How many people are in a group?

In a burst of community-mindedness a couple of weeks ago, I had the idea of setting up a book club for the women who live near me. There are around eight hundred flats on the estate, and I felt sure that at least some of these tiny worlds would contain women who might want to meet up and discuss books. I had fantasies of six or seven of us convening in each other's flats on a bimonthly basis, drinking tea and wine and thrashing out the finer points of the latest Alice Sebold. Before you release the hounds, I'll hold my hands up and confess freely: yes, I was expecting to be one of the more literary among the gathering. The point of the exercise wasn't to critique Proust or make smug in-jokes about Goethe. I wanted to pique the interest of people who aren't normally motivated to read much, and the posters I put up were designed to reassure someone who might normally feel under-confident about such a thing. Potentially massively patronising and naive, I'll concede. But surely still a nice idea? I love books. Reading gives me a lot of pleasure. Why not spread the love?

I became aware that I may have got it wrong when I caught the eye of a lady who lives near me and told her I was off to stick posters around the estate. She looked a bit confused, understandably, so I walked over to her and explained that I was starting a book club. I proffered the poster. She smiled like an indulgent mother, and said, "Oh! Good!" nodding enthusiastically but clearly none the wiser what I was talking about. Despite having had frequent neighbourly hi-and-bye conversations over the months, I now became unsure whether or not she speaks English. "Ah well," I reassured myself. "There will be others." I switched on my iPod and trotted off to each of the stairwells, sticking posters up with Sellotape next to another one advertising a series of ten pilates classes for £75. My idea was free - surely I would be inundated with requests?

Almost immediately, I received an email from a lady who claimed to be interested, although she pointed out a typo in my poster and added the unrhetorical caveat, "I hope you're not planning on reading chicklit." Slightly deflated at her tone, I wrote back saying that I was happy to read whatever the majority chose, but that since it was just me and her at that point, I would let her know if others took the bait. A day later I received another email from a lovely sounding lady who was very positive about the idea. But that was two weeks ago. And since then: nada. The three of us have all agreed that we need more than three to be a Club, so for now, the idea is gathering dust on the shelf, and my poster is still stuck to the door of my stairwell, a bit bedraggled and sticking two metaphorical fingers up at me every time I get home, mocking me for trying to create some community spirit. I'm a bit disheartened but not nearly enough to give up altogether. Maybe a fresh round of posters is what's needed: a 'We've got three - but we need three more' type of encouragement. Or perhaps I should take the hint and accept that people aren't that fussed. As Interested Party Number One said when I told her I hadn't had anyone else get in touch: "they work, they have busy lives." I do the former, and I thought I had the latter. Ah well. On to the next adventure.

I HATE Boden.