A Year of Much Bickering by Jane Ayres

CRICHTON GOES VIRAL AGAIN    The Dawn Service on Easter morning was very special as always. Rev Colin sang the office with only one or two stumbles, which one can excuse so early in the morning, especially as he’s still recovering from his altercation with the Palm Sunday donkey. Champagne in the chalice too… a splendid idea.  I still keep up the tradition of decorating the house with yellow chicks and painted eggs…the rabbit that Jerome made out of toilet rolls and cotton wool at nursery school is no longer suitable for the table for reasons of hygiene, so it has pride of place on the side board.  Seven of us, including Granny T, sat down for Roast Paschal Lamb and Lemon Meringue pie, with  Douglas and Monica, who had joined us to get away from the grandchildren. She says Isolde has become very pedantic about things now she is pregnant, and chocolate is firmly off the menu, even at Easter.  Crichton had done a sweep of the Waitrose seasonal aisle weeks ago, so t

EVERYONE'S HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS     Genuine excitement this morning. Cook has won Radio 2 Pop Master.  She phones in every morning but has never been successful…until today that is.  Stubbins and I listened in the breakfast room while she spoke to Ken Bruce on her mobile, in the kitchen. She told him that she enjoys Formula 1 and macramé.  I knew about the motor racing but never had her down as a craft person. She did terribly well and seems to know about ‘everything pop’ from Chubby Checker to Justin Timberlake.  Her bonus subject, the colour purple, was a gift. She says it’s her lucky colour and always had a bit of a pash on Prince, although he didn’t come up. It was touch and go against a worthy opponent from Sheffield but in the end 24 points was enough.  The 3 in 10…  Hits for Shalimar  stumped her and she only got 2. ‘Over and Over’ and ‘Dancing in the Sheets.' I’d never heard of either, but they won her a blue tooth speaker. I did wonder if she mi

PALM SUNDAY    Well, well. Arraminta came to church!  She insisted that she didn’t want to miss seeing the donkey and who was I to discourage her? In retrospect, she was right to do so, as the day will be remembered for generations to come.   Nancy is a retired seaside ride, rather woolly but with nicely oiled hooves, on loan from the local animal shelter. She and the vicar led the procession off from the Plump Pig to enthusiastic singing of ‘Ride on, ride on in Majesty’, and we all sweated up past the council houses waving our palm fronds /pampas grass.  It was here that our number were swelled by some boys on BMX bikes and the pace picked up to a brisk trot. No one will ever know if it was the bicycle bells, the plastic bag in the hedge, or even Brexit’s encouraging nipping at poor Nancy's hocks that caused her to bolt, but let’s just say that had the vicar not had a very tight grip on her halter, she might have been halfway back to Brighton beach by now.     Some of

    A SURPRISE DINNER PARTY On Monday after Crichton vouched-safe that he’d invited Inky and Sally for dinner. Inky Penypres (pronounced like the trench magazine) may be have been his best friend since school and they may have had a marvellous time together watching their alma mater win the boat race, but would it have harmed him to tell me sooner? I had to endure a very unpleasant interview with Cook. Frankly no one is more vexed than me (apart from Cook of course). It was short notice, yes, and Monday is her evening off, but there’s no need for rudeness. When I suggested a simple menu of cheese soufflé, Beef Wellington, Isles Flotantes and finishing up with a Welsh Rarebit… she got quite shirty. To cut a long story short, we ‘agreed’ on an antipasti platter, Lamb Tagine with couscous, and a poached pear plus a sherry trifle for dessert. This, as a sop to Crichton… (for whom I think Cook holds a secret amore despite his unreliability). When I mentioned the savour

THERE'S NO FOOL LIKE AN OLD FOOL POOR CRICHTON - HE'S THE APRIL FOOL Last week, Alex decided we should do a little something for charity and show young Braithnose, our work experience lad, that property developers can be as much fun as the next man…I’m always up for that…but I worry he’s turning into Steven Merchant from The Office. He announced to the staff that we were  all coming to work on Monday morning, in fancy dress, in aid of ‘Shelter’. Sandra was a bit put out because when you are her size you have to be careful what you wear, but she took it on the chins, and said she would either come as Big Bird or The Little Mermaid as she already has both the costumes. Alex insisted he and I should make a joint effort and turn up as  The Village People . It seemed odd with just two of us, but he was adamant and frankly I couldn’t care less. I look ridiculous in whatever I wear. He got the Red Indian suit and I picked the biker costume. The fake leather trousers

    MOTHERING SUNDAY IN MUCH BICKERING Edith always makes the Mothering Sunday posies with the Sunday school, but with her still being out of action, after her fall on Valentine’s Day, I felt I had to volunteer in her place.    ‘The older girls set it all up and there won’t be much to do but supervise,’ said the vicar.     Huh!     He forgot to tell me that Edith also provides the flowers from her garden, so I arrived at St Appolonia’s with nothing but a roll of tin foil and an expectant smile. The few daffodils and primroses that I found by the lych-gate, plus a few sprigs of blackthorn blossom proved a rather meagre hoard so I cut down some greenery from the memorial garden and liberated a six stale crysanths from Aunt Dorothy’s grave (she wouldn’t have minded). Even so, it was a poor show. Thankfully only one child turned up but, just my luck, that had to be Tanya Hooper.     ‘This is rubbish…don’t you have any decent flowers in your garden, Mrs Trehorlick