A Year of Much Bickering by Jane Ayres

THE END OF AN ERA    I spent Sunday morning in the Gym. They now have  battle ropes ! More fun to watch than use, methinks. There was a couple of very fit young ladies giving a good account of themselves and I felt it only right to spend a few minutes admiring their efforts. Managed 20 minutes on the rowing machine, followed by a good 40 lengths of the pool (mixed strokes). All very invigorating.  Later I spotted Cynthia and Monica talking their heads off in the café… at least, Monica was talking and C was nodding sagely…which usually means she’s being polite but not really listening, so I decided to give ’em a wide birth. Cook made me a toasty for lunch instead. Cheese, ham and pickle, my absolute favourite, but hardly got a look in before Trenton had snarfed it off my plate, behind my back. I was pleased to see he still had it in him. He’s always been a devil for thievery, even as a pup.  Early to bed for us both. Cynthia had kindly agreed to take m

BUNTY TAKES SANCTUARY AT THE MANOR HOUSE  There has been high excitement in the village for the last few weeks. Channel 4’s ‘Trash or Treasure’ was coming to Twillinghurst. Cook came rushing in to show me the advertisement in the Gottknowe Gazette. She was almost beside herself when she read it out to me.    ‘Oh Madam, I love Adam Gizzard. When he says, ‘Twash or Twesher,’ in that accent of his, I go all peculiar.  Might I take a half day and go along?’ I can’t stand the man myself, but one should occasionally give one’s staff a treat, so I assured her that not only could she have the whole day off, but if she wanted something to take with her, she could borrow the shepherdess figurine from the second-floor landing.  I think it’s Minton but we’ve never really liked it.     ‘Oh, no madam. I wouldn’t feel right doing that, ‘she said, ‘I have a little ‘drinket’ of my own to take along. I’m sure it isn’t worth anything, but it’s just for fun isn’t it?’     On Sund

HENLEY REGATTA    Crichton had been coming back from the gym very bucked after he discovered the rowing machines.    ‘Anything is better than the awful bikes,’ he declared, ‘and it’s put me in mind of my halcyon Cambridge days.’ I remember he once coxed an eight in the May bumps, but it hardly makes one an expert.  Either way he was very keen to go to Henley, so he was straight up to the   attic, crashing about looking for his striped blazer.   Douglas assured him that everybody will be wearing one and Crichton could see no reason to be different. He’s always loved dressing up. It turned up eventually, in Pa’s old cabin trunk and despite the moths having taken a bite or two out of the lapels, he thought that it would do quite well.    ‘If I wear a rose in my button hole no one will notice,’ he declared. I had my doubts not least because it was too tight to do up the buttons and the sleeves were at least three inches too short, but I took it to   the cleaners in the