Please Stop Stacking the Chairs Like That: A Letter From Behind the Village Hall Curtain

We are not the council. We are not the parish. We are eight volunteers, a bookkeeper called Jan and whoever remembered to buy the milk. We hold the keys to the village hall, which means we also hold the knowledge of where the fuse box is, which cupboard the good glasses live in and exactly how long the urn takes to boil. This is a love letter with a hoover attachment.

Six things we would quietly love you to stop

1. Stacking the chairs like a game of Jenga

The chairs stack in tens, on the trolley, with the seats facing the right way. If you can see air between the legs, it is wrong. If it wobbles when the door slams, it is wrong. If you have built a sculpture, please stop. It takes four minutes to do it properly and four seconds for it to fall on someone's foot.

2. Leaving the urn on

The urn is not a pet. It does not need to be kept warm overnight. It will boil dry, smell like a chemistry experiment and cost us a new urn. Switch it off at the wall. If you are last out, check it. If you are not sure, check it anyway.

3. Booking the room and not turning up

We know life happens. A child gets ill, a work thing runs late, the car will not start. But a no-show means the hall stays lit, the heating runs, and the next person who wanted that slot has already been told no. A text takes ten seconds. We will not be cross. We will be grateful.

4. Rearranging the furniture and leaving it rearranged

The piano is heavy and has a home. The long tables live against the wall. The small tables live on the trolley. If you move something, put it back. If you cannot remember where it went, take a photo before you move it. The next group is a toddler music class, not a removal firm.

5. Using the good glasses for glitter glue

We love a craft session. We do not love scraping dried PVA off the sherry glasses. There is a box marked 'craft' in the cupboard. Use it. The good glasses are for the wine and wisdom night, and they are the only thing we own that matches.

6. Letting yourself in with the code and forgetting to lock up

The key code is a secret, not a personality trait. If you are last out, the door should click. The lights should be off. The bins should be out if it is bin day. And the alarm should be set. If you do not know how to set the alarm, ask. We will show you. We would much rather show you than drive over at eleven at night because the hall is beeping.

Three things we desperately need you to start

1. Come to the AGM

This is the least intimidating meeting in Britain. It is forty-five minutes long. There are biscuits. There is no jargon. You can leave after item three if you need to. We are not looking for a treasurer with a forensic accounting background. We are looking for someone who can say yes to the quiz night and mean it.

2. Learn where the fuse box, stopcock and first aid kit are

They are all in the kitchen, on the wall by the door, behind the teatowel that someone embroidered in 1998. If the power goes, you do not need to call Jan. You need a torch and a small amount of confidence. Ask us for a five-minute tour before your booking. We will be delighted.

3. Join the key-holder rota, or just put the chairs back

The hall runs on a rota of people who can open up, lock up and reset the alarm. You do not have to be on the committee. You just have to be reachable once a month. And if you are not ready for that, put the chairs back properly. That is also a form of community service.

The least intimidating meeting in Britain

Our next AGM is on Thursday 26 November at 7.30pm. There will be tea, there will be a plate of something, and there will be a short, honest conversation about the heating. You do not have to volunteer for anything. You do not have to speak. You can come, sit at the back, eat a biscuit and leave knowing where the fuse box is. That is the whole ask.

We love this hall. We love that it smells faintly of floor polish and old coffee. We love that the same chairs have held birthday parties, jumble sales, council meetings and a surprisingly competitive yoga class. We just want it to survive us. So please, stack the chairs properly. And come to the AGM. We will save you a biscuit.