Apple Bobbing Hell

I was press-ganged into helping run a stall at the Infant's School Autumn fete this weekend. I was not keen, having done similar stints before, and having worked all the previous weekend on my own business and pulled two late-nighters midweek to finish up work. However, I find it quite hard to say 'no' to the mummies.
I would not say I am a weak person. Or particularly impressionable. As I enter the playground at pick-up time, a mummy will ask "Are you helping out at the Autumn Fete on Saturday?", and I will truthfully say 'No', and give full reasons why not.
But then something strange happens to me. The mummy will volunteer me to help run a stall and I can't make my lips say 'No'. Even though I have a better case not to volunteer than the mostly non-working women around me. (By the way, this all comes after having to provide a bottle of booze for the tombola (in return for 'Mufti Day' at school), a NEW toy for the Toy Tombola for feck's sake (in return for 'Mufti Day') and then a plate of home-made cakes for Mufti Day (snort -- 'home-made' by the good people at Waitrose bakery). I mean what do they want next, Blood for Mufti???
The idea then is, you waste your precious family time at a weekend running a stall, and then you can pay to win all your donated goods back. See?
Well, anyway, I couldn't say 'No' -- and when the mummy mentioned we were in the 'Halloween Theme' room and could dress up as witches I thought well, at least that might be a laugh. And it was Apple Bobbing. What could be stressful about that?
Come Saturday and I pull on my black and red stripey tights, do full face witchy make-up with blood red lips, long black Morticia Addams wig and huge pointy black hat, layers of black cloaky clothes, and off I go to have good community fun.
What a mistake a pointy hat and wig are in a hot, overcrowded classroom full of Freyas, Ellas, Caspers, Harrys and Hannahs.
First off the organiser (in chic sexy witch hat) rushes over to explain there are Health & Safety issues with Apple Bobbing.
1. NO CHILD may take part without a parent present to agree to the risks
2. We were handed a slip of paper with a Pediatrician's Emergency Number on it
Right. Before we could even get to grips with the dangers of death we had been given, the floodgates opened and a rush of spoiled grabby (but well-spoken) children swarmed in. I was in charge of stamping their tickets to show they had paid and played.
Try that when they are already heading towards the tank of water whislt you are holding onto your witches hat and wig and gabbling frantically "Have you got your mummy or daddy with you?"
THEN, while your back is turned, pushy mums and toddlers are over at your cauldron of prizes and fecking acting as if this is Lucky Dip -- just putting their hands in and helping themselves.
So you grab your hat and cloak and run back to the table to explain about the apple bobbing, the stamping, the queueing, the safety issues. Who designed the stamping areas so far apart from the bobbing area?? The children don't care or want to know about paying, or the issues of drowning in a lungful of snotty apple water. They are just going right up and putting their heads in the tank.
But then your helper (who is sensibly dressed, just wearing a comfy velvet hat) says "Have you stamped their tickets???" You grimly hold onto your wig as you bend over and try to stamp the soggy fiddly bits of paper thinking "Who's bloody stupid idea was this?"
BUT there is no time for that, because a constant stream (literally) of children is flowing from tank to table and prize cauldron and some of them just want to put their heads under water to get wet, which is fine, but trying to impose order on the chaos is mind numbingly, spirit crushingly awful.
Pushy mummies shove their 'cute' be-curled youngsters at you and say "He doesn't want to do Apple Bobbing. Can you just give him a prize?"
Er, no. ??? What sort of planet are these people living on? How fair would it be if I pushed to the front of the Hoop-La and said "My Simeon/Thomas/Grace doesn't want to throw a hoop. can she just have the prize?" !!!
I looked at my watch, thinking at least I was only down to do one hour on the stall. Barely 10 minutes had gone by.
The towels we had laid out were dripping wet. The prizes were mysteriously disappearing, faster then I could give out. My head was hot and itchy under the stupid wig and hat -- why on earth did I think this would be a 'laugh'?
As always, the 'relief' team arrived 5 minutes late (and let me tell you , those 5 minutes are like 5 hours in the Halloween Room) and then prettily faff about in their gorgeous silver pixy hats watching you hot and stressed as you heave towels, stamp limp bits of paper, try and give out prizes (WHERE DID THEY ALL GO???) and supervise the HSE rules on children who couldn't give a TOSS if their 'mummy or daddy' was there -- they just want to jump in with the apples for Christ sake!
At last, after wasting another 10 precious hot agonising minutes, the relief team say smilingly, 'I think I've got how it works' and I am FREE to go.
i tear off my hat and wig and go in search of a drink. Saying "Is your mummy or daddy with you?" 1,000 times gives you something of a thirst.
By the time I had drunk my own body weight in watery squash and tea there were no toys left on the tombola, no bottles left on the bottle tombola, and nothing much left except for me and my throbbing head and stupid outfit.