An old music hall saying, never so true, while working in Leicestershire for Severn Trent Water. At the time, a proud information officer, having clocked up hundreds of talks to all manner of local groups, so the routine of preparation was tried and tested.

On this occasion a scheduled talk to a Women’s Institute in a tiny village in the Leicestershire Wolds on a dark, cold, and rainy, November evening. 

My trusty, heavy 16 mm projector and awkward, independently minded, projector screen loaded in the car; clean white shirt donned, tie straightened, and off we go. 

Travelling to the remote village in the Leicestershire Wolds was a nightmare. Poor location details, no Sat Nav, no streetlights, horizontal sheeting rain.

Peering frantically through full-on wipers and main beam headlights at bent-over village signs. I eventually located the village and then the village hall with welcoming lights beckoning and floodlighting the lashing rain.

I pulled into the gravel car park. Made it! Checked the watch - 30 minutes early - perfect. Time to get a heavy-duty projector and wayward screen set up, and share introductory pleasantries with the Secretary on foul weather, when to speak, allotted time, Jerusalem, etc.

Quick dash indoors. Polite shouts of hello as I entered the building but, as per usual, no reply. Absolutely normal and expected.

Those already in the building are the worker-bee volunteers in the back room, making sandwiches, jam and cream scones, cranking up the tea urn for the interval break when I will be asked to judge a one-night-only members competition of object d’art.

This might be ladies' evening handbags, pastoral paintings, or bakery offerings. Diplomacy skills are absolutely essential.                              

By now I had erected a projector screen at the far end of the main hall room, whilst avoiding the usual hernia threat when lifting a heavy 16 mm projector onto to stand at the other end.

Now in the process of looping film and adjusting the image to the actual screen size. It was at this point that I became aware of being watched. Someone had quietly entered the main hall behind me. 

“Hello,” I said continuing to look forward, squinting, to get the projector image to focus on the screen. No reply…                                                                   

“Hello,” I repeated, “I'm Alan Smith from Severn Trent Water.” At that point from the corner of my squinting eye, I could not help noticing that the male individual was in a dressing gown and full ankle-length pyjama bottoms.

It was not an everyday outfit that a potential audience member would wear for a riveting speech about the water cycle, but bear in mind that it was a village hall, and all manner of different events overlap, and he could have been rehearsing for the local Christmas play. 

In fact, he looked remarkably like Noel Coward. 

“Yes?” he said questioningly.

“So sorry,” I said breaking off from my projector preparation.  Turning around, with one eye still squinting, and stepping forward to shake his hand, I continued, “I’m Alan Smith and the speaker booked for tonight to talk about the water cycle.

Not impressed he said vigorously, “You’re in my house.” 

At that exact moment, the projector which I had left running boomed out the music and opening titles of “Water for Life” (the main feature). Somewhat clumsily I shouted over the noisy soundtrack, “Is this not the village hall?”

“NO, it is not the village hall, it’s my house,” he reiterated, “and I was just going to bed!”

Humiliated and embarrassed I switched off the projector, humbly apologized and gathered my props as quickly as possible. 

Mr Coward went on to explain that the village hall was a further 200 yards down the village's main street. Amazingly he did manage a smile even though by my actions, I had unwittingly suggested that his expensively renovated ex-school house looked like a village hall.

Driving home that night I recollected that I had addressed many audiences where I was aware that several had nodded off during my animated speaking presentation, but it was the first time that someone had attempted to go to bed before I had started.     

Moral of the story? Never assume the obvious. It might not be.