Bunty Takes Sanctuary at the Manor

Much Bickering Manor is in Lock Down

There is no doubt that being socially isolated is character forming, not least because Alyona  decided to hole herself up in her little semi in the village and refuses point blank to come anywhere near The Manor. So inconsiderate. We could have found her a bed in the attic, but no. After all I’ve done for her, she’d prefer to be at home on 80% wages, doing nothing while I am left with the Harry hoover and a box of tatty dusters. It’s a good job we won’t be getting any visitors as I find it very dull work and Cook refuses to increase her hours until she has finished watching her box sets of Downton Abbey. There are six series and poor Lavinia hasn’t even caught the Spanish flu yet.  The carpets will be knee deep in dog hair before The Dowager Countess gets to speak her last lines.

And talking of Dowagers, this morning Brexit and I took my one allotted period of exercise and walked over to Granny T’s with some essentials. Anything to get away from the sound of the chain saw. Crichton and Stubbins have set too on a couple of trees that didn’t make it through the winter. We shall have enough fire wood to last until doomsday if one of them doesn’t cut his hand off first or drop a branch on his head. They’ve got all the Kevlar safety kit, but I’ve told them I shan’t take them to hospital and be a burden on the NHS even if they do loose a finger or worse. We must all stay away no matter what. There are TCP and large sticking plasters in the bathroom cabinet if necessary.

Surely Granny T wouldn’t have visitors, would she? I was surprised to find a car parked in the lane that seemed somehow familiar and Lucy and Clive were barking like the very devil when we arrived. Spaniels are like that.  Brexit returned fire with furious yapping until Granny T came to the window and bellowed at them all to be quiet. She accepted her rather unusual order with a just wave. Three bottles of Gordons, one of Absolut, a large jar of Sauerkraut and one of those unpronounceable Polish sausages that starts with a W. She had a glass of wine in her hand and there seemed to be another on the table. Strange as it was only eleven o’clock. 

‘I’m perfectly fine Cynthia, thank you,’ she yelled in answer to my enquiries about her well-being. ‘I’ve got everything we…I need. No, no… not lonely at all…’

I could have sworn I heard a giggle and saw a flash of white jeans disappear into the kitchen.

Brexit and I took the long way home through the deserted village. There was no sign of life at Alyona’s house and no car in the drive. I knew it. There’s only one shit yellow Skoda in Much Bickering and looks like its owner has deserted me for my mother-in-law and her promises of and easy life and as much Weijska as she can eat. I will never forgive this.

Crichton Comments

Lots of fun with Stubbins in the arboretum. I may have been a little over zealous when he let me have a turn with the chain saw, but I’m sure the magnolia will grow back in time. Looks like Ma has poached the cleaner. Now I shall be able to leave things around the place without someone tidying me up.