Seven tribes of the Women's Institute Raven joined for the pole-dancing and has taught the others to weld their own belly-button rings. Scarlett is leading a ukelele workshop, while Tallulah is taking a 5am "guerilla group" out to an Essex car boot sale, where you can bag, like, genuine G-Plan. Meetings are pop-up, usually above an art space, or a bar called Aluminium with Macedonian bar staff. The girls drink imported bottled beer, wear floral Doc Martins, and all secretly fancy James Blunt. Ms Marple Pauline never misses a thing. Monthly meetings at the WI are just one of her opportunities to trade local knowledge (she also sits on the parish council, volunteers at the library, and dominates the lounge bar at The Red Lion). Neighbours divorcing, shops selling up, planning permission applied for - she is In The Know. The local police constable uses the theme from Jaws as a ringtone for Pauline's mobile, so when she calls with "information" he can press "Ignore." The Young Fogeyette Alison worships Kirstie (Allsopp, of course). She, too, likes an A-Line skirt, dressed up with a necklace of varnished pasta shapes and acorns. When it's her turn to host meetings, members drink tea from unfired pottery painted with spots - "just like Emma Bridgewater's!" - and struggle to find a seat amongst the scatter cushions. The older ones sneak outside into the courtyard garden for crafty ciggies. The next day Alison finds their fag ends stuffed in her Lakeland lavender and rosemary patio planter, and blames next door's builders. The Fallback Heather used to live in London and work in the Home Office. She was hoping to meet a back-bench MP, or failing that, someone in Pensions. But tired of canteen lunches for one, she's moved back to care for Mother in Kent. Mother doesn't want to be cared for, and sends away her depressing daughter to meetings - where Heather sits in a corner smiling brightly and eating egg mayonnaise from Tupperware, waiting for her new life to begin. The Coffee-time Campaigner Sylvia is having none of it. Teachers? Underqualified. Midwives? A shortage. The courts? Don't get her started. Councillors? Apart from her husband Bernard of course. Estate agents? Beyond the pale. At meetings, "Any Other Business" is dominated by Sylvia's calls to change the world - from pollution in Peru to the one-way system in Stroud. "We must put down a Resolution for Conference," she cries. Her bra, however, will not be burnt; it's Rigby & Peller. The Artiste Gloria is boho-tastic. She is never dressed in anything less than a swirl of vibrant-coloured silk, printed with batik, or blocks, or hand-painted in Mexico. Her long silver hair is twirled effortlessly in a chignon with a single chopstick. Judi Dench is her cousin's best friend, and Gloria was in Expressive Dance for many years. Her watercolours, macramé and stained glass designs always win first prize at the Wirral County Show. "They are too, too precious to sell," says Gloria. But I always send Judi some knitted coasters for Christmas. She adores them, because she too is an artiste.