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.