Bunty Takes Sanctuary at the Manor

   

ANOTHER BANK HOLIDAY

   Much against my will we spent a trying evening with the Whafflers in Islington. Alex and Jojo’s house is very nice, if you like living in town on five floors, and of course our room was at the very top next to the nursery. 

   ‘Oh luv-lee,’ said Jojo, ‘I’ll tell Harold he can come into you when he wakes up…he’s no trouble.’ 
At least we were spared an interview with him or his infant sister Clavical (did her parents really christen her that?), as they were in their cots long before we arrived.  

Alex and Crichton got horribly drunk over dinner (M and S ready-made lasagne in a tin tray) and kept telling the same old stories that they’ve been sharing for thirty years. Some dull golfing pal of Alex’s  with another child wife came along too… Roger spoke of nothing but sand wedges and putting irons while Bambi disappeared to the kitchen with Jojo. I’m afraid I gave up trying to feign interest and downed four large gin and tonics in quick succession, but they did nothing to dull the pain.

At 1.30 am, with the party still in full swing, I said I would have an early night, but there was no chance of sleep with them laughing their heads off, four floors below.

To make matters worse, Crichton did not bring pyjamas! That meant that when dear sticky little Harold made an appearance at 5.30am and insisted that he wanted to get into bed with us, I felt I should side track him by getting up and taking him downstairs to watch Cee Bee Bees. I’d no idea that cartoons started so early in the morning and I rather enjoyed Peppa Pig and her naughty brother. 

The others did not appear until well after ten, by which time I was nearing the end of my rope with dear little Harold. He had spilled Coco Pops and milk over my favourite dressing gown and pushed one of his slippers down the toilet. I thought it is only fair to let Alexander deal with that little problem. 

   ‘Baby always has a bottle and goes straight back to sleep,’ smiled Jojo when she finally came downstairs and dumped Clavical in her bouncy chair. Jojo had done her hair up  in a high pony tail and  looked whippet thin in a skin-tight vest and cropped trousers…the only chunky thing about her was the trainers on her feet. 

   ‘Alex, I’m just going for a run. Alright Babes?’

   The door had slammed before Alex had looked up from his coffee.

   ‘Let’s take this through to my office,’ he said to Crichton, ‘We can run through the spread sheets better in there,’ and the two men disappeared down the corridor without a backward glance. I was left, still in my night wear with two ghastly children. 

   ‘Still in your PJs,’ laughed Alex when they emerged for more coffee an hour later… ‘it’s all right for some eh?’

   We left as soon after lunch as was polite. I drove as Crichton was in no fit state and fell asleep almost as soon as we were out of the drive. Thank God for sat-nav, or I’d still be driving about the capital looking for the M4.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been so pleased to see my own front door. 

Crichton owes me big time, as Arraminta would say.

Crichton Comments

  A marvellous night staying with the Wafflers. I laughed and laughed, but somehow, I don’t think Cynthia enjoyed the weekend as much as I did. She always goes to bed early when she finds the company tough going. Jojo’s a hell of a girl so I can’t see why the memsahib has such trouble getting on with her. Alex suggested it might be her age. Bloody cheek. 

I’m proud of every wrinkle on her face…we haven’t all part ex’ed our wives for a newer model.

Cynthia was very quiet when we got home and didn’t thank me when I took the bin out for her. 

    There was the usual May Day unpleasantness in Much Bickering for the bank holiday.

The school children had prepared a maypole dancing event on the green, but after the trouble with druids earlier in the day, it was decided we should decamp to the school playing fields.

Year 3 always take centre stage and had been practicing for weeks. Their efforts paid off and they wound and unwound their ribbons very competently, led by Tanya Hooper. 

Mrs Trefoil rattled her tambourine and called out instructions and the reception class sang Here we go Gathering Nuts in May. 

Mr Hooper was very rude about Brexit who was just enjoying himself barking along in time to the beat and not troubling anyone. 

I can’t see how it could possibly have spoiled his video recording.

   Janet tells me there is to be a dog show and for once I shall not be involved in the organisation. It will make a change to be the one to turn up late, complain about the raffle and go home again while someone else sweeps the floor and puts the chairs away.

I have started training Brexit for the judging table already and to that end have improvised a showing ring on the back lawn. 

I couldn’t bear it if that little Shih-Tzu of Bunty’s should win.

Brexit is not terribly keen to practice but I have explained the rudiments to him at length. Little and often seems to be the key, so we’ve had several quarter hour sessions with him on a short lead, running round anticlockwise. What he needs is firm handling and a steady nerve.I think the best tactic may be to just try and keep up with him. 

He is not overly keen on standing with his head up either, but the command ‘show your teeth’ is one he understands already. I will hope this will buy him some extra points.

Trenton can enter the veteran’s class. He never pulls on the lead.

Crichton Comments

Bloody druids!

They come every year in their caravans, jump about naked in the morning mist, and then drive away leaving the village green rutted and muddy. It’s Beltane…or some other old rubbish, or so they say.

Ridiculous.

The well isn’t holy for God’s sake. 

My father dug it during the war after the sewage works in Tillinghurst got a direct hit.