What Ho Proles!
Terrible news about tornadoes hitting London. The English weather seems to be more cock-eyed than Old Barney, the village drunk.
Down here, we’ve just had a bit of wind and rain, and the most stomach clenching smell coming up from the drains. Had a man here looking at them all morning and it would appear that Mrs. Prigg’s famous prune and bran sponge cake has finally taken its toll on the old pipes. New drains for the New Year is the new motto around here. So, should any of you be in the plumbing trade, I need a estimate for pipes that can handle high levels of sewage with a high fibre content.
Despite these interruptions, I have managed to get some work done and another chapter of memoirs will appear shortly. This will give the wittiest among you chance to say that more than one type of effluent is streaming from the Hall today…
Finally, in this mini-update, I’d like to say that this Christmas lark is very different when you experience it sober. I woke up this morning and got to three o’clock before I even thought of having a drink. I drank a glass of orange juice instead and feel healthier for it. The Christmas tree looks very festive and I enjoy the lights. Of course, My Man has still to bag the squirrel that Christine, the scullery maid, claims she saw living in it's higher branches, but squirrels or not, it’s still a fine addition to the Hall.
Toodle p.
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2 comments:
Oh, dear. Please take care of yourself! And squirrels can be tricky fellows!
Alas, Momentary! I should have heeded your warning, though, as you can see, it wasn't the squirrel that got me. Do you know of any cure for deafness brought about by loud explosions?
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