good with a pair of Y-fronts or boxers." "I suppose you know, " I mused, "that the word 'pants' comes from a shortening of 'pantaloon', which was originally the name of a character in the Venetian theatre who wore baggy trousers, to which item of apparel the name was subsequently transferred." "How fascinating, " she said. "We have around 3,000 already." "Three thousand what?" I queried.

"Pants, " she said.

"Would that be 1,500 pairs of pants, or do you mean you have 3,000 pairs, which by my calculation would make 6,000 in all." "I meant 3,000 pairs," she said, "though I'm not sure if 3,000 pairs of pants is 6,000 pants. That's a tricky one. So may I ask whether you will be donating a pair to push up our number to around 3,001?" "I shall rummage through my pants drawer and see if I can find an immaculate pair to add to your collection," I promised.

It was the least I could do. It has been a long time since anyone asked for even one of my undergarments, let alone a pair.

 

George was our knicker pixie and obligingly allowed us to cram all the pairs in his car along with Doo-Dah, Nellie and me, seen here with Lynette and her colleagues from Crisis.