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...