BonJour !

Well, I've just returned from a well earned break in France.
I decided to visit some of the D-Day invasion beaches as my father had told me about his exploits as the Allied forces headed inland.
I must say that the beaches today are very nice, peaceful and look very inviting whereas back then it was a different matter.
I remember father telling me how after the heavy naval bombardment had started at around 7am on the morning of Operation Overlord, his batman had woken him and said that he should maybe go for breakfast a bit earlier as there would probably be a lot of people milling about the ship later in the morning.
The first landing craft went ashore a few minutes later and after breakfast, father and a few of his chums decided to go and see what all the fuss was about.
Apparently, they managed to hitch a ride on a little naval craft which had no rest lounge or buffet and was apparently carrying tanks ashore. Anyway, father reckoned that the beaches were crowded by the time they arrived and that as usual, the Germans had grabbed the best bits of beach much earlier that morning by putting barbed wire, mines and anti-tank guns in the way.
Typical.
He said that it was very noisy and his chums had to wait until the Engineers had cleared a path up the beach before they could find a little cafe to enjoy some local hospitality.
However, before they could find a table, some grumpy German decided to fire an 88mm High explosive round through the cafe (probably because the Canadian Infantry had chucked all his barbed wire off the beach) so they had to wait until mid afternoon until the mayor of the local town gave them a bottle of wine. Apparently it wasn't a bad little number but the glasses were rather dirty.
Not much has changed to this day.

After visiting the beaches, I decided to have a look round a local village market. Once there I found a little French chappie selling cheese. I tried a bit and as nice as it was, it was no Stilton. I pointed out that he should come to England as I was sure people would be only too pleased to teach him how to make proper cheese but he didn't seem too keen and suddenly became very red and started to cough and splutter.
Maybe he had a dairy intolerance ?
Anyway, I found a little bakery in town and bought some bread which was lovely. The problem was, when I went to finish it off later that afternoon, it had turned from bread into a lump of seasoned Elm.
I'll bring a nice loaf of Hovis next time.

By the time I'd booked into my hotel, Raggy had caught up and brought all my luggage. He seemed a little tearful and I asked if it was because of visiting the invasion beaches and if it brought the memories flooding back but he said he hadn't been part of the invasion but his youngest son had.
Raggy had stayed at home in England like most of the First World War veterans due to their age.
The food in the hotel was very nice and the wine was good. The waiter got in a little bit of a strop when I asked for a crisp German white wine but he soon calmed down and brought a nice little number called something like 'Nonne Bleue'. It was expensive but well worth it.
It pays to know your wines when abroad....

Welsh rabbit

Well Richard, my chef, has settled in very well and I am really enjoying the food which he is cooking.
The only meal I was a bit dubious about was his Lamb tikka massala which although tasting very nice, gave me a dose of the squits which made the pan of the toilet look as though a pheasant had exploded in it.
Now, his flatmate came along with him the other day to see about the house cleaning job. I must say that I was pleasantly surprised as she was a rather pretty little thing, probably in her mid twenties and very friendly.
Unfortunately she is Welsh.
Anyway, despite that, she was very nice and I was happy to give her the job. Maybe in time she will learn to cope with an indoor lavatory and not having to wear a waterproof jacket day and night and I will learn to understand what she is saying. Richard say's that she is actually speaking in English but I'm not so sure...

Early days yet but it would seem that I once more have a decent set of staff.
I'll just have to try and persuade Raggy to restrain himself from placing the stuffed animals everywhere.
The other day I thought one of the dogs had shat a furry turd on the carpet but it turns out that it was a stuffed weasel that Raggy thought would look 'interesting' in the corner of the lounge.
The night before last I caught sight of another stuffed animal in the study. As I bent down and went to pick up the stuffed giant snail, I realised too late as it oozed through my fingers that it was infact a fresh barkers egg, layed by my poxy dog...
Dirty little bleeder.

Pilly received a complaint about a month ago from a women's lib group about an advert that he had placed in a womans magazine advertising his 'laytex pleasure products'. The complaint was along the lines of it being "derogatory to modern women" and having "no place in today's Britain".
Pilly replied to them asking what they found so offensive and invited them to come along to his little rural factory to discuss the matter. He in return got a very short reply from the chairwoman of the group saying that she would indeed be visiting him along with her colleagues and tell him exactly what they thought of people like him who were "holding women back from their rightful place in an equal society".
Apparently they turned up full of anger and venom but once Pilly showed them what it was his company made and how the products worked, the women left half an hour later with their minds set at rest and having spent over £300 on a variety of novelty latex products....

Food, glorious food

So Monday arrived and Richard, my new cook or 'chef' to give him his proper title turned up and got himself settled in to the kitchen.
He soon found where everything was and then asked what I would like for my dinner that night. I told him that I would leave it to him so he said that he would do me a cut of suckling pig on the bone with a puree of potato accompanied by haricot vert and a bramley juis.
To be honest I didn't like the sound of it much but I was relieved to see that he obviously couldn't get the ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to do because instead  he did me Pork chops, mash and green beans with apple sauce.
Nice.

Kipper has been busy in the garden and has planted more tomato plants in the greenhouse which he has once more kitted out with the reflective sheets and electric heat lamps to give them their best chance of survival.
I asked if the old heat lamps were running okay on his crystallised meths and he gave me a strange look as if he didn't understand before muttering that yes, they were running fine.
I wonder if he is overdoing it again and growing tired ? His nose is always red and he keeps nervously scratching and itching his face.
I hope he doesn't crack.

I might go for a quick pint down The Bull tonight for a grin because apparently a group of young women have been going in for a few drinks just lately and Col has been sniffing around and trying his charms on them.
They reckon on Wednesday he kept buying them drinks all night and he thought he had struck lucky with one of them when she leaned over and put her head between his legs. However, she then burped, groaned and threw up in his lap but luckily most of the sick ran off as Col had a bit of a Billy Smarts Big Top occurring in his trousers.
Apparently it didn't deter him and he was seen helping the semi-conscious wench into his car after last orders.
Well, the hungry must be fed...

Rug munching rug cleaner ?

I have been away on business and have to say that I'm glad to be back. I have spent a few days in London staying with an old friend who wanted me to invest in his new business venture. He is a mutual friend of the guy I had dinner with the other week and wanted my opinion on a couple of new ideas he had. He wants to get into entertainment and leisure and has bought a night club in Surrey. He reckons that already business is good and so we went to visit the club and it was indeed very busy and looked as if it was doing well. However, he then said that his latest venture was up my way, in town and that he had a business partner who owned the property that he wanted to change to a casino....
I knew straight away what that meant and I was having nothing to do with it so I thanked him for his hospitality wished him good luck and headed back for home.
He is going to to need all the luck he can get if he goes into business with the Silver Fox.
Mind you, say what you like, a casino and strip club will certainly be a welcome attraction in town as all we have currently are a couple of manky bars and a knocking shop run by an eastern European woman who also owns the local hand car-wash.
The only thing that both her places offer is a soapy bucket and a hand finish...

So, I came home and decided to ring the number on the advert for the cook and cleaner. Imagine my surprise when a man answered and said he had placed the advert. At first I thought it was a wind-up but he assured me it was genuine and so rather hesitantly I asked him to come to the Hall for a chat.
He arrived about an hour later and introduced himself as Richard. He then went on to explain that he was a trainee chef and wanted the experience and money to help with his education and career. I asked about the cleaning and he then told me that his flat-mate did the cleaning side of the business and that she would be only too happy to do my cleaning.
'She' would be happy to do my cleaning.... I was then wondering what 'she' looked like.
Was she a curvy, sassy blonde ? Or maybe a leggy brunette ? Chances were that she would be a butch lesbian built like a bullock.
What is it with lesbians ? If they hate men so much, why the hell do they always try to look like one ?
Anyway, Richard seemed okay and assured me he could cook all the classic recipes. He should start next Monday.
Just have to wait and see what his flat-mate turns out to be.

My gardener, Kipper, has been busy in the shed again so I assume he has been potting more plants. He must still be expecting a frost at night as he is going to keep the shed warm. I hope he is careful with the heaters. They are the old paraffin wick heaters and have been there for years. Well, I assume he is using them as he muttered something about using meths. However it should be a bit safer as I think he said that the meths were in crystal form.
Should stop any dangerous spillages.

St. Lucia or Saxthorpe ?

Lumpkin appeared the other afternoon as if he had just nipped out for some milk and was full of the joys of spring. Apparently he and his fiance had been away in Italy. He told me all about the wonderful food they had eaten while over there and I started to feel hungry and wanted to tell him about my culinary disposition but thought better of it as it only made me more hungry.
He said they had been discussing venues for the wedding and that his fiance wanted to get married in a little beach chapel in St. Lucia but that he wanted to get wed in the church in Saxthorpe where he grew up. She then pointed out that as her father would be paying for everything, she thought it only fair that she chose the venue and also who was invited.
I couldn't help thinking that Lumpkin may well be on a hiding to nothing with this old bird but said nothing to him, after all he seems happy and he is obviously getting a spoon-full of delights.

Wednesday evening saw me attending a dinner party at an old friends house. I hadn't seen him for a year or two and it was good to catch up. It was also nice to sit down to some decent food and relax a bit. We sat after dinner when the women had retired to the sitting room and chatted about what we had been up to and things that had gone on recently. He then told me that he had bought and sold a bit of property and that he had just sold an old wine bar in town which he bought from the previous owner who was unable to pay the mortgage and the new chap wants to turn it into a lap dancing club and casino...
I asked who the chap was but he said he was dealing through solicitors but I was sure that it was indeed the Silver Fox.
So, he was back.
Well, as long as he stayed in town, it wouldn't matter but I thought I would let the Bishop know when I got the chance.

Last night saw me in The Bull for a pint and I ended up chatting to Hilly and a few others. He was telling me how his wife had now stopped having sex with him and so I said that it was a pity but Hilly said no, it was great - he could now exercise his calf muscles on a regular basis in the bathroom without having to 'attend to the old dragon' as he put it.
Takes all sorts I suppose.
Pilly bought me a pint and was telling me that Internet sales of his Adult toys or 'rubber bollards' as he calls them have soared. He has just bought a new injection moulding machine to keep up with production and to lower his overheads. He said that on the whole, things were going up and up and I suspect he didn't just mean his material costs...
The night ended with Dusty bent over the bar trying to suck the drip-trays dry with a straw. All that happened was that he got wedged between the Wherry and the Old Speckled hen pumps, tried to wriggle free but ended up spraying his own head with Diet Coke. He then laughed, hicupped, farted and made the taxi driver, who was waiting to take Hilly home, wretch and throw up over the juke box.
Apparently Dusty was still asleep on the bar when they locked up.
So, another week gone by with only one decent meal to speak of, the rest mainly being take-aways and soup. However, I saw an advert in the paper shop the other morning which was offering domestic services, cooking and cleaning etc so I might give it a call later. You never know, it might be some tasty young piece who is looking for some extra income and will brighten up the place with her charm.
More than likely be some manky old biffer who enjoys sniffing through peoples pant drawers...

Valentino Rossi eat your heart out

It's been a strange week. The Bishop called round for a small sherry which meant he was angling for something. Turns out that he had got wind that the Silver Fox may have returned and was asking if I knew anything. I told him that I had heard the rumours but had found out very little. It seemed to ease his mind a bit but he still would not say what it was that was bothering him either way. I still think he owes the Fox some money, for what, I have no idea.
He then went on to ask if I had seen much of Dylan and if I thought she would be likely to attend one of his parish dinners if he invited her. Basically the parish dinners are a piss-up paid for by the church under the pretence of  'forging village relations'.
Last time it saw the butcher punching the local planning officer and the Bishop half naked, wearing the bread bin on his head and his Mitre full of crusty rolls.
Nobody ate the french stick.

Raggy is back at work and looks a lot better - well, he looks better than he did before but still looks like he has been dug up. Mrs Burroughs is apparently still under the weather and her husband reckons he may take her away for a break to get her strength back. He ought to take me away with them so I can get my bloody strength back - I need some proper food and fast ! The other night I ordered a pizza and nearly an hour later I heard what sounded like a leaf-blower coming up the drive. I then heard a loud scraping noise followed by a 'bang!'
I opened the front door and saw a moped in my geranium bed and a body slumped over my ornamental fountain. The body suddenly got up, went across to the moped, extracted it from the flower bed and put it up on its stand and opened the box on the back and walked over to me. I asked if he was alright and he said "Yeh, fine mister, I just came too wide and got caught in your gravel trap"
I looked around and said "Gravel trap ? My entire front drive is gravel, what did you expect ?"
"Yeh, I know, you want to get some more tarmac down cos' its a deff trap innit"
He then handed me a warm paper parcel and asked for six pounds so I gave him a tenner as I was still looking around at what on earth possessed him to come round the drive as if he was at Mallory Park.
He reached into his pocket for the change and I told him to keep it, still trying to figure out what he had done. "Nice one ! Enjoy your kebab !". I just nodded and was still trying to work out what he had done to end up sprawled across the front of the house when he got back on his moped, revved up and sped off back down the drive, his tail light hanging off and the lid of his box flapping like a shit-house door in a storm. I turned to go back inside when down the drive I heard the moped rev wildly, followed by a loud metallic rumble and a 'bang!' and then "Aww F*ck !" then straight away the moped started once more and sped off into the night.
It occurred to me that he must have come off as he went over the cattle grid.
I got back inside and went into the kitchen and sat at the table. It then struck me what he had said as I opened the paper parcel and saw not a pizza but a kebab. I groaned as I saw the gaping pitta bread with all the meat hanging out the sides, covered in greasy juice and my mind flashed back to that girl I knew in Hatfield and my hunger suddenly disappeared....

Kipper has returned to work. I opened the window the other morning and saw him trimming the hedge.
I went out and asked how he was and he said he was fine and had just needed a few days to clear his head. He must have had a blocked nose and sore throat as he muttered something about being coked up.
I asked how the tomatoes were doing but he said they had died but he would be planting some more. I asked if it was the frost that had killed them and he said more than likely. I asked if he would compost the dead plants and he replied that he had already burnt them.
Apparently his friends from the nursery are getting him some more seeds. Personally I would have gone for more plants rather than seeds but I'm sure he knows what he's doing. I asked when he would be re-planting and he said as soon as his nursery friends get back as they are away on holiday at the moment in Amsterdam.
I bet they've gone to visit the Anne Frank museum.

Press your red button now

My staff seem to be dropping like flies at the moment. First Mrs Burroughs gets the flu from which she is still suffering, then Kipper disappears off the face of the earth. Nobody has seen him for days.
Then, to cap it off, the crowning turd in the water-pipe, Raggy, my Domesday butler has taken ill. An old guy came to the Hall the other afternoon and introduced himself as Raggy's son. He must have been 65 if not more. Anyway, he told me that his father apologises but will need a couple of days off to rest as he is not feeling all that well. I said it was fine and to pass on my best wishes.
To be totally honest, I don't need him but he seems so happy tottering around here, dusting, cleaning, putting bloody stuffed Hedgehog's in the bathroom.
Raggy wasn't too clever the other afternoon before he left off come to think of it. I heard him drop the dustpan and went to see if he was alright and found him in a bit of a flap as he had snagged the line from his piss-sack on the tail of a stuffed Muntjac and he stood there looking like a garden sprinkler with the contents of his bladder-bottle spraying all over the tiled floor.
I wanted to ask if he was okay but had to walk away before I started to laugh.
Harsh, I know but you should have seen him - he looked like a urine Vesuvius.

I had a bit of a result the other evening when a rather lovely little sort from the hunt asked if I fancied a night out with her as she wanted some company for the evening and that it would be good to catch up.
We went a little further afield and ended up in a Thai restaurant. I have to say that for me it was a bit of a new experience but one that I rather enjoyed. Mind you, with my current dining situation, anything makes a change from dining with Colonel Sanders.
The waitress asked if I would like rice with my meal so I said yes. She then asked what sort of rice I wanted and so I replied "pudding".
She just shook her head.

After another meal with The Colonel the other evening, I couldn't be bothered to go out so I put the telly on in the drawing room. It was fairly late and there seemed to be a good few Casino and gambling programs on. You had to ring in your credit card details and then you could join in via your remote control or something similar.
Anyway, I flicked through a few channels and found one where they showed you various items and you had to guess the price as it decreased and would eventually stop. I was fairly good at it and guessed the price several times so I thought I might be able to win a pound or two so rang in, gave my card details and played on. I did rather well and guessed the price just before it ended time and time again.
Yesterday I had a pallet arrive on a lorry which I had no idea what it contained. I signed for it and then decided to see what on earth it was. I opened the boxes and they contained all sorts of stuff - a woolly hat, a plastic tulip in a pot, some designer sunglasses, a woman's sheepskin coat, a set of fondue forks, an electric cheese grater, a pair of suede children's slippers, a battery powered egg-whisk and a sump for a Mk.3 Cortina.
Turns out the other night it wasn't one of those casino programs after all.
It was f*cking QVC....

Finger lickin' good

My gardener, Kipper, hasn't been in to work for three days now. It's not unusual for him to have time off as and when while he waits for the ground to warm up but he has been so active lately with his tomatoes in the greenhouse that it seems strange that he has left them unattended. I might ring him later to check he is alright. The last time I saw him was when he left off and was riding down the drive on his bike with what looked a big bag of leaf clippings.

Despite several calls to various people in the know, I have yet to get definitive proof that the Silver Fox has returned. One source said there was no way he would ever come back round these parts as he upset a lot of people the last time, another said he had heard the Fox was living in Spain and another said he heard he was running a hand car-wash near Scunthorpe. I'm still not convinced but I'm going to wait until I am sure before I mention anything to the Bishop.
The one thing I do know however is that the premises that Pilly said the Silver Fox was going to turn into a casino and lap-dancing club has indeed had an application for change of use put on it.
There's no smoke without fire, especially if you owe the Fox money and he sets your car alight.

My dining situation is looking distinctly bleak. Mrs Burroughs is still ill apparently and I am getting sick of eating soup every evening. Raggy, my care in the community butler offered to cook for me the other night as he had apparently found a wonderful pheasant outside the Hall gates which had been run over by a car. He showed me this 'wonderful pheasant' and I was immediately struck that I was going to end up with 'entrail and gut casserole'. I declined his generous offer and told him to take it home and enjoy it himself to which he replied "Oh no Sir, I wouldn't eat that old crap".

My gamekeeper has taken a fortnight off for his annual holiday and left strict instructions that none of the beaters are to do any pigeon shooting until he returns. Personally I don't see what all the fuss is about when it comes to shooting pigeons. It always bored me senseless sitting still for hours on end in a makeshift hide, not showing your face "in case they see the white of your face and fly away"
If they were that clever they wouldn't fly in towards a plastic pigeon going round and round on a battery powered washing line.
Anyway, apparently its what the beaters look forward to - sitting behind some scrim-net all day, freezing cold while they can watch some pigeons two miles away on some land that they don't have access to. Mind you, I could maybe cook a pigeon for tea. Having said that, there's not a lot to a pigeon, it's mainly a couple of hard little bits of breast meat that taste like Pedigree chum.
I suppose you could quite easily live off the land if you had to. There used to be a woman in the village who was 'in touch with nature'. She used to grow all her own veg, ate the berries of the trees and hedges, didn't eat meat, only wore natural fibre clothes, never washed her hair as apparently the grease and shyte helped it to wash itself... and only bathed in cold water when she had to.
Hell, I bet she stank.
She had arm-pit hair like an old coypu's arse.
No, you can stick your manky pigeons and hedge-monkey scavenging, until I can find another cook I shall dine out with an old military friend.
Colonel Sanders, here I come.

The return of the Silver Fox

I got back to the Hall fairly late the other evening and just got inside when the phone rang. Turns out that it was Mrs Burroughs husband who was ringing to say that his wife was ill with the flu and that she would be unable to come and cook for the next few days. He apologised but I said that it wasn't a problem and that she should rest and come back when she has fully recovered and he said that he was touched that I was so understanding.
The last thing I want is her sneezing and drooling in my mash.

So, I am having to fend for myself and cook my evening meals. It can't be that hard I thought but the other night saw me with a plateful of hard hot potatoes, some cabbage which looked like mongoose snot and some sausages which looked like charcoal briquettes. I therefore decided something had to be done. I considered having a kebab but the thought of all that meat hanging out, covered in greasy juice always reminds me of a girl I once knew from Hatfield.
I thought the best thing to do was to drive in to town and see what was on offer. I parked up and had a walk around and saw a couple of restaurants, one Italian and one Japanese. The Japanese one was beside the train station and it occurred to me that our old boys must have come much further with that Burma railway than we first thought...
I decided to go in the Italian and got a table and ended up having some very nice pasta and chicken in a creamy sauce (it was called 'Chicken Carburetter' or similar).
However, until Mrs Burroughs returns, I will have to find a replacement for her. I half thought of asking Dylan if she fancied earning a few extra pennies but I'm not sure how she would see me asking her to cook my evening meals, it might come across a bit patronising although she would certainly brighten the place up with her charm. I suppose I could just eat out each night but it's a bit of a bother and I don't know whether I would want pasta every night and the Japanese place looked as though you sat at bamboo benches with palm-frond place mats rather than at tables which to me would be like eating your dinner on the set of Tenko.

Now that the snow has gone and the bulbs are starting to push through the lawn, I thought it would be good to start thinking where I want to go on holiday this year so the other evening just after tea (well, a tin of soup and I even managed to spill that all over the stove) I had a quick look online and did a google search for somewhere hot, somewhere like the British Virgin Islands in the Caribbean which I hear is great so I typed in "hot virgins".
It was gone midnight by the time I had come off the first site and managed to find Thomas Cook's web page...
I saw some nice resorts, most of which cater for the younger generation but there are some nice looking ones for those of 30 and above. One resort said its staff were all helpful and eager to please its guests and they offered a full range of activities including watersports in the price.
I've always had to pay extra for that.

I got a call yesterday evening from Pilly to ask me if I had heard the rumours that the Silver Fox had returned. He had been reported as having bought a bar in town and was going to turn it into a casino and lap dancing club. I said that I hadn't heard any such thing but would try and find out if it was true.
Just to explain, the Silver Fox is a northern chap who ran some clubs in town some years back. He is a tall fellow with a head of grey/silver hair and a temperament as grouchy as a snared fox, hence his nickname. Back in the day he ran a lot of scams and they say he had to disappear when a big consignment of imported tobacco got confiscated by the old bill. However, it seems that he has now broken cover and looks to be starting up a new venture in town.
I don't tend to go into town much as it is full of the things I dislike most - people.
Mind you, it will be interesting to see if the rumours are true because if they are then the Bishop might want to know as I seem to remember he owed the Silver Fox some money before he vanished and it won't be long before he comes knocking on the church door I suspect.
We'll soon know when the little collection plate gets swapped for a dustbin lid...

Dinner is served

My butler, Raggy, has seen fit to start ringing the dinner gong when every meal is ready. My grandfather insisted it was used back in his day as did my father but I have always found it unnecessary and a bit dated to be truthful. It's not like this is Downton Abbey and we have masses of servants and several generations of family living here - it's just me, my dogs and anyone who happens to pop in for a cup of tea and a chat. My cook, Mrs Burroughs only comes up once a day to hoover round, have a quick dust and then cook my evening meal. She knows that if I am not home when it is ready, she is to put it in the bottom of the Aga and I will eat it when I return. Raggy however now gives the gong a thump as soon as she plates the food up whether I am here or not. Apparently the other day she was just draining the potatoes when Raggy sets the dinner gong off and poor old Mrs Burroughs nearly has a fit, dropped the saucepan of spuds on the floor, startled the dog who was asleep and in turn jumped up and bit her on the arse, spun round and had a mud-out in the laundry basket and then scurried off and hid in the study.
Raggy then totters in to see what the noise was all about, sees Mrs Burroughs sat down rubbing her backside, looks at the spuds on the floor and the gret'ol turd on top of my shirts and rolls his eyes and remarks that she ought to clean the mess up rather than taking a break.
I'm glad she threw a spud at him and not the gret'ol barkers egg...

Lumpkin has been very quiet of late but is more than likely loved up and enjoying some time with that little old sort he is now engaged to. As always, it will be okay until the novelty for both of them wears off - it's just a matter of which one first.
Young Dylan dropped in yesterday and very kindly brought me a cake she had made.  I invited her in for a cup of tea and we tried the cake which I must say was excellent. She told me she was going away for the weekend to see some friends in London and asked if I would be so kind as to bring her washing in from the line if it looked like rain. I said that of course I would and then as I sat there, I wondered just how much the Bishop would be prepared to pay to get his grubby little hands on Dylan's undies but then I thought it was a rather perverse and calculating thought and I would do no such thing and the thought would not cross my mind ever again.
Probably.

The was a bit of excitement in the village earlier in the week when the village shop got broken into.
They say no cash was taken but the thief got away with 3 bottles of Imodium, a copy of Razzle, two packets of Wurthers Originals, a box of Jay cloths and a packet of Quorn mince. They don't have a clue as to who could have done it and are putting it down to opportunists but I reckon they should be looking for an over 65 vegetarian w*nker with dodgy guts.
Mind you, I'm not going to say anything as I would hate to see SO19 kick in the front door of old Mr Bailey as I'm not sure he's even a vegetarian and at 93, the shock from the frame charges blowing in his porch windows might cause the old boy to shit himself.
Having said that, if it was him then at least he could clean himself up with the Jay cloths...

Is this fete ?

The Valentines night extravaganza in The Bull went rather well and on the whole it was a fairly respectable and pleasant affair. Well, I say respectable, which it was up until the point the Bishop came in to bless all the St.Valentines couples, stayed for a couple of whiskey's, stayed for a couple more and ended up lifting the skirts of all the women who walked past him with his crosier. For those of you unfamiliar with a crosier, it is the long stick, a bit like a shepherds crook which is ideally suited for lifting skirts, twanging knicker elastic and at one point undoing a bra strap (A real talent I can assure you) He was eventually driven home by the verger but not before the Bishop had told him to go and give his wife "one up the vestry" which delighted many of the patrons in the pub and I think that church attendance may well increase on Sunday.

I had been looking for my pipe for a week or two now but couldn't find it anywhere. Yesterday I was taking a stroll with the dogs and bumped into Kipper, the gardener. In one hand he had a bag of what I assume was more aphid powder and in the other he had my pipe. I thanked him and asked him where he had found it but he wasn't really sure but I suspect he must have had a little try on it as it was still warm, bless him. He seemed very agitated and wouldn't keep still and kept shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting. I asked if anything was the matter but he said he was fine, in fact he repeated it several times and then walked off to his shed. Well, he actually jogged, then sprinted and then jogged again.
I think the poor fellow has been overdoing it and might need some time off to rest. His nose was all red as were his eyes.
Poor chap.

I received an email the other day from the village fete committee asking me if I would judge a class in this years village fete. They didn't elaborate as to which class I would judge but it will more than likely be the bloody marrow growing class or 'Best lawn mower in show'. I never get to judge the 18-30's beauty competition or 'Most Yummy Mummy' class. It's always our local MP, the crooked bastard, or the Bishop who ends up getting those. Still, it's a long way off yet and I might be able to have a word with someone. Come to think of it, I wonder if the Bishop would see that I got the Yummy Mummy class if I happened to mention about a certain set of photos ? I don't like to use blackmail to get what I want, well, actually I don't care but it's the principle of it all. Why should he get all the fun while I'm stood looking at odd shaped vegetables, most of who seem to be on the Parish Council.
Last years yummy mummy winner got sloshed on the bottle of champagne she won and ended up being led round the grand ring by a local dairy farmer who had spent all afternoon in the beer tent.
Her shirt popped open at one point and she came second in the Young Cow in Milk class.
She even got a rosette.

Love is in the air

So it's Valentine's Day, the day on which you declare your undying desires to the one you love and you might even send your wife a card also.
Lumpkin has bought his little sort, sorry, fiance, a pearl necklace, well, that's what he said she's getting this evening and I'm sure she'll be overcome with emotion or something similar.
He also got her a card from some website called 'Wanky-Partridge.com' or something. He designed it himself and he showed it to me and it's very nice, all hearts and roses with a picture of them together in the middle. He said she was worth the £2.99 it cost and said that my idea of sending her a Post-It note was 'not in the spirit of St. Valentines Day'.

Col is booked to play a set in The Bull tonight and they are expecting quite a crowd. He's going to do some special Valentine's night renditions such as 'Bat out of Hell', 'My Ding-A-Ling' and 'Annie, I'm not your daddy'. The menu also has a 'lover's theme' tonight with such delicacies as Toad in the Hole, Fudge Brownies and Fish Pie.
I'm taking sandwiches...
Hopefully they won't put on any of that 'Love Potion' ale that they brewed last year. It really was some foul old shyte - tasted almost as bad as Adnams. Mind you it was fairly strong and Hilly had a couple of pints and went home to have some 'Fantastic sex' as he put it. Apparently his wife went up to bed dressed in some sexy underwear after Hilly got in and went into the bedroom where she found Hilly with a stash of artistic grot pamphlets spread over the bed. She asked him if they were to heighten his sexual pleasure to which he replied "Yes, once you piss off into the spare room"
They were talking again by Easter.

It will be interesting to see if Pilly comes over for a pint. He was meant to be taking his good lady out for a meal at a very posh restaurant in town but he left it too late to book and couldn't get in so he went back home and said that he wanted them to rekindle the romance of when they first met so his missus asked if they were going away to the hotel where they stayed on their honeymoon and Pilly said no, he wanted to take her for a bag of chips and a grope behind the Spa shop.
If his back isn't too stiff from sleeping on the sofa, he might come down The Bull for a pint.

Ahh, love, ain't it marvellous ?

The Good Book

Yesterday I found myself in an unusual situation with the Bishop asking for my help. It seems he's now discovered Lumpkin has those photos of him and Mrs E in a compromising position.
He came up on the pretence of wanting to have a look at the Holy scriptures known as The Dilham Passages that are kept here at the Hall. He said he needed to produce a sermon for Sunday that talks of choosing the right path in ones life. I said I would have a look through the passages and see what I could come up with that would be suitable.
He then went on to say that while on the subject of choosing the right path, he knew that I knew that Lumpkin had some photos of him and Mrs E which were of a sensitive nature. I told him that I had no idea what he was on about and asked him to elaborate but he became uncomfortable and said that if it were the case that I didn't know then it was maybe for the best but the old sod knew I had seen the pictures. He then hinted that if the photos were to end up with him then he would ensure that a place in the Kingdom of Heaven would await me come judgement day. I then pointed out that unless he could also guarantee me an endless supply of topless women serving port and stilton, then I would be dealing with his competitor. He became uneasy and told me not to be frivolous in such matters but when I told him that if those photos came to light he might be joining me in 'warmer climes' he went bright red, made his excuses and left.

While looking for a suitable reading for the Bishop's sermon on Sunday, I was looking through some of the Dilham Passages and I must say they are a wondrous piece of work. They were written by the Holymen of Norfolk (God's chosen county) several hundred years ago. They are written often in a long lost dialect and tell of great tales from long ago. They also speak about the Yard of Truth which was a holy instrument used to dispense and distribute discipline and punishment on wrong-doers and people from Suffolk. The Yard of Truth was a righteous weapon which was as blue as the sky itself and measured exactly three feet long and had either an ash or hazel brotch or 'handle' at one end. It's use was often harsh and swift but righteous all the same. An example of it being implemented is written in a short extract known as 'The Tunstead Twot' which I have translated to bring it to a wider audience:

'And lo, it did come to pass that in the village of Tunstead there was a fule known as Cedric and it was said he was the idiot of the village. Cedric would get his ol todger owt and wave it at passing carriages and travellers and this would bring great excitement and pleasure to Cedric which was visible for all to see except on a cold day or if there was a wind-frost. One day a man on a horse was riding through the village and Cedric jumped off the gate on which he was sat and did get out his pecker and wave it at the passing stranger. The man did stop his horse and dismount and walked over to Cedric and spoke in a low growl "Hey boy, if I were yew I'd put that littul ol corey away afor yew get it knocked orf" but Cedric just laughed manically and did wave his pleasure pole at the stranger once more. The stranger did draw back his cloak and said "Rite yew littul turd, I hev warned yew and now yew'll feel the wrath of the Lord upon yew !" and from under his cloak he did draw an instrument of blue diviness like the bluest blue sky you have ever seen on a bright blue day when the sun is at its highest in the sky, not like when it is mid-afternoon just before tea-break and the sky is still blue and the sun is still quite warm but not as warm as it was when you had your ham roll and a scotch-egg at lunch time when the sky was very blue. The traveller did raise the Holy instrument above his head and brought it down hard across Cedrics giggle-stick and Cedric did let out a mighty howl and fell face down upon the ground. The traveller did then raise the Yard of Truth once more and then did strike Cedric across the knotter thrice speaking unto him "There yew go yew littul Coypu turd ! Hev some righteousness across thine arse yew gretol wang-waving nonce bucket !" and Cedric did  cry at each strike across the knotter and he did beg for mercy and promise never to show his joystick in public again. The Holyman did cease his punishment and put away the Yard of Truth and said "If I hear yew hev bin doin' it anymore, I'll be back to thrash your knotter until it looks like an exploded hedgehog" and he got back on his horse and rode off towards Dilham.
The people of the village were able to go about their business without being confronted by Cedric and his happy hampton and they did much rejoice and give thanks to the unknown traveller. They say Cedric could not sit down for a week for he did still have the arse of the baboon. Cedric never did display his pecker again and did go and get a job in the local peasant supplies shop known as Aldi.

And the Lord did Grin.'

Suicide Blonde

The first thing I knew was a loud 'Bang'! outside. I got up, grabbed my coat and ran to the front door.
When I opened it, I saw a Mercedes convertible across the drive at a funny angle and one of my stone planters on its side on the lawn. Beside the Merc stood Lumpkin, bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other. Before I had a chance to ask what the hell had gone on, he raised the bottle in a cheery salute and said "Well hello ! Fancy a little drink to celebrate ?"
I had no idea what he was on about and was unsure if I was angry about my planter and the Merc which had landed at the front of my house or intrigued as to what Lumpkin was celebrating.
"You'd better come in" I told him and I turned round and headed back indoors. I switched on the lights in the study, got two glasses and sat down. Lumpkin then rolls in with a grin like a buffoon and slumps into a chair and begins to tell all.
Apparently, the little sort from the smoke that he's been seeing has asked him to marry her - bit back to front, but still. He has said yes and they are now officially engaged. I must say that I didn't really know what to say but offered him my congratulations. Lumpkin reckons her father is some high-flying city type, board of directors, that sort of thing and has told his daughter that she must marry in order to gain access to her trust fund. She has therefore (and I know I'm being cynical but what else can I think ?) grabbed the first chap available and asked Lumpkin for his hand in marriage.

The one thing that I did learn last night (apart from Lumpkin being a tool) was that one of the local parish councillors was caught by Slider in the front room of the primary school teacher (It's a 'she' - I'd love to say it was a 'he' but I can't). Slider came out of the house next door and heard what he thought was a gunshot. He leapt over the fence into the back garden and through the patio doors could see councillor Bloombury, dressed in a clowns wig, a pair of massive clown shoes, red nose and a pair of rubber pants. The school teacher was in a tight leather catsuit and had a massive whip which she cracked across Bloombury's arse. I asked Lumpkin why he thought they had not drawn the curtains and he said that the garden only overlooked the wood at the back and no-one could really see in, except if you leapt over the fence as Slider had done.
He went on to say that the chance you might be discovered by someone leads to a heightened level of sexual excitement and pleasure at the point of shooting your bolt but I was not to quote him on that.

I told Lumpkin that he should stay over and that we could sort out his car in the morning. I then asked him just where he had got the car from in the first place and he said that the little sort had bought it for him as an engagement present.
The next morning I got up and went and had a look outside and in the light of day, there was no harm done except a small scuff on the corner of the Merc bumper and some soil spilt out of the planter.
After breakfast I went down into the village to post some letters and bumped into Slider as I came out of the Post Office. I told him that Lumpkin had mentioned to me about Bloomers and the school teacher and he gave a wry smile and said that apparently, this wasn't the first time Bloomers had been engaged in such activity. Last summer he had been admitted to A and E after having an accident whilst doing some home improvements. Slider reckons that it was definitely a 'DIY' accident and Bloomers was unable to account for the red marks around his throat and the bits of orange peel stuck in his teeth.

Actually, that's reminded me, I'm sure Lumpkin has my INXS album...

Pills and Powder

The pub was fairly quiet the other night and I didn't stay long. Slider came in for a whisky but said he had to go and check the guttering on Mrs Hooper's house. I pointed out that he should do it in the daytime as it would be far easier and safer but he replied her husband would be asleep during the day as he works nights.
Very considerate of the old boy I thought.
I finished my pint and went back to the Hall. I parked at the front as I knew I would be leaving early the next morning and so I went in the front entrance and through into the main hall and lobby. Bugger me if I didn't nearly shit myself as I went inside and turned on the lights and was met by the biggest snarling bastard of a badger I have ever seen ! I grabbed an umbrella from the stand but realised just in time that it was in fact a stuffed badger that my grandfather had shot and preserved for all to see.
Raggy, the butler had found where I had stashed all these poxy creatures and has continued to place them all over the house just as they were in my grandfathers day. I don't mind but it can be unnerving to say the least.
The night before I went up just after midnight, got into bed, turned on the reading lamp and was shocked to see a bloody Meerkat staring at me from the dressing table. I thought I was either dreaming, pissed, or had forgot to renew my car insurance.

I am told that due to his success the other night, Col has been asked back to The Bull to play another gig. Apparently he's looking at performing some new, more up to date songs to appeal to his new, younger audience. He's looking at covering such classics as 'Smack My Bitch Up' by the Prodigy and Electric Six's 'Gay Bar'. He's also meant to be doing a cover just for Pilly of Carter USM's 'Sheriff Fat-Man'.
However, he has been asked not to take any more little blue 'perfomance enhancing' pills as some members of the audience found it rather disturbing to see Col play his guitar and the keyboard at the same time.

Still no sign of Lumpkin which is all a bit odd. Having said that, I've just got a wonderful bottle of Taylor's 10 year old Tawny in so I'm rather enjoying it at my leisure as opposed to necking it to keep up with the old scrote. I wonder if he is seeing that little number from the smoke or if he's stoating around somewhere else where there's a bit of skirt ? Wherever he is at present, the ladies aren't safe, that's for sure. For the time being however, my bottle of port is.

Kipper, the gardener, has been busy in the old potting shed near the greenhouse. I asked him how the tomato plants were doing and he said they were fine but mustn't be disturbed under any circumstances so I was to keep away from the greenhouse. I must say he's really protective over his plants and I admire his enthusiasm. It's all rather refreshing as for years he has just trudged around the grounds, pulling the odd dandelion root, planting the occasional row of potato's and that's about it. His new gusto and vigour is certainly welcome. He has fitted a new door to the potting shed also which has been a job needing to be done for a while now. I'm not sure that a steel door is totally necessary but its good all the same. I was going to have a peep inside to see how he was doing but he said that it was extremely dangerous as he was cleaning up the old aphid and insecticide treatments, which would account for the white powder all over his jumper. His friends from the plant nursery were good enough to collect all the old bags of aphid powder and said that they would be able to sort out the good from the bad. I must say that it's quite a relief as getting rid of such chemicals these days is a nightmare and if they have a use for the old stuff, good luck to them as I wouldn't know what was good or what was bad and they obviously have a far better nose for such things.

Bit of a shock

It's all been rather quiet of late which I put down to the weather. The paperboy was late again and I am coming to the conclusion that he is concerned that he will see Slider's bike outside his front gate and so delays his departure until such time as he is sure the coast is clear. I don't think he has anything to worry about as his young lady is obviously smitten with him.
Still, he's got a few years before he has to start on the blue pills.

I had Raggy, my 'new' butler up here for a few hours yesterday. It's all rather amusing really. He spent a few hours dusting and moving stuff back where my grandfather had it and then found all the stuffed animals that grandfather used to have around the place and that I had put away in the old servants quarters. He dusted and wiped them all down and now the front lobby and entrance hall looks like Marwell bloody zoo. Still, it keeps him happy.
At one point I kept getting a whiff of something a bit like a dog kennel followed by a low hissing noise. I asked him if he could smell it and the old boy looked slightly embarrassed and said that his piss-sack was pressurising and that he should go and empty it before it went off like the header tank on a Vauxhall Viva.

Lumpkin never showed up the other night so I don't know what the latest is on the school teacher and the parish councillor. Still, at least it gave my bottle of Port a rest.
Young Dylan dropped in as she had no electric in the old stable block so I went over to check the fusebox.
Turned out it had tripped so nothing serious. She couldn't say what had drawn such a large amount of power to knock it out, however I did see one of Pilly's business cards on the side...
I still don't actually know her proper name and I refered to her as 'Dylan' a couple of times and she seemed okay with it. I bet Lumpkin would know her name, he seems to know everything that goes on around here. He has his fingers in a lot of pies does Lumpkin and other things besides.

I might draw along to The Bull this evening for a change. Apparently Hilly was in there the other night, drunk as a skunk and threatening to go home and strangle his wife who seems to have turned into Medusa. In the end he was calmed down by Dusty who said that it was no good getting irate as it would only make things worse. He told Hilly that he should go home and run his wife a nice, deep hot relaxing bath and let her settle into it with a nice glass of wine.
He should then plug every available electrical appliance into an extension lead and dump the lot in the bath with her.
I hope Hilly's fuse board is as sensitive as the one here...

You rang, M'Lord ?

Last night I was getting ready for supper when I heard the bell for the front door ring. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and saw none other than Ragwort, my fathers old butler ! I invited him straight in and showed him through to the study. As I fetched him a glass of Gin I asked him what he was doing in these parts as I assumed he had retired and was living in the sunny climes of Northamtonshire. He appeared a little confused but then said that he had been visiting the grave of his uncle who was a local man and died in the war - the one with the Boers.
Now, as far as I can remember, Ragwort had worked for my father and his father before him. Heaven alone knows how old he is now but he always used to tell me about when he was a lad and went to town to wave at the queen as she passed through. Apparently, Victoria was a small woman and not very pleasant.
I asked him how he had got here and he said that he had arrived in one of those horseless carriages so I assume he got a taxi. He said that he hoped I didn't mind him dropping in but he wanted to see the old place while he was in the area. I told him that it was lovely to see him and that he was always welcome here.
I asked how life had been treating him and he said that he had slowed down a bit in the last few years and that his legs weren't as good as once they were and that he had been in to hospital to have a piss-sack fitted to stop him constantly filling his shoes.
As we sat and chatted, he asked how I was getting on with the running of things on my own. I said I coped well enough and got various people in as and when I needed them to do jobs around the estate. He then asked was I in need of a butler ? I must admit that I was a little surprised and didn't really know how to respond but I asked if he knew of one. He then shocked me even more by saying that he was hoping to spend the summer months near his family in the village (His son lives in a retirement home just outside the village) and would therefore be seeking employment in the vicinity during his stay. More out of gratitude to his years of sterling service to my family than necessity, I said that he was welcome to come up here as often as he wanted and I would pay him for any hours that he did. The old guy looked so happy and slowly got up and shook my hand and then turned and said "In which case, Sir, I will return to my lodgings in the village and will be on duty tomorrow should you need me".
He then said that he should be getting back and asked if I would send a runner to fetch another carriage.
I nodded, still in a slight state of shock and amusement and rang for another taxi which duly arrived and he left.
So, I now have a part-time butler who probably helped dig the original footings of the church in the village.

I'm not sure what jobs I can find the old boy to do but as long as he feels useful, he will feel needed. He can clear up Lumpkin's empty Port glasses and empty the ashtray from his cigar butts I suppose.
Speaking of which, I suspect Lumpkin will be round this evening to spill the beans on what has been going on between one of the Parish councillors and the local primary school teacher. Lumpkin alluded to it being rather sordid and involving some Copydex glue, norks and some rubber pants...
I'll get some more Port in.

Raise your glasses !

Last night was the drinks and nibbles event for the local hunt. In truth I don't normally ride out with them and tend to go further afield so as to see some different countryside and people, this also ensures that I don't crap on my own doorstep. That said, I still like to do my bit and support the local bunch of miss-fits and reprobates.
It all went extremely well, Lumpkin turned up, goosed the Huntmaster's wife and then sang her the song from the Finger of Fudge commercial. By this time the master was too drunk to realise what had gone on and his wife asked Lumpkin if there was a second chorus.
Old Pilly came along and was handing out cards to most of the ladies present. He was telling me that his new business is looking up and that he was keen to give the ladies a good, firm deal. Apparently he has even got Slider and Fendtskip working for him part-time. Lord alone knows what service they are providing but no doubt it will involve a supplementary benefit.
Young Dylan popped in from the stable-block and I managed to spend a bit of time chatting to her. She's a rather nice little sort and very witty. She did mention that the Bishop had left her a note, inviting her to evensong. I was diplomatic and implied that maybe she should think long and hard before spending time alone in the company of the Bishop to which she replied that she was fully aware of him and that it is a well known fact that he is (and I quote) "A dirty old bastard with a knicker-sniffing obsession".
I must have missed that in the Parish magazine.

At one point in the evening, my eyes started to sting and I became aware of an awful smell. I then saw that Dusty, the curry scoffing Scot, had fallen asleep in one of the chairs and had obviously been overcome with the indulgence of Burns night earlier in the week. I would imagine the effects of a burnt and crispy Haggis combined with a curry and sprout chaser for breakfast had finally taken it's toll on his knotter. He suddenly woke up and began rambling on like a man possessed.
Not a f*cking word.
Hilly rolled up later in the evening and I must say he looked awful. He reckons that his wife has become unbearable in the last few months and that he would have taken her out with a rifle but she won't sign a life insurance policy. His step-son is becoming just as temporamental and lighter in the heels as each day passes. Apparently he's so light footed now, the other day he stood right on a fresh dog turd, walked indoors on the cream carpet and never left a trace...
One of the local landowners, Rich, rolled up for a quick drink and to show his face. It was good to see him but he couldn't stay long as he had to pick his son up who was on a night out with his friends. It's very nice for a father to run around for his lad but I wonder if his boy knows he's on to a good thing, after all, his boy is now in his forties....

As the night wore on, the drink flowed and people began to let their hair down (all except Tel, the local farm guru and Kojak impersonator)
Hopefully there will be a few photos from the evening as David, the local happy snapper was there. I think his recent competition success may have gone to his head as he was wandering round with a big badge on his jacket saying 'Press'. He took it off after the 23rd person did just that and jabbed him in the chest.
We had a small incident when Dusty tried to light one of his own farts and set fire to a plate of Brandy truffles. Luckily, Dave J put it out with a soda syphon. It was a fast bit of thinking on his part, he should have been a fireman rather than trying to train collies for his Welsh themed circus act.
Pilly became rather plastered and got up on the table to sing an impromtu version of 'You're the first, my last, my everything' which he did rather well as he looked like a photo-negative of Barry White.
Things took a little turn for the worse when Hilly's missus arrived to collect him and he started singing Elton John's 'The Bitch is Back'.
He got a lift home with Tel...

So, a good night had by all I think. Several stayed over and I finally went up to bed in the early hours and found that Lumkpin had taken my bed and appeared to have company in the form of one of the hunt followers. I decided to leave him to it as the girl in question was trying to blow a rendition of the Post Horn Gallop.
I went into the one of the old servants bedrooms only to find none other than the foxy little number with the low cut top who's horse I had held at the last meet. We got chatting about hunting and pest control for quite a while and I did my best to remain focused despite being constantly distracted.
Those hounds broke out from cover more than once last night.

Diamonds are forever

Lumpkin came over last night and knocked the arse out of another decanter and a further bottle of Port.
However, it was well worth it as I finally managed to get a look at those photos.
At first I thought that it looked as though the Bishop was attempting an exorcism on Mrs E and was trying to evict the dark forces from her manually. Under closer scrutiny, it revealed that he was in fact trying to recreate the story of Mary's journey to Bethlehem, with the Bishop playing Mary and Mrs E playing the part of the donkey. Having said that, on closer inspection it might have been more appropriate for the Bishop to have played the donkey...

Lumpkin went on to tell me that he is currently seeing quite a bit of some racey little number from the big smoke. He's got himself one of these iphone gadgets and showed me a picture of her and rather nice she was too - much younger than him obviously and I suggested that if he were to take her out anywhere, at least she could get in for free.
Anyway, he said that she likes to text him throughout the day but Lumpkin does tend to struggle with technology and apparently he didn't know anything about predictive text. Well according to him, she keeps angling to stay over after they get back from an evening out but Lumpkin has the cleaner round first thing in the morning and didn't want anyone to find out about this little sort. As it turns out, the cleaner is off next week on holiday and Lumpkin saw the perfect opportunity so when his little bit of skirt text him saying "Next week rather than having to dash back home, maybe I could stay late, LOL ?"
He replied "Next Week You Can Stay Late Any Time" but he didn't know about the predictive text and so just pressed 'Send'. What she got was:  "Not With Your Cludge Stinking Like A Trout"
A big bunch of roses and a nice sparkly bracelet has apparently resolved the situation...

I've got to try and see the gardener, Kipper, today. I went into the out house last night and thought someone had left a disc-cutter running. Turns out it was the electric meter. The bloody wheel is going round so fast you could sharpen an axe on it. He must have some powerful lamps in that greenhouse and at this rate I'm going to have the most expensive tomatoes known to man. His friends from the nursery in the blacked-out Range Rover were here again yesterday bringing him more tomato plants. One of them waved to me as they left, they seem nice enough, a bit young but pleasant.
You'd think they would have learnt how to wear a bloody hat the right way round though.

No milk today

Yesterday was all rather uneventful, consisting mainly of me relaxing and reading a book while enjoying one or two glasses of crimson nectar. I thought I would make the most of it before Lumpkin stumbles over this way and hammers another brace of decent bottles of Port. I'd tell him that I had no more available but he knows that's not true and also he knows I want to have a gander at these photos he acquired.
I'm not exactly sure what it is that he intends to do with them in the long run. Maybe he will ask the Bishop for money directly although that could be classed as bribery, well, it is bribery but within the eyes of the church it is probably looked upon as 'normal working practice' ?
I suppose he could just let it be known that he has access to such material in the hope that the Bishop is favourable to him or leaves him alone when Lumpkin himself is caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and heaven alone knows that's happened more than once. Lumpkin is a thoroughly decent fellow on the whole but he does tend to be easily led when it comes to the fairer sex and also he has a tendency to be in the right place with open arms ready to catch things as they fall off the back of a passing lorry.

I did take a walk into the village yesterday in order to exercise the dogs and I bumped into old Slider and Fendtskip. These two chaps used to work on the farm as did their fathers before them. Fendtskip had a reputation for being a ladies man and it was rumoured that he had quite a round in the village at one time. They used to say that as the milkman left the doorstep, he was normally passed by Fendtskip.
Slider on the other hand was a bit more discreet, hence his nickname. When everyone was out at work, it was said that Sliders bike would appear outside the gate and he would go inside on the pretence of 'fixing a leaky tap' or suchlike. This was all going on while they were meant to be working on the farm but we were never able to catch them at it as whenever we asked of their whereabouts, we were always told they had gone to get some parts or that they were in the middle of the wood repairing pheasant pens...
Anyway, they were a fairly likable pair and when I saw them yesterday, Slider was just coming out of young Mandy H's place and Fendtskip was sat on the bench on the village green reading a copy of Razzle. I suspect young Mandy had a 'leaky tap'...

The bloody paperboy is late again this morning. Normally you can put the lateness of a paperboy down to him being tired from doing his homework at the last minute or that he has a puncture on his bicycle, the trouble is our paperboy is in his forties, drives a van and only lives down the road. I reckon the old stoat has been on the nest again and had to wait until the blood went back into his brain. He's not been married long so I reckon he's now doing legally what he's been doing illegally for years. I'm sure that sort of thing is still illegal isn't it ? I know he's a tradesman and all that but you should never take your work home.
He's got a few cows also, just to supplement his paper round. I saw him the other morning with milk all over his trousers.
Well, I assume it was milk...

The price of fame

The end of season bash went well last night and we had a good turn out. The day itself was excellent and we managed to bag a good few pheasants and partridges.
As with all open invitations for such an event as last nights drinks and buffet, you do tend to get one or two less desirable characters however and after things got underway, I noticed that some of the beaters had brought along some friends and hangers-on. As I was talking to a friend of mine about lap dancing clubs or similar, a rather fat, dishevelled man rolled up and asked my friend who I was. Apparently this oily heap of dog turd vaguely knew my friend but obviously not the man who's event he had stumbled into. I simply replied that if he did not know who I was, he obviously didn't mix in the right circles and was therefore not of any relevance himself.
He stood for a few seconds with a vacant, expressionless look on his face, then turned and went and helped himself to the sausage rolls from the buffet.
However, I am happy in the knowledge that I have enhanced this morons life by allowing him to socialise with normal people and also in feeding his fat little heart-attack prone body.

Lumpkin it seems has managed to get his hands on those photographs. He would not say what it cost him in the end but he seemed pleased with the result. I have yet to see them but apparently they show the Bishop demonstrating a few of the ten commandments to Mrs E, mainly the ones about 'Thou shalt Not'....

I managed to catch the last ten minutes of Col and his band in The Bull on Friday night. It definitely was him the old goat and although a few years older, he still hasn't lost his singing voice and it would appear from the packed pub that he still hasn't lost his attraction for the ladies. At one point, a woman in her fourties threw her knickers at Col. I would hazard a guess that the aforementioned under-crackers had been retaining the woman's excitement all evening and were rather twangy because as they hit him across the face, Col suddenly went from his rendition of Meatloaf's 'I would do anything for love' to "I would do anything for...F*ck's sake ! My eye's are stinging like a bastard !"
He then tumbled off the stage, fell onto a woman at the front knocking her flying, her skirt then flew up revealing some skimpy little knickers which to all intents and purposes looked like a couple of bits of baler twine holding together what could only be described as a bundle of old wheat straw.
Col then left the stage as he had to go and have a lay down...
Anyway, it was a good night and Col got a couple of phone numbers, mainly from people wanting to book him for weddings and barmitzvah's.

Say cheese

I never realised how much Port two people could consume in one evening. I feel right as rain today but everything has a certain after-taste...
Well, according to Lumpkin, the Bishop has been caught with his pants down, quite literally.
Apparently old David, the local happy snapper, was out and about trying to capture some shots of a few birds for a local photography competition when he saw something in the corner of his eye in the window of the rectory. He peered through his lense only to be greeted by the sight of Mrs E, the cleaner and the Bishop with his robes up over his head...
I don't think those two tits and a chuff were the sort of shots which the local camera club will accept in the competition.
Having said that, I think the Bishop had a winning entry that day...
So old David has some photographs which Lumpkin is keen to get his mits on but David feels that he is torn between the moral path of righteousness and fifty quid in his hand. Lumpkin reckons those pictures will be as good as having the Bishop in his pocket.
Personally I wouldn't want to have a toot on Mrs E but I reckon it would be worth a gander all the same.
I told Lumpkin to up the offer to seventy five quid and see if David coughs up then.

I might draw down to The Bull tonight to see Col and his band play. It's funny to think that the roadies he once had will be in their fourties now and will have daughters the same age as they were back when they worshiped the ground Col sang on. Given half the chance, I reckon that won't stop Col and he'll be popping little blue pills like Smarties. In some ways I hope he does get some action tonight otherwise he's going to have to break its neck...

Kipper, my gardener is getting on with the greenhouse. I've seen him going in and out several times today, taking reflective sheets and heat lamps for the tomatoes. He must be getting his plants from a nursery as it seems very early for tomatoes and he took delivery of a few trays today. If I were that nursery though, I'd buy a little van to move the plants and things around with. I'm buggered if I'd be as daft as they are and ruin a perfectly good Range Rover. It looked really smart in black with those blacked-out windows and 20 inch alloys.
Business must be good...

A quick sniff

Last night I was expecting a visit from one of the guns to discuss the final preparations for the end of season meal on Saturday but he was unable to attend due to an attack of gout so instead he sent his daughter to finalise things. I was most surprised to see this tall, leggy blonde at my door and at first I thought she must have broken down or was lost, however she introduced herself and I soon concluded that we would be far better off discussing Saturday night's event in a more relaxed atmosphere so I took her out for a meal at a very nice restaurant that I know - well, it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss. She seemed rather keen when I suggested a re-match in the near future so maybe I'll get to see if she does a turn...

When we left the restaurant, I found a flyer had been placed under my wiper blade which I was about to discard when I noticed that it was advertising a live band who were playing at The Bull tonight. It was the lead singer who caught my eye as I recognised him from a few years back. They called him Col as I remember and it was rumoured that he had a reputation for sleeping with the groupies that followed him around from gig to gig. He disappeared for a while after he was caught by the father of one of the groupies as he emerged from the boot of his Vauxhall Cavalier estate, having spent the night snuggled up with the unsuspecting music supporter.
Having said that I don't think it did the lad any harm and his father soon forgave him once Col had vanished.

I need to go and order some more port as Lumpkin is due to come over this evening and will no doubt empty my decanter. That's typical of Lumpkin, you don't see him for several months and then you'll see him for several nights on the trot - mainly when he realises that you keep a good cellar.
He did seem to indicate however that he had dug a bit of dirt on the Bishop which is always a good card to have up ones sleeve. True, the Bishop may be a man of the cloth but as with everything connected with the church, he is not to be trusted and always has a hidden agenda.
Mind you, I doubt I'll have much trouble from him for a while since I caught him sniffing Dylan's knickers...

Good vibrations

Well, according to Lumpkin, rumour has it that the house in the village behind the post office is in fact a place of 'suspicious nocturnal activity' which I took to mean that it was a knocking shop. However, it turns out that it is in fact a rural version of Anne Summers and has a large variety of clothing, kit and toys with which to enhance ones sex life. Apparently it is mostly mail order stuff, you know, shipped directly to the purchaser via Internet orders. Lumpkin reckons that old Pilgrim, from over the other side of the hill has been overheard in the pub saying that he is actually one of the suppliers of the shop.
Now, I doubt he is supplying such items as naughty nighties but I half wonder if it has anything to do with his new rubber recycling venture he started in one of his disused cattle sheds ? I thought he might be making safety barriers etc for children's playgrounds but having seen a pallet load of what looked like mini rubber bollards, I now have my doubts.
We'll just have to wait and see if he gets a pallet load of Duracell batteries...

Old Mr. Kipper, my gardener, told me today that my greenhouse will need some work done to it this year. I must admit that I haven't been over to it for a good while now so cannot say what state it is in as it is fairly well hidden from sight by the trees and bushes that are over in that side of the walled garden.
Kipper reckons that for best results when growing tomatoes and cucumbers, we should cover the greenhouse in reflective foil sheets and get a power supply across to it so that he can put some special heat lamps in there to protect the plants from frost.
I'm sure he knows what he is doing.

The Bishop came up earlier for a glass of sherry. Actually, it was all rather strange. I was just going to hang a couple of partridges in the old coach house when I saw something moving in the back yard of the stable block/apartments. I then saw someone with something over their head. As I went over to take a look, I was obviously spotted and the fellow tore the garment from his person and it was none other than the Bishop. He looked extremely flustered and blurted out something about the wind having blown what turned out to be a pair of knickers from the washing line behind young Dylan's apartment, straight onto his face...
Why he would have come round that way I have no idea as he would have had to go through the side gate and across the lawn, almost in the opposite direction to my front door.
Oh well.

One for the road

Last night after concluding my little bit of business, I decided to drop into The Bull for a quick half.
It was fairly busy for a Wednesday night and almost straight away I bumped into Hilly who actually offered to stand me a pint so he was either drunk or had just managed to hood-wink some old duffer out of her life savings. To be fair to Hilly, he is one of the better characters in the world of pensions and investments. Unlike the vast majority in that field, at least Hilly is polite and will have a laugh with you as he dips his podgey little digits into your worldly wealth. I must say though, last night he did look awfully fat. When I pointed this out to him, he simply replied that it was due to spending the last two weeks at home with his wife, to which I replied he should shag her, not eat her...

I was just about to leave at the sound of last orders when I heard someone call my name and I saw that the Bishop had appeared from the gents toilets. He came across and was muttering something about the Adnams Broadside being off, to which I replied that I have never known a pint of Adnams to be 'on'. It truly is the most foul old shyte known to man and can give you an arse like a firestorm in Dresden.
Anyway, he then asked me if I knew who the girl was that had just moved into one of the stable blocks that we converted last year into apartments. I can't remember her name in all honesty, although I should as she signed the lease but to be fair I don't really see that much of her as she works in London, so I don't know that much about her except I know they call her 'Dylan' as I have heard some of her friends call her that when they picked her up one night. When I asked him why he wanted to know, he became reluctant to say and came out with some old cobblers about wanting to invite her to evensong.
I reckon the dirty old sod has other things in mind for her and if he gets his way, she'll be spreading more than the word of God...

Anyway, it was late before I managed to get back up to the hall and as I came along the drive, I saw that the light in the study was on and I'm sure I turned it off. I went round the back and let myself in and I could smell cigar smoke combined with a whiff of silage and knew who it was at once. I opened the door of the study and there sat Tony Lumpkin, an old friend from college. "I've been expecting you" he said to which I replied that I was not surprised as it was my house so it hardly makes him Inspector George Gently. I also noticed that he had managed to drink half the contents of my bottle of Taylor's 92' Port. He very kindly poured me a glass of my own drink (!) and began to tell me some rather interesting gossip...

The season is nearly over

So once again another season draws to a close. Having spoken to the gamekeeper last night, he assures me that we will have enough pheasants for Saturday's 'knock around'. I certainly hope so as the landlady of The Bull wants three brace for her game casserole next week. Lets hope that this time she removes the feathers...
I am due to host a drinks evening for the local hunt next week which is all very well in theory but this season seems to have attracted several less savoury types amongst the usual throng. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against people wishing to join in with a days hunting but I really do wish they would dress for the occasion and not as though they were hacking out with their mates. Having said that, I can't complain at the sight which greeted me the other morning as I went to see the hunt off at the pub and was met with a young girl, probably no more than in her early thirties, bending over to pick out her horses feet and her top button was undone and the view was incredible.
I had to keep moving round her horse, ensuring that he did not move while she did all four feet.
Well, somebody had to keep a look-out...

I have been told that the local parish council are looking into the possibility of extending the graveyard beside the local church. This means that within a short space of time, I will no doubt be subject to a visit from those snivelling bunch of inbreds on the council who will want me to donate another chunk of land for 'the good of the parish'. They will undoubtedly try to convince me that in doing so, I will be guaranteed a plot in which to be buried as if this is some kind of deal breaker. The truth is I couldn't care less whether they bury me, flash me up on a bonfire or dump me in a muck heap, I'll not know anything about it.
Anyway, I will soon be graced with a visit from the members of the parish council and I will give them enough time to start their inevitable prattle before I tell them to get knotted, that is of course unless they want to discuss how they can help me with a little project in the future.

Right, I had better get ready as I am off out this evening to discuss the possible purchase of a small cottage on the outside of the village. It's a quaint little place, thatched roof, rose garden etc. However, it is stood on a nice sized plot and if it is levelled it will allow room for a pair of three bedroom houses with ample parking and gardens.
Well, what do I want with an old draughty cottage ?

Muck