Oh my giddy aunt, Ernest has gone blind in his right eye. Mavis has blinded him good and proper I can tell you. There’s no point in taking him to the hospital as he’s nearly dead anyway and I can’t carry him because of my back. He’ll just have to make do with the good eye he’s got left.
Still, a visit from our Mayor cheered me up. Actually, he came by with some gentlemen’s literature for Ernest. It’s such a shame he can’t read it, but Mayor said it has some lovely animal pictures for him to try and look at instead – women proudly photographed with their puppies and the like…how lovely - he does love a bit of nature does our Ernest and it’ll take his mind off of dying for a bit.
That Juniper is due around very soon to talk to us about the music festival and apparently someone has stolen her homemade colonic irrigation tube that she uses to flush out her sheep. The village is rife….rife I tell you…with accusations. Mayor was the last person to see it apparently, but has denied ever seeing it. That Harlot is rumoured to be saying that he enjoys weird sex games with a pipe, but I told her I did, “How dare you! What can someone possibly do with a pipe?!” Mayor is an upstanding member of the Woldstock community and anyway, he’s told us he’s been celibate for 20 years.
Anyway, Mavis and I have booked our holiday. Hopefully Ernest will die on time and we won’t lose our deposit. We decided to go to Ibiza. We love dancing do Mavis and I and as long as her arthritis and my back hold up, we should be in for a good time. Mavis booked it with a holiday company called “Rave All About It, Holidays” and apparently – for some reason - they queried her age. She told them she was 25! She says they looked very shocked. I tell you, in the dark, she could pass for 24. As for me, well Mayor says I have the body of an 18 year old. He’s so complimentary is Mayor and seldom wrong about these things. Juniper has offered to look after the chickens and Dorothy said she’d nip into the house and water the plants, including the ones that have to be kept under the artificial light.
Anyway, I’m going upstairs now to read Ernest some of his magazine. There’s a section called ‘Readers Wives’ – now that’s what I call thoughtful. At least there are other women in the same position as me.
Saturday 29 May 2010
Juniper's entry - I've lost my pipe
I’ve had a cataclysmic disaster of infinite proportions – I’ve lost my pipe. I am incomprehensibly devastated. I spent a frightful amount of time constructing a truly super colonic irrigation pipe for my sheep, but it seems to have gone missing during one of my soirees. Mayor, Mavis & Betty and the rest of the Woldstock committee came around for my Babycham-and-Nibbles cocktail party last week and it is with regret, dear readers that I have to inform you that it is since this soiree that my pipe has been missing. What truly worries me is that without my pipe, I am unable to flush out my prize ewe, ‘Monica’. The vet has informed me in no uncertain terms, that should ‘Monica’ remain congested, she could suffer unimaginable flatulence problems….I am beside myself with worry.
On a much lighter note, I have been invited out to lunch by Dermott Kydder, that super young fellow from ‘Look Closer’ TV. Apparently he also writes a fabulous column for ‘Horse and Hare’ magazine and he would like to conduct a simply magnificent interview with me about our forthcoming Woldstock Music Festival. We are to have luncheon at a marvellous little boutique hotel around the back of London’s Kings Cross Station. When I conveyed my generosity at being dined in such a highbrow hotel suite for lunch, he reliably informed that I was worth it and that he was paying with cash by the hour. I am terribly excited and have been to Marks and Sparks to buy myself a new tweed skirt and some pantyhose.
Harriet and I are devising a Woldstock Festival recipe book. It will be jam packed with lots of luscious recipes ranging from my prized Wiltonberry jam to Harriet’s ‘Hash Browns’. Dorothy is going to make a batch of her chaffing cream especially for the festival too. I can confirm that it is the most utterly sensual cream I have ever rubbed into my thighs. I must confess that my suspender belt can have a tendency to make me sore, but a little dab of Dotty’s cream makes me moan with utter delight.
But back to the urgent matter in hand, I must go now and nip off to the DIY store and buy some more pipe. Until next time dear people……..
On a much lighter note, I have been invited out to lunch by Dermott Kydder, that super young fellow from ‘Look Closer’ TV. Apparently he also writes a fabulous column for ‘Horse and Hare’ magazine and he would like to conduct a simply magnificent interview with me about our forthcoming Woldstock Music Festival. We are to have luncheon at a marvellous little boutique hotel around the back of London’s Kings Cross Station. When I conveyed my generosity at being dined in such a highbrow hotel suite for lunch, he reliably informed that I was worth it and that he was paying with cash by the hour. I am terribly excited and have been to Marks and Sparks to buy myself a new tweed skirt and some pantyhose.
Harriet and I are devising a Woldstock Festival recipe book. It will be jam packed with lots of luscious recipes ranging from my prized Wiltonberry jam to Harriet’s ‘Hash Browns’. Dorothy is going to make a batch of her chaffing cream especially for the festival too. I can confirm that it is the most utterly sensual cream I have ever rubbed into my thighs. I must confess that my suspender belt can have a tendency to make me sore, but a little dab of Dotty’s cream makes me moan with utter delight.
But back to the urgent matter in hand, I must go now and nip off to the DIY store and buy some more pipe. Until next time dear people……..
Tuesday 25 May 2010
Mavis's entry - pirates and tubes
Ooh la la my treasures, it’s been a rather exhausting day again, positively bushwhacked.
Betty’s terribly upset as we seem to have gone through all the current buns in the freezer now and it’s not looking like they’ll be on special again for a few weeks. I’ve even begun liquidising them as a treat for Ernest, may as well enjoy your own funeral if you can, it’s a luxury I doubt many people get the benefit of. He is quite a lucky man really. I even added in a bit of the woldstock wiltonberry jam into the mixer for a bit of pizzazz, then I shoved the whole lot down a special tube that mayor got knocked up. It’s been sitting under the stairs for weeks, purpose unknown, mayor must have known it would come in useful, clever mayor.
We decided to give him another treat, anything to get a break from all this festival business, which rather drains the old resourses and Dorothy, has run out of reviving horns, so we all needed some ‘downtime’ as dearest Harlot calls it.
Dotty kindly lubed me and Betty up with the festival chaffing cream. Juniper keeps complaining that we’re using too much, but needs must, these whipper snappers just don’t appreciate it as an essential, everyday item, not just a nice to have down at the horse box. Besides we had decided on one last hurrah for Ernest.
I fixed the tassels to Betty myself, but sadly she couldn’t get the swing quite right, arthritic boobs are no joke I can tell you. Still I can be terribly resourceful, ever since my podium dancing days. A similar thing happened at the Palais, June 15th 1955, so I was prepared. A squirt of oil did the trick then, but alas Betty was too far gone, so I took the little motors out of mayors Christmas bow-ties and attached them to the tassels, Volia! A little pull and they were off!
Have to say it put my whirring to shame, but then it was for Ernest and at least my swing is all natural, comes from practising every day during choir practice. I always hope for a stirring rendition of Jerusalem to get them a good flow.
We propped Ernest up on his pillows and left him sucking on his bun tube, Betty charged up the gramophone for an authentic sound and a rather feisty can-can ensued, tassels a-whirring, I slipped against the wood-chip wallpaper at one point and got a bit of a boob graze, but at least the shag pile felt nice against the feet.
I like to think Ernest was pleased, as he seemed to suck a bit harder on his bun and blinked a lot, I’m sure, in appreciation. We were majestic! Ooh it took us back. I also struck a number of my legendary poses and so my gaze left Betty which looking back may have been a bit of a slip-up, she is just normally so very capable and I was rather marvellous, especially when doing the ‘pussycat’, I was in the ‘zone’ another one of dearest Harlot’s phrases, Oh how she makes me smile!
Anyway I think Betty’s knee must have locked mid-kick, which tragically seemed to get Ernest right in his nether regions, she then momentarily regained mobility, but then she was off again, kicked him in the bun pipe, currents flew to places I didn’t know a currant could go. In the confusion a motorised tassel fought loose and landed right in his eye, ooh it was a bit of a carve up and I thought, she’ll never get those stains of the woodchip.
Hoping that Asda had that particular brand of bleach on special we hot footed it out of the house and to the shops, we may have got some funny looks in our tassels but I’d grabbed a gown and Betty a pinny, so we were quite respectable. Admittedly I forgot about my feathers and g-string, but honestly we’re all grown ups in Woldstock.
We did our best at cleaning up and we didn’t hear a peep out of Ernest, I went to the fancy dress box and fished out a patch, which I’d last won in a 1967 production of the ‘pirates of your pants’ ( a special homage to pirates of Penzance), anyway it suited Ernest rather well, I did wonder if we shouldn’t get some cream or something but Betty shoved some squirty mr whippy stuff under his patch and it must have soothed him because he flopped right back against the pillows, she really is a remarkable and caring woman.
Betty’s terribly upset as we seem to have gone through all the current buns in the freezer now and it’s not looking like they’ll be on special again for a few weeks. I’ve even begun liquidising them as a treat for Ernest, may as well enjoy your own funeral if you can, it’s a luxury I doubt many people get the benefit of. He is quite a lucky man really. I even added in a bit of the woldstock wiltonberry jam into the mixer for a bit of pizzazz, then I shoved the whole lot down a special tube that mayor got knocked up. It’s been sitting under the stairs for weeks, purpose unknown, mayor must have known it would come in useful, clever mayor.
We decided to give him another treat, anything to get a break from all this festival business, which rather drains the old resourses and Dorothy, has run out of reviving horns, so we all needed some ‘downtime’ as dearest Harlot calls it.
Dotty kindly lubed me and Betty up with the festival chaffing cream. Juniper keeps complaining that we’re using too much, but needs must, these whipper snappers just don’t appreciate it as an essential, everyday item, not just a nice to have down at the horse box. Besides we had decided on one last hurrah for Ernest.
I fixed the tassels to Betty myself, but sadly she couldn’t get the swing quite right, arthritic boobs are no joke I can tell you. Still I can be terribly resourceful, ever since my podium dancing days. A similar thing happened at the Palais, June 15th 1955, so I was prepared. A squirt of oil did the trick then, but alas Betty was too far gone, so I took the little motors out of mayors Christmas bow-ties and attached them to the tassels, Volia! A little pull and they were off!
Have to say it put my whirring to shame, but then it was for Ernest and at least my swing is all natural, comes from practising every day during choir practice. I always hope for a stirring rendition of Jerusalem to get them a good flow.
We propped Ernest up on his pillows and left him sucking on his bun tube, Betty charged up the gramophone for an authentic sound and a rather feisty can-can ensued, tassels a-whirring, I slipped against the wood-chip wallpaper at one point and got a bit of a boob graze, but at least the shag pile felt nice against the feet.
I like to think Ernest was pleased, as he seemed to suck a bit harder on his bun and blinked a lot, I’m sure, in appreciation. We were majestic! Ooh it took us back. I also struck a number of my legendary poses and so my gaze left Betty which looking back may have been a bit of a slip-up, she is just normally so very capable and I was rather marvellous, especially when doing the ‘pussycat’, I was in the ‘zone’ another one of dearest Harlot’s phrases, Oh how she makes me smile!
Anyway I think Betty’s knee must have locked mid-kick, which tragically seemed to get Ernest right in his nether regions, she then momentarily regained mobility, but then she was off again, kicked him in the bun pipe, currents flew to places I didn’t know a currant could go. In the confusion a motorised tassel fought loose and landed right in his eye, ooh it was a bit of a carve up and I thought, she’ll never get those stains of the woodchip.
Hoping that Asda had that particular brand of bleach on special we hot footed it out of the house and to the shops, we may have got some funny looks in our tassels but I’d grabbed a gown and Betty a pinny, so we were quite respectable. Admittedly I forgot about my feathers and g-string, but honestly we’re all grown ups in Woldstock.
We did our best at cleaning up and we didn’t hear a peep out of Ernest, I went to the fancy dress box and fished out a patch, which I’d last won in a 1967 production of the ‘pirates of your pants’ ( a special homage to pirates of Penzance), anyway it suited Ernest rather well, I did wonder if we shouldn’t get some cream or something but Betty shoved some squirty mr whippy stuff under his patch and it must have soothed him because he flopped right back against the pillows, she really is a remarkable and caring woman.
Betty's entry - committees and tena ladies
That Juniper has just told me that she’s organised the first Woldstock Music Festival committee meeting. Committee meeting, I ask you! Just another excuse to show off her chuffing homemade Wiltonberry jam and make us all sit on wonky chairs and listen to her bark on - my chickens make more sense than that woman. In fact I can have a more intellectual conversation with my buxom birds than with that Juniper. And what use is Juniper eh? And that Harlot Harriet – what use is she? She’s always looking to get some scrumpy action with our Mayor – the tart. I tell Mavis I do, that she could give the Mayor a better time than that Harlot…. providing her arthritis isn’t playing up that is. The things Mavis can do with her tassels would make you go blind…..blind I tell you. That Harriet is more plastic than my new hip.
And I tell you another thing….that Juniper doesn’t like anyone who isn’t posh. She always thinks she’s better than the likes of me. Honest, down-to-earth and friendly, that’s me - never a bad word to say about anyone. I don’t need to live in a big house or be eco-friendly and drive around on an electric scooter. She harps on about being green….”we’ve got to make sure this festival’s green” she tells all of us. I told her, it’s in a green field, what more do you want? I could shove one of her homemade scones right up her……………
Aye up, that Harlot Harriet has just knocked on my door and given me an ‘agenda’ for the committee meeting. I told her, what do I need an agenda for? I’ve got one of me own! I’m not going to no committee meeting, it’s my night for cleaning the coup out and I’ve promised Dorothy all the poop to put on her veg. What would my mute Ernest say if he could talk? He’d be livid. Mavis and me could run this festival blindfolded and with our legs tied together while eating a pork sausage - we wouldn’t need to hold some poncy meeting – I ask you. It says here, that some TV reporter will be coming to film our meeting. Well that’s just magic that is! All we need is some scroat coming in and poking his camera at us and asking us questions. I’m not standing for any of his nonsense. Oh, but I see Mayor is coming. Well that’s good, at least it’ll add a bit of culture to things. Perhaps I will go then. I know that Mayor has trouble understanding Juniper’s accent at times – she speaks so posh, like she’s got a pound of plums in that big mouth of hers - so I’ll interpret for him….. for a packet of pork scratchings though….I don’t do anything for nowt.
Right must go. I need to nip into town and get Mavis’ ‘Tena Ladys’. It’ll be a right old mess around her nether regions if I don’t get them to her quick. I tell her, “Mave, years of doing the splits has taken its toll, you need to tighten things up down there”. I don’t want anymore wet patches in my car thank you. And as for her bowels, by heck…………….
And I tell you another thing….that Juniper doesn’t like anyone who isn’t posh. She always thinks she’s better than the likes of me. Honest, down-to-earth and friendly, that’s me - never a bad word to say about anyone. I don’t need to live in a big house or be eco-friendly and drive around on an electric scooter. She harps on about being green….”we’ve got to make sure this festival’s green” she tells all of us. I told her, it’s in a green field, what more do you want? I could shove one of her homemade scones right up her……………
Aye up, that Harlot Harriet has just knocked on my door and given me an ‘agenda’ for the committee meeting. I told her, what do I need an agenda for? I’ve got one of me own! I’m not going to no committee meeting, it’s my night for cleaning the coup out and I’ve promised Dorothy all the poop to put on her veg. What would my mute Ernest say if he could talk? He’d be livid. Mavis and me could run this festival blindfolded and with our legs tied together while eating a pork sausage - we wouldn’t need to hold some poncy meeting – I ask you. It says here, that some TV reporter will be coming to film our meeting. Well that’s just magic that is! All we need is some scroat coming in and poking his camera at us and asking us questions. I’m not standing for any of his nonsense. Oh, but I see Mayor is coming. Well that’s good, at least it’ll add a bit of culture to things. Perhaps I will go then. I know that Mayor has trouble understanding Juniper’s accent at times – she speaks so posh, like she’s got a pound of plums in that big mouth of hers - so I’ll interpret for him….. for a packet of pork scratchings though….I don’t do anything for nowt.
Right must go. I need to nip into town and get Mavis’ ‘Tena Ladys’. It’ll be a right old mess around her nether regions if I don’t get them to her quick. I tell her, “Mave, years of doing the splits has taken its toll, you need to tighten things up down there”. I don’t want anymore wet patches in my car thank you. And as for her bowels, by heck…………….
Saturday 1 May 2010
Mavis -Tassels & Tupperware
Such a terribly exhausting day, honestly dearest Betty can be such a hard task master at times. Although I think it’s because that Juniper creature keeps giving her such hard pokes.
I simply don’t know how the tarty one manages, or Harriet the Harlot as Betty has started to refer to her. It’s true she may be ever so slightly all fur coat and no knickers, but there’s nothing wrong with that, going without ones frillies never really bothered me. Betty can be perfectly beastly.
I remember the days in gay Paris, aah, so young, such devastating thighs, or so Madam Barrie, the experimental artist I used to do a bit of the nude stuff for, used to say. Ooh they were heady days; I used to languish in the sun, in one of my ‘special’ poses for hours until she was satisfied. I knew she’d finished when I heard the tap running, must have been to rinse the brush.
Betty was just the same at the ‘follies’, lean over there, stretch your leg this way and the other. It did become a terrible bore, especially when you only had on your tassels, at least during all this Woldstock business we can wear pants.
I know Mayor doesn’t approve, Betty says he likes ‘commando’ apparently, but that all sounds terribly strenuous, like I might have to shoot a gun or something and stick feathers in my hat.
After one of Ernest’s bed baths, in which I trialled the cream that prevents chaffing on the maypole (worked wonders on his scratchy bits) I troughed down a quick cream horn to give me the strength required for the challenges of the day. Invigorated I began to put those contortionists through their paces.
I took up position on Ernest’s recliner and asked the nice young ‘fiends’ who were floating around to pop one of their lovely ciggies into my gold, embossed with the Eiffel tower, cigarette holder. I struck a pose out of habit more than anything else and we were in business.
The lovely little ciggie had a whiff of the woldstock wiltonberry about it with just a slight soupcon of garlic, which of course took me right back to 1939, although I did remember to keep my vest on today.
Darling Harlot joined me and I proceeded to teach her some poses. I must remember to pop my spare tassels in a Tupperware pot for her to practice with…
I simply don’t know how the tarty one manages, or Harriet the Harlot as Betty has started to refer to her. It’s true she may be ever so slightly all fur coat and no knickers, but there’s nothing wrong with that, going without ones frillies never really bothered me. Betty can be perfectly beastly.
I remember the days in gay Paris, aah, so young, such devastating thighs, or so Madam Barrie, the experimental artist I used to do a bit of the nude stuff for, used to say. Ooh they were heady days; I used to languish in the sun, in one of my ‘special’ poses for hours until she was satisfied. I knew she’d finished when I heard the tap running, must have been to rinse the brush.
Betty was just the same at the ‘follies’, lean over there, stretch your leg this way and the other. It did become a terrible bore, especially when you only had on your tassels, at least during all this Woldstock business we can wear pants.
I know Mayor doesn’t approve, Betty says he likes ‘commando’ apparently, but that all sounds terribly strenuous, like I might have to shoot a gun or something and stick feathers in my hat.
After one of Ernest’s bed baths, in which I trialled the cream that prevents chaffing on the maypole (worked wonders on his scratchy bits) I troughed down a quick cream horn to give me the strength required for the challenges of the day. Invigorated I began to put those contortionists through their paces.
I took up position on Ernest’s recliner and asked the nice young ‘fiends’ who were floating around to pop one of their lovely ciggies into my gold, embossed with the Eiffel tower, cigarette holder. I struck a pose out of habit more than anything else and we were in business.
The lovely little ciggie had a whiff of the woldstock wiltonberry about it with just a slight soupcon of garlic, which of course took me right back to 1939, although I did remember to keep my vest on today.
Darling Harlot joined me and I proceeded to teach her some poses. I must remember to pop my spare tassels in a Tupperware pot for her to practice with…
Betty’s Entry - Buns and Cocks
My husband is on his last leg (he lost the other one, bless him). The doctors give him 4 months, but I give him 3. Mavis and I have done our best over the past 2 years to make him comfortable. We gave him our smaller bedroom and decorated and soundproofed it for him, and Mavis gives him a bed bath once a week, but he’s on his way out now.
I’ve just come back from the Co-op. I’ve been arranging his funeral ahead of time as I’ve got enough on my plate with all this Woldstock nonsense and anyway, it’s best to get it sorted out now. It was only a week ago that I buried Aphrodite. It really took it out of me, but our Mavis was a real rock – she was there in my darkest moments. To lose your soul mate so suddenly at my age can really test your stiff-upper-lipness…”keep it stiff” my mother used to say and I’ve kept it stiff ever since. Still, we gave her a cracking send off and Mavis and I made a large cheese omelette with the last of her eggs to celebrate her life at her wake – that chicken was the love of my life, really understood me and I miss her dreadfully. And I tell you another thing, both Felicity and Germaine miss her too; they’ve been clucking erratically around their coup for days. Still, I’ve arranged for the arrival of a big cock called Ernest who’ll cheer them up and give them a good seeing to. I’ve taken the gracious step of naming him after my soon-to-be late husband.
We’re just going to have a cuppa and a bun at my husband’s wake. Budgens have got some current ones half price this week, so I bought a couple of packets to put in the freezer. With any luck, he’ll go just around the time they need to be eaten.
Anyhow, I’ve got to go out to the village hall with Mavis now to audition some contortionists who are going to perform “YMCA” with the Mayor at the Woldstock Music Festival. Mavis wants to measure the length of their splits so they don’t overshoot the end of the stage and Mayor is coming along to offer a second opinion.
Right, just got to check on my husband in case I need to take those current buns out early.
I’ve just come back from the Co-op. I’ve been arranging his funeral ahead of time as I’ve got enough on my plate with all this Woldstock nonsense and anyway, it’s best to get it sorted out now. It was only a week ago that I buried Aphrodite. It really took it out of me, but our Mavis was a real rock – she was there in my darkest moments. To lose your soul mate so suddenly at my age can really test your stiff-upper-lipness…”keep it stiff” my mother used to say and I’ve kept it stiff ever since. Still, we gave her a cracking send off and Mavis and I made a large cheese omelette with the last of her eggs to celebrate her life at her wake – that chicken was the love of my life, really understood me and I miss her dreadfully. And I tell you another thing, both Felicity and Germaine miss her too; they’ve been clucking erratically around their coup for days. Still, I’ve arranged for the arrival of a big cock called Ernest who’ll cheer them up and give them a good seeing to. I’ve taken the gracious step of naming him after my soon-to-be late husband.
We’re just going to have a cuppa and a bun at my husband’s wake. Budgens have got some current ones half price this week, so I bought a couple of packets to put in the freezer. With any luck, he’ll go just around the time they need to be eaten.
Anyhow, I’ve got to go out to the village hall with Mavis now to audition some contortionists who are going to perform “YMCA” with the Mayor at the Woldstock Music Festival. Mavis wants to measure the length of their splits so they don’t overshoot the end of the stage and Mayor is coming along to offer a second opinion.
Right, just got to check on my husband in case I need to take those current buns out early.
Thursday 15 April 2010
OUR FIRST ENTRY, HURRAH!
7am
What a fabulous morning. I’ve milked the cow, shovelled up the dung, kicked off my hunters and am now having an absolutely fabulous cup of camomile tea in my country kitchen. It’s only 7am and everything here in Woldstock is tickety-boo.
We’ve got a super, young chap from ‘Look Closer’ TV coming to interview both Harriet and I about our forthcoming Woldstock Music Festival. It’s such a marvellous idea of Harriet’s. She knows all about music festivals as she’s from London. She says she moved to the country for a better quality of life, but Betty heard that she had to ‘escape from the big smoke’ – I can only guess she had a fire, but she’s a sturdy young filly, she’ll get over it with a stiff upper lip and all that.
11am
If only you lovelies could all smell my room! I’ve just made an enormous batch of fairy cakes in preparation of our visit from ‘Look Closer’s’ Dermott Kidder. Harriet showed me a picture of him on the intranet and I must say he looks in need of a good homemade sumptuous meal. He can’t possibly come from the country – if he did, he’d have some lovely firm meat on those bones and a super ruddy complexion. Harriet thinks he looks a little ‘wasted’ and on ‘the weed’. We’ll get some of these cakes down his neck; make a man of him, he won’t look ‘wasted’ then. I ask you, a man can’t survive on weeds – honestly, vegetarians! That young man needs a raw bloody steak on his plate! Harriet will be over soon. She’s so excited about being on the television. She’s bought some colourful wellies and had her moustache waxed.
1pm
Oh my god, I’m like just so nervous. I’ve had a snifter of Juniper’s homemade sloe gin, but unlike her it hasn’t calmed me down - I’m a Louis Vitton bag of nerves, yeah. The film crew are just setting up. Well actually it’s only that Dermott guy and his cameraman and he’s a total nosh! He obviously works out. The Dermott guy is just so like totally weedy – even thinner than his internet pictures, yeah. Juniper’s bought her picnic basket. It’s packed full of all her homemade goodies – Wiltonberry jam scones, camembert cheese and crackers and a bottle of Bolly. I did slip in a couple of my ‘hash’ cakes and a condom just to spice things up a bit. Oh, they’re calling me to start the interview yeah; I’m like just totally in the moment – moo baby, yeah!
3pm
What a fabulous interview and what a lovely pair of chaps. Harriet did remarkably well to make such sense and I did a wonderful piece-to-camera. Dermott said I was a lovely lady with a wonderful sense of fashion and that Harriet seemed like a ‘real pro’…..why he winked at the cameraman when he said that can only suggest that Harriet has a very promising career in TV – what a super and thoughtful man. Unfortunately, they declined my offer of a fairy cake, but the cameraman did say that Dermott often has a ‘Cream Horn’ when he wakes up in the morning and likes to wash it down with a nice hot cup of tea; that’s fabulous news at least he’s eating something. I promised him that Harriet and I would give them all a splendid Cream Horn when we next meet at our committee meeting. For some reason, they both ran off after the interview saying that they had another appointment which was a shame. Harriet was devastated and had a few tears, but I told her to stuff it all back down and put a brave face on it; of course she’ll use the condom before its use by date. I found some rather odd looking patties in my basket that smelled a bit ‘off’, so I gave them to the sheep….I think I’m going to have to call the vet as they’re acting up a bit. Still, we did a stirling job at promoting the Woldstock Music Festival – see the video link for the full interview….it’s achingly fabulous.
7pm
I’ve just finished writing the agenda for the Woldstock Music Festival committee meeting, of which I am Chair. I must say, we are blessed to have such a dedicated and intelligent bunch on the committee. With her extensive PR & Marketing skills from London, Harriet is best placed to be my vice-chair and we are lucky enough to have our fantastic mayor, who is all the way from America you know. He has a voice as deep and fabulous as the late Barry White – Woldstock really is a cosmopolitan village you know and we are always tremendously keen to welcome outsiders. Mayor is always happy to visit the ladies of the village – he says he wants to become acquainted with us all on a more personal level, that way, he says, he can be more effective at his job – how utterly lovely of him.
Mavis and Betty, who live together with their chickens, help out enormously and will re-house the livestock in preparation for the event and dear old Dorothy, who has trouble walking due to chafing between the legs, does her bit. How utterly marvellous then that Mavis has made some delightful herbal cream which she herself used to use when she was at the ‘Folly Bergere’. Both she and Betty take in turns to regularly rub it on Dorothy’s thighs. They always tell us that if Dorothy’s curtains are closed then they are in the middle of a good rubbing. Apparently the light or visitors come to that, can make the cream go off – I must say that Woldstock really does bring out the humanitarian in people. Righty-ho, I must tuck in the animals and then run myself a hot bath using some of Mavis’s homemade chocolate bubble bath & sort out these calluses on my feet – how utterly super.
The super young man from the old beeb, kindly gave me one....watch it here
What a fabulous morning. I’ve milked the cow, shovelled up the dung, kicked off my hunters and am now having an absolutely fabulous cup of camomile tea in my country kitchen. It’s only 7am and everything here in Woldstock is tickety-boo.
We’ve got a super, young chap from ‘Look Closer’ TV coming to interview both Harriet and I about our forthcoming Woldstock Music Festival. It’s such a marvellous idea of Harriet’s. She knows all about music festivals as she’s from London. She says she moved to the country for a better quality of life, but Betty heard that she had to ‘escape from the big smoke’ – I can only guess she had a fire, but she’s a sturdy young filly, she’ll get over it with a stiff upper lip and all that.
11am
If only you lovelies could all smell my room! I’ve just made an enormous batch of fairy cakes in preparation of our visit from ‘Look Closer’s’ Dermott Kidder. Harriet showed me a picture of him on the intranet and I must say he looks in need of a good homemade sumptuous meal. He can’t possibly come from the country – if he did, he’d have some lovely firm meat on those bones and a super ruddy complexion. Harriet thinks he looks a little ‘wasted’ and on ‘the weed’. We’ll get some of these cakes down his neck; make a man of him, he won’t look ‘wasted’ then. I ask you, a man can’t survive on weeds – honestly, vegetarians! That young man needs a raw bloody steak on his plate! Harriet will be over soon. She’s so excited about being on the television. She’s bought some colourful wellies and had her moustache waxed.
1pm
Oh my god, I’m like just so nervous. I’ve had a snifter of Juniper’s homemade sloe gin, but unlike her it hasn’t calmed me down - I’m a Louis Vitton bag of nerves, yeah. The film crew are just setting up. Well actually it’s only that Dermott guy and his cameraman and he’s a total nosh! He obviously works out. The Dermott guy is just so like totally weedy – even thinner than his internet pictures, yeah. Juniper’s bought her picnic basket. It’s packed full of all her homemade goodies – Wiltonberry jam scones, camembert cheese and crackers and a bottle of Bolly. I did slip in a couple of my ‘hash’ cakes and a condom just to spice things up a bit. Oh, they’re calling me to start the interview yeah; I’m like just totally in the moment – moo baby, yeah!
3pm
What a fabulous interview and what a lovely pair of chaps. Harriet did remarkably well to make such sense and I did a wonderful piece-to-camera. Dermott said I was a lovely lady with a wonderful sense of fashion and that Harriet seemed like a ‘real pro’…..why he winked at the cameraman when he said that can only suggest that Harriet has a very promising career in TV – what a super and thoughtful man. Unfortunately, they declined my offer of a fairy cake, but the cameraman did say that Dermott often has a ‘Cream Horn’ when he wakes up in the morning and likes to wash it down with a nice hot cup of tea; that’s fabulous news at least he’s eating something. I promised him that Harriet and I would give them all a splendid Cream Horn when we next meet at our committee meeting. For some reason, they both ran off after the interview saying that they had another appointment which was a shame. Harriet was devastated and had a few tears, but I told her to stuff it all back down and put a brave face on it; of course she’ll use the condom before its use by date. I found some rather odd looking patties in my basket that smelled a bit ‘off’, so I gave them to the sheep….I think I’m going to have to call the vet as they’re acting up a bit. Still, we did a stirling job at promoting the Woldstock Music Festival – see the video link for the full interview….it’s achingly fabulous.
7pm
I’ve just finished writing the agenda for the Woldstock Music Festival committee meeting, of which I am Chair. I must say, we are blessed to have such a dedicated and intelligent bunch on the committee. With her extensive PR & Marketing skills from London, Harriet is best placed to be my vice-chair and we are lucky enough to have our fantastic mayor, who is all the way from America you know. He has a voice as deep and fabulous as the late Barry White – Woldstock really is a cosmopolitan village you know and we are always tremendously keen to welcome outsiders. Mayor is always happy to visit the ladies of the village – he says he wants to become acquainted with us all on a more personal level, that way, he says, he can be more effective at his job – how utterly lovely of him.
Mavis and Betty, who live together with their chickens, help out enormously and will re-house the livestock in preparation for the event and dear old Dorothy, who has trouble walking due to chafing between the legs, does her bit. How utterly marvellous then that Mavis has made some delightful herbal cream which she herself used to use when she was at the ‘Folly Bergere’. Both she and Betty take in turns to regularly rub it on Dorothy’s thighs. They always tell us that if Dorothy’s curtains are closed then they are in the middle of a good rubbing. Apparently the light or visitors come to that, can make the cream go off – I must say that Woldstock really does bring out the humanitarian in people. Righty-ho, I must tuck in the animals and then run myself a hot bath using some of Mavis’s homemade chocolate bubble bath & sort out these calluses on my feet – how utterly super.
The super young man from the old beeb, kindly gave me one....watch it here
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Moo Baby
