The Twinning Process

The whole ‘Twinning’ thing started when Mrs Markle heard about it from a foreign exchange student who was staying with one of the village children. She wasn’t sure what part of the world this particular foreigner came from but she was pretty sure it was somewhere near Sheffield. (Anywhere outside of the village was considered foreign to Sleepy Hamleters).

No one really showed much interest in the twinning issue until Mrs Markle pointed out they could visit the twinned area on a cultural exchange. Suddenly every villager wanted in on the committee and that first night the village hall was filled with people shouting suggestions. Mrs Markle, Lord Hamlet and Rev Batwing took the chair and fielded such requests as Marbella, Malta, Rome and Torremolinos. It soon became obvious that the villagers had no idea what they wanted ---they’d all just brought along holiday brochures and were calling out the destinations that looked nice; this became particularly apparent when someone shouted out, Hotel Ferenurolla.

Mrs Markle pointed out that they needed to twin themselves with somewhere that they could learn from culturally. Someone shouted out America. Mrs Markle said you couldn’t twin yourself with an entire nation, when the caller asked ‘why, had someone had already nabbed it?’ Mrs Markle just rolled her eyes heaven wards as she often did when dealing with the villagers, then went out to the canteen to fortify herself with a very strong cup of tea; the suggestions continued in her absence.

When she returned, it was to total change. Not only was everyone calm and content but her seat had been usurped by a malevolently smiling Mrs Heppleheimer who informed her in her cheery Teutonic way that they’d decided to twin themselves with a small Bavarian village called Frauhaufenbarrel. Frauhaufenbarrel was, it transpires, the little hilltop village where Mrs Heppleheimer had grown up. Mrs Markle immediately smelt a rat and images of cultural trips spent consuming copious amounts of alcohol whilst yodelling at passing cattle, filled her head with dread.

But Mrs Markle was not that easily put off, she said, ‘if that was the will of the people then so be it; they should prepare for a visit to sample the cultural delights of Frauhaufenbarrel and then prepare for the return visit from their new Bavarian cousins. Just imagine, she visualised, whole busloads of Mrs Heppleheimer’s running around free and unchecked in their little village.

There was silence as the villagers collective blood streams ran cold. How could they control busloads of Heppleheimer clones when they couldn’t even control the Heppleheimer they already had?

Mrs Markle smiled at their discomfort and suggested, diplomatically, that they meet up again soon to discuss the matter further. There was curt agreement and they fled before the brooding and furious eye of Mrs Heppleheimer could fall upon them.

Mrs Markle smiled, collected her papers and walked out. ‘Round one to her’, she thought.

It was not noted in the minutes what Mrs Heppleheimer thought.

Sleepy Hamlet © Karl Dixon 2010