It is really really funny. A number of years ago, when I first moved to London a friend of a friend (think they were all working at Imperial College's library) invited me to join a Women's Book Club. This was, I think about 12 years ago, and we religiously met, every month for nigh on five years. We only stopped meeting up when nearly all of us moved further out of the city, I had children, Lisa - the original, moved back to America.
Every month we'd take turns hosting the 'event'. We'd each chip in for some wine and pizza, usually just over a fiver (which was never ever enough so some kind boyfriend would have to run to the all night shop). We lived all over London - Hackney, Stoke Newington, North London, West London, South London and we always met after work. Often on a Thursday but always early ish - at about seven so we did not have to go home first and had more time to drink.
The members varied; with a core of four or five; we got married - went to each others wedding parties, became lesbians, became straight and changed partners. We didn't socialise much between groups - other than a few of us who were already paired up in friendships but we loved BAPS (Beer and Wine and Pizza).
There was the Girl who (inevitably) drank too much cheap white wine and was rude. She was Against Gap, and Next. The time we all went to Beckenham (never again, so so far). The fact that Lisa was an American, and thus started the Second World War (personally I never quite understood this one), the Girl (who later turned lesbian) whose Boyfriend wore her knickers to play football, cycling in the air, falling in bushes, missing the tube and late night cabs, and finally for Lisa Exposure on the Tube.
School bookclub, re-starting on Thursday has a lot to live up to. Last month I'm not even sure we got on to how we all met our first partners, let alone, who else might wear our pants.