Christmas Update No.3 ...
Well the good news is that the reindeer have been freed off without significant damage to the ice sculptures and most of the cabbages have been reduced to Brussels sprouts ready for tomorrow. The gassing of the Christmas tree in the hallway yielded eighteen squirrels, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge that really, really should more properly have settled in a pear tree. The staff will be eating like kings. Or queens in the case of three of the footmen and Tarquin, the Estate blacksmith. Ooh yeah, like a tigerrrrrr.
Even better, the Colonel has married his Social Worker and moved to Tonga, so there's no danger that he'll be expecting to play Father Christmas and we won't have to put bromide in his tea or courier the cctv footage to the police investigating the Savile debacle.
On a slightly less positive note, Cook is proposing to begin lunch tomorrow with Hippo's famous signature dish; Dancing primate on a hot-plate. She's planning to use culinary poetic licence viz Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family and Genus by substituting some of the spare pandas from the Estate zoo for primates. The problem is that she seriously expects everyone to eat with chopsticks. Chopsticks are not going to go down well with the more conservative guests, even if they are distracted by fresh baby pandas dancing in their own juices.
Worse yet, she intends to follow up with reindeer penis in aspic and quite how just six of those are going to be enough for fifty guests is beyond me, even with the addition of a very generous cabbage-sprout trimming salad.
The builders appear to have re-fitted the dome over the stairs upside down and now that it's raining heavily it's like having a twelve-thousand gallon goldfish bowl developing over the tree. There's no answer from the builder's mobile phones and two swans seem to have made it home already. I'm sure it won't be a problem, but I just hope that no more than six of the geese lay.
Brian May has arrived and been fitted to the battlements. According to the instructions that came with him he'll need a couple of hours of tuning up and then he'll be playing carols and stuff up there until either New Year or until we unplug his electric guitar. He seems keen. Stupid, but keen.
Christmas is really coming together!
I've soaked this year's socks off and am now in front of the roaring fire in my winter dressing-room, in the rocker with one foot each in two buckets of warm Johnson & Johnson lavender floorwax. Later on my batman is bringing in his medical-support team and we're going to see if we can't get me into some fresh whalebone longjohns ready for the "festivities" and my new-found role as Father Christmas (when I'll be distributing presents and summary dismissal notices to some of the more elderly staff - before they qualify for pension rights or anything expensive).
Just enough time now before drinky-poos to wrap the final few presents for special people. I'm giving Norfolk to my literary agent, even though I have no idea how to wrap it. I may just have bows put on the road signs.
Well, ding dong for now my little weiner-schnitzen kerflumpen-strudel shnorterz - must fly (I have Business Class Air Wick tickets to the Orangery, wherever the hell that is - I haven't been to that part of the house for years. Dry sherry is about to be served with stilton and pineapple on cocktail sticks stuck in foil-wrapped potato hedgehogs. From experience it only takes a couple of bottles before Her Maj starts lighting farts, and this year I do have a camera.
Toodle-pip and TTFN.
I don't know how the goldfish got into the upside down cupola this stretches my imagination just a tad to far but the rest of these ramblingtons are totally credible, well done that chap. MC2U.
ReplyDeleteTis all true, dear lady, I assure you! We may be country bumpkins here but our Christmasses are usually quite colourful and sprinkled with incident. Nothing will ever compare with Christmas of '43 - or was it '44? Whichever, that was the year the Maharaja of Bungditdin insisted on bringing all of his favourite elephants with him, and the rugs got quite a trampling.
DeleteA poetic merry thingummy to you too ma'am!
Happy Christmas, dear Bro. You've been nibbling on that Christmas cake - told you it was boozy! See you tomorrow. x
ReplyDeletePlease define "nibble" - we may be singing from different hymn sheets ...
DeleteIt IS a most splendid cake by the way - and will be reviewed herewith, soon. Thank you!
Committing to eating with chopsticks for the month of December sounds like a brilliant plan to avoid holiday weight gain. The trick would be to keep all the cookies and finger foods away.
ReplyDeleteThe chopstick-diet is indeed most efficacious - which is why I invented the chopshovel. It's like a chopstick but ten inches wide, twelve deep and barely fits between my lips even at "maximum eating rictus".
DeleteSimilarly, the drinking-Archimedes screw - this wide-bore device replaces the drinking straw and takes all the effort out of things (no more sucking).
Please don't mention "finger foods" when my shutter-finger is on a petri dish of agar-agar in the fridge.
;-)
Ye Gods Man! The 'Dancing Primates on a Hot Plate' are after dinner entertainment, it is unseemly for civilised human beings to eat them afterwards. What did Nanny always say before you had her stuffed and mounted? Yes, that's right, a Gentleman never plays with his food. Once the novelty for your guests wears off, have them stored in the cold room reserved for staff rations. The primates, not your guests, I hasten to add.
ReplyDeleteI really do hope I have caught you in time, I would feel absolutey dreadful if I found myself in some way responsible for you committing an awful faux pas.
Oh bugger. It's already announced on the menu though, and we've shaved the pandas ... I thought it was the Human equivalent of Klingon Gagh, you know - live food?
DeleteI suppose that if I move quickly there's just enough time to serve hot Gazpacho instead.
Excuse me, I must away to the kitchen speaking-tube. I'll let you know the outcome Sir. If this all goes belly-up I may have to resign from several of my clubs.
You DO know how to throw a party! It sounds like everything is in order and you have all the wildlife accounted for. I think that when giving a geographical area as a gift, putting bows on the signs is quite appropriate. That way, the inhabitants will remain blissfully unaware and won't take up arms or protest. In fact, that seems like such an impressive gift, I just might try giving away Wisconsin next year! Anyway, have a jolly time as Father Christmas.
ReplyDeleteMerry um and, well, er, Ms Sparrow!
DeleteGiving away Wisconsin sounds as though it may be a gift as beneficial to the generous soul as to the receiver. Do be careful to measure your ribbon carefully though, it can be so embarrassing if it doesn't quite encircle fully.
Must away - I am typing this from the kitchens at Owl Towers, and I should be encouraging the staff to move with more speed. It's so awkward when one has guests and can't use the cattle-prods.
Brian May on the roof? Thank goodness you haven't got Morissey; he'd make too much noise through the Queen's Speech. Otherwise, if you get in a jam, I'll send my 'spare' man round.
ReplyDeleteYour spare chap would indeed be much appreciated Sir. I have just discovered that, while we have sufficient footmen to hold the chainsaw, we have none available to pull the starter cord in the turkey-carving element of luncheon.
DeleteMr May seems to have become damp in the dawn air, he's gone awfully quiet and his eclectic guitar is sparking gently.