When it's my turn to do the charity stall I have to psych myself up for days. It's a ghastly job - I dread it - standing out there in the full glare of the public, right on the cutting edge of public disdain. OUCH!

Still, someone has to do it - fund-raise, I mean - or there'd be no cancer research, and no guide dogs, either. But why does that someone have to be me? And why is it always my turn when it's the local village fete?

For it is at the Summer Fete that the charity stall is at its most deadly, carefully camouflaged between the Cake Stall and the White Elephant Stall. We try to position ourselves by the most popular tables - but it's no good.

No matter where we pitch our table, we always get the same kind of response. People shudder and hurry away as though we're selling ampoules of cholera. Yet, strangely, they're happy to spend half the day - and all their cash - throwing darts at balloons.

Ah, but that's fun, isn't it? And, damn it, it's a fine summer's day. Too fine to care about worthy causes like earthquakes, or the demise of the white rhinoceros.

And so they pass on by, oblivious to our presence.
We call them the Passing Persons.

Along they walk, scanning all the tables. Then they glimpse us out of the corner of their eye, and think; 'Oops! Charity stall!"
And take immediate evasive action.

This can vary from a polite walk past to more dramatic methods. There are as follows;

No 1: The Road Crosser
This one's a forward planner. Noticing you from way back, they saunter across the road with plenty of time to spare and pass you on the other side, often with a smile or a little wave.

No 2: The Wide Berth
His mind is on other things until he sees you at the last moment and overreacts, suddenly swerving out and away from the table as if his legs have become compasses describing a very wide arc. If the stall is positioned by a door, he then has to double back on himself to get through it.

No 3: Eyes Dreamily Fixed on a Distant Point
This is always a man. He thinks that if he doesn't look at you, you won't really be there. This is a variant of the more common male practice of thinking that if he doesn't listen to you, you won't really be there. Neither work.

No 4: The Blunt Denial
"Hello," you say politely, "Would you like to look at our stall?"
"NO."

No 5: The Furtives
Past the stall they slink, with guilty sidelong glances. They're burning with curiosity, they're dying to look. But they're so frightened of getting caught. Eek! If you speak to them they give a terrified squeak and scuttle off.

No 6: The Husband and Wife Team
Husband attempts to hurry past but is held back by wife who is very interested. As she has husband by the arm, some subtle tugging goes on.
"Oh, look, Ern. What do you think of this?"
Silence.
"It'd be nice for Margaret's birthday."
Silence. Then a muttered Come ON.
"Oh Ern, its only two quid…"
Husband breaks away from wife and storms off. Wife shrugs, says "Sorry" and hurries after him.

Last week we put up our table at a local fete on the village green. All the old favourites were there - the coconut shy, the bouncy castle. The poor old village donkey was flogging it round the perimeter, and everyone passed each other (and us) with smiling faces.

It was a glorious day. We stood and watched the spectacle…the flapping awnings, the luminous green grass. Trade was so brisk that the Bun stall was sold out by 11am. And there, over in the far corner, we could see the Tombola - or - as we prefer to call it - the Chap's Stall - swarming with tubby middle-aged men hoping to win a bottle of wine. After that they disappeared into the beer tent for the rest of the afternoon.

I tell you, once you've been subjected to the Passing Persons treatment - you're changed forever. You get too much insight and can no longer behave churlishly. So nowadays when I see a charity stall, I'm compelled to approach.

Partly out of empathy. But also because anyone who's prepared to stand outside in all weathers, unpaid, is worthy of respect. In this world of self, self, self - it's heartening to know there are still people who care.