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.
Tuesday 31 January 2012
Monday 30 January 2012
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...
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...
Sunday 29 January 2012
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.
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.
Friday 27 January 2012
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...
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...
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...
Thursday 26 January 2012
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.
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...
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...
Wednesday 25 January 2012
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
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
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