Letters to Santa

Tags

ADD, Aloha shirt, Beach Boys, Caligula, Chi Rho, Come Dine with Me, Father Christmas, Greenland Fulfilment Centre, Harry Styles, Location, One Direction, Paint balling, Red Letter Day, Richard Dawkins, Salisbury Plain, Schnautzer, Tinkerbelle, Victoria's Secret, zombie make-up

A previous Year’s updated post!

Tristram, having appeared on two television programmes in recent months- ie/

Come Dine With Me and Location, Location, Location, was regarded as a minor

culinary and real estate celebrity and therefore was approached by the local

town charities, to see if he would accept the role of Father Christmas at the

late night shopping evening.  They had asked Harry Styles from One Direction

to be compere, but regrettably he was otherwise engaged.  Clammie had

agreed to be Santa’s fairy as she had an up-to-date DBS check and was one

of the few mums who could pneumatically squeeze into the Tinkerbelle

costume.

More grotty than grotto! her rather unkind daughter had remarked.  I

don’t think you’ll be finding ANY member of One Direction in your stocking

this Christmas, or any other year, even though they have been known to

go for the older woman!

Right!  The brat had just unknowingly forfeited the Victoria’s Secret stuff

her mother had planned to buy her.

Some of Tristram’s duties involved emptying the town Lapland post box

and arranging the re-direction of the mail to the PO department that dealt

with applications to Greenland’s Fulfilment Centre.  He had to read them in

order to decipher the return addresses and he showed me some of the

finest epistles deposited therein:

1) Dear Father Xmas,

As one who is a member of the ‘kids from one to ninety two’ bracket,

may I register a little festive plea?

As a long term fan of The Beach Boys, I would very much like an

Aloha shirt- Medium size. Actually, the folks over there can be

quite large, so maybe a ‘Small’ would do?

In spite of my nickname- Caligula- I can assure you that

J’etais sage pendant l’annee 2014. 

Why am I falling into the Gallic medium?

Many thanks and The Peace of the Lord be With You,

Nigel Milford-Haven

Form Teacher

St Birinus Middle School etc

PS- The use of ‘X’ in Xmas in no way indicates any agnostic

position.

(Chi Rho)

 

2) Dear Santa,

Please may I have a taser gun so that I can zap the next boy who calls

me Ginger Minger? I do hope that Rudolph has recovered from the

mental trauma of being called names and marginalised at games.

Bullying isn’t nice, I can tell you.  I’m glad that you picked him out to

be special, even though his fur is a teeny bit auburn.  It sends out

the right message.

Love,

Ferdy xx

Nutwood Cottage

Suttonford  etc

3) Dear Santa Claws (sic),

Please may we remind you that we would prefer not to have joint prezzies?

The tandem you left us last year is still in Dad’s observatory.

On the 24^th we will not set our buglar (sic) alarm, so don’t worry about coming

in.  The chimney has been swept, so you shouldn’t get too dirty.  If you are

sooty, please could you be careful of Mum’s cream carpet in the sitting room,

as she goes ballistic if anyone steps on it with outdoor shoes or boots.

We will leave a carrot out, as Mum doesn’t believe in suet, so mince pies

are off.

Have a good one!

Castor & Pollux.

The address wasn’t vital on this one as there was only one set of twins in

the town who answered to such stellar appellations.

4) Dear Father Christmas,

I can’t remember what it is that I really, really want, but zombie make-up

would do for my stocking.  You usually get it about right, but I think The

Memory Game last year didn’t do me much good, I’m afraid. Or did you give

that to Ming?  I can’t remember.  Maybe it was the year before?

Anyway-cheers!

Bill.

(There was no address on this one, but Tristram remembered that Carrie’s

son had something like ADD.)

5)

Dear Santa,

I don’t really believe in you, but I might as well hedge my bets.

I have been reasonably well-behaved this term.  Well, it is all

relative, isn’t it?

In all probability, I think I would like Richard Dawkins’ new book

for children- Faith and Fairy Tales.

I enjoyed my Apocalyptic experience on Salisbury Plain, but as

I was done out of a paint balling session, could Juniper- my sister

and I- have vouchers for a Red Letter Day involving anything

violent with tanks and weapons?

Thank You – even if you are only my dad.

John etc

6) Dear Santa,

I don’t need anything this year.  Please just make a donation to Curs

in Crisis. Maybe the pugs could go on a driving course, like that giant

Schnautzer cross I saw online?  Their legs are a little short, though.

I’ll leave it up to you.  I think they’d like it, though, as they often ride

on my scooter, but their Highway Code isn’t up to much.

Love,

Edward xx

(Such selflessness brought tears to Tristram and Clammie’s eyes.)

She made Tristram a cup oftea when they returned home with the

festive correspondence and warmed up a mince pie for him.

However, she eschewed one herself, as the fairy costume was a

little tight round the bust.  Tinkerbelle had obviously not  been a

36C.

Life Class

Tags

Come Dine with Me, dermoabrasion, Manet, Olympia, Titian, Venus of Urbino

Drusilla Fotheringay-Syylk, part-time Art teacher and housemistress

at St Vitus’ School for the Academically-Gifted Girl, likes to get out

and about in the community, so she offers a Monday evening

adults’ class in Suttonford, on her day off.  She rents a shop which

has been vacated by Aquanibble, whose piscatory dermo-abrasion

service never really took off.

Most of the potential customers preferred to retain their calloused

skins.  Indeed, some actively cultivated the equivalent of a

rhinoceros hide, whether metaphorically, or not.  The minority

delivered their dermis to Beauty and the Beast, once named Pride

Knows No Pain before Citronella took over the business and the

premises.

But to our tale…

The last straw had been when she went into the staff loo and was

confronted by a laminated instruction panel comprising of no less

than twelve boxes, illustrating the correct way to wash her hands.

I think I have survived *years without succumbing to bubonic plague,

she fumed. Then she said *****under her breath, I hate to inform

you.  You see, you just can’t get the same quality of staff any more.

On entering the cubicle she wondered if there would be any further

instructions on hygiene: ten steps to wiping… No, she didn’t wish to

think about it.  This excessive infantilisation of adults was driving her

to deliberately spit in the tea urn. She just fantasised: don’t worry!

(Well, they should pay them more and they’d get better types

applying for the posts.)

Anyway, it was this that drove her to seek mature company, save her

sanity and to have her talents fully recognised.

And so it was that on the first Monday of the month, Drusilla faced

her initial ten adults, who had turned up with their portable easels,

squirrel brushes, palettes of acrylics and boxes of pastels.

She spoke for the first three quarters of an hour on perspective, flat

surfaces, light sources and ways of seeing.  She showed them a

painting by Titian: The Venus of Urbino.  Then she sensed that they

were all itching to start drawing.

Melinda D’Oyly-Carter, the local masseuse and aromatherapist,

emerged from behind a decoupaged screen, wearing a pink chenille

bathrobe and fluffy mules.

Tristram flinched.  She had been a fellow contestant in Come Dine

 With Me and had, in fact, won the £1,000 prize.   He was feeling

discomfited as he was the only male in the class.

Drusilla turned on the fan heater.

The ladies arranged their easels around the chaise longue and one or

two sharpened their pencils; others snapped a stalk of charcoal and

yet another cleaned her putty eraser.

Tristram suddenly felt queasy.

Excuse me, ladies, I’ve suddenly remembered that I left some

meringues in the oven.

He fled.

Melinda, or Mimi, as she preferred to be addressed, disrobed in one

confident, burlesque gesture and lay in an Olympia position, which

would have gratified Manet.

Half an hour of making marks, instructed Drusilla, wondering where

Mimi had secreted all the business cards she was distributing. Next

week we will explore the symbolism of the cane in Le Dejeuner sur

L’Herbe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Round Robin 2-Strictly Finals

Tags

Argentinian tango, bugle beads, Come Dine with Me, Dancing With the Stars, Fake or Fortune?, Flavia, Katherine Jenkins, Location Location Location, Louis Smith, monocles, Patrick Moore, Pineau, Pippa Middleton, Pizza Express, pleb, pommel horse, Salvatore Ferragamo, Santa Baby, Strictly Come Dancing, Swarovski, Vincent

Marzipan accomplished.  As I said, ‘to be continued’.

 

Well, Victoria, so many of our friends and neighbours have been

minor celebs this year- Tristram on Come Dine With Me; Sonia on

Fake or Fortune; Clammie and Tristram on Location, Location,

Location.  So, we feel very ordinary- almost pleb-like, I was going to

say, but that isn’t PC now.

Brassie’s party is on Saturday and there has been a trail of bugle

beads up the pavement from A La Mode, down to the Norman

bridge.  Everyone is getting glitzed up for the Strictly final.

Tiger and her friend, Sherry, spent some of their Xmas-in-advance

money on a ‘papp’ experience.  This is the latest craze for St Vitus’

girls, apparently.  They organised an agency to roll out a red carpet

for them when they left A La Mode and then a crowd of fake

papparazi flashed away-?- and a rent-a crowd of autograph

hunters besieged them as they were escorted into their stretch limo,

which took them to Pizza Express. (They could only afford the

economy package, not the platinum one.)

The only trouble was that then Pippa Middleton’s security posse

arrived and shunted the girls’ car off the double yellow lines and then

everyone started to snap Pip instead.  Gyles had said the package

was a complete waste of money and the girls just cheekily replied:

Whatever.  So, he is not speaking to Tiger at the moment.  In a way,

it is a blessing.  Tiger said that Pippa actually went into Mini Moghuls,

probably to buy a Swarovski-encrusted mini-onesie for the

forthcoming one- and I don’t mean the baby Jesus.  The ubiquitous

traffic warden was conspicuous by his absence on this occasion.

Have just managed to find a second-hand pommel horse for Rollo on

E-bay.  He adores Louis Smith and so he went and had his hair cut in

that ridiculous way on the last day of term.  Thank goodness it will

have grown a bit before January, or Mr Milford-Haven, his

pastoral mentor, will be having words with him.

Of course, all my family support the Italians- whether it be Flavia or

Vincent.  I have been trying the Argentinian Tango, but it does my

back in.

Cosmo said he would prefer if the programme were to be called

Dancing With the Stars, as its European equivalent.  At the weekend,

he was drooling over Katherine Jenkins singing Santa Baby, which

really upset Brassie.  And to think that it hadn’t been 24 hours since

he was so moved by the death of Patrick Moore. Brassie said that she

felt like returning the crystal-encrusted monocle she had ordered for

him, in memory of his astronomical hero.

I hope Brassie gates the peeing Border, Andy, on Saturday.  I don’t

want to slip on anything wet on the conservatory floor during our

Gangnam number.  It would ruin my new Salvatore Ferragamos!

Well, at least you don’t have to worry about excessive preparation,

do you?  The Charentaise are so laid back about their Bonnes Fetes

that they don’t even bother to remove their plastic, life-size Pere

Noels from their exterior chimneys, from one year to the next.  I

always think that they look like burglars in July or August!

Have a great time and see you in the New Year.

Thanks for the truffles and Pineau!

Gros Bisous!

Carrie & Gyles.

PS What’s French for Keep Dancing!

Letters To Santa

Tags

Aloha shirt, Beach Boys, Chi Ro, Come Dine with Me, Harry Styles, Location, One Direction, Red Letter Day, Richard Dawkins, Rudolph, Schnautzer, taser, Tinkerbelle

Tristram, having appeared on two television programmes in recent months- ie/

Come Dine With Me and Location, Location, Location, was regarded as a minor

culinary celebrity and therefore was approached by the local town charities, to

see if he would accept the role of Father Christmas at the late night shopping

evening.  They had asked Harry Styles from One Direction to be compere, but

regrettably he was otherwise engaged.  Clammie had agreed to be Santa’s

fairy as she had an up-to-date DBS check and was one of the few mums

who could squeeze into the Tinkerbelle costume.

Some of his duties involved emptying the town Lapland post box and re-

directing the mail to the PO department that dealt with applications to

Greenland’s Fulfilment Centre.  He had to read them in order to decipher

the return addresses and he showed me some of the finest epistles:

1) Dear Father Xmas,

As one who is a member of the ‘kids from one to ninety two’ bracket, may I register

a little festive plea?

As a long term fan of The Beach Boys, I would very much like an Aloha shirt- Medium

size. Actually, the folks over there can be quite large, so maybe a Small would do?

In spite of my nickname- Caligula- I can assure you that J’etais sage pendant l’annee

2012. 

Many thanks and The Peace of the Lord be With You,

Nigel Milford-Haven

Form Teacher

St Birinus Middle School etc

PS- The use of X in Xmas in no way indicates any agnostic position.

(Chi Ro)

2) Dear Santa,

Please may I have a taser gun so that I can zap the next boy who calls me Ginger

Minger? I do hope that Rudolph has recovered from the mental trauma of being

called names and marginalised at games.  Bullying isn’t nice I can tell you.  I’m

glad that you picked him out to be special, even though his fur is a teeny bit

auburn.

Love,

Ferdy xx

Nutwood Cottage

Suttonford  etc

3) Dear Santa Claws (sic),

Please may we remind you that we would prefer not to have joint prezzies?

The tandem you left us last year is still in Dad’s observatory.

On the 24^th we will not set our buglar (sic) alarm, so don’t worry about coming

in.  The chimney has been swept, so you shouldn’t get too dirty.  If you are

sooty, please could you be careful of Mum’s cream carpet in the sitting room,

as she goes ballistic if anyone steps on it with outdoor shoes or boots.

We will leave a carrot out, but Mum doesn’t believe in suet, so mince pies

are off.

Have a good one!

Castor & Pollux.

The address wasn’t vital on this one as there was only one set of twins in

the town who answered to such stellar appellations.

4) Dear Father Christmas,

I can’t remember what it is that I really, really want, but zombie make-up

would do for my stocking.  You usually get it about right, but I think the

Memory Game last year didn’t do me much good, I’m afraid. Or did you give

that to Ming?  I can’t remember.

Anyway-cheers!

Bill.

(There was no address on this one, but Tristram remembered that Carrie’s

son had something like ADD.)

5)

Dear Santa,

I don’t really believe in you, but I might as well hedge my bets.

I have been reasonably well-behaved this term.  Well, it is all relative,

isn’t it?

I think I would like Richard Dawkins’ new book for children- Faith and Fairy

Tales.

I enjoyed my Apocalyptic experience on Salisbury Plain, but as I was done

out of a paint balling session, could Juniper- my sister- and I have vouchers

for a Red Letter Day involving anything violent with tanks and weapons?

Thank You – even if you are only my dad.

John etc

6) Dear Santa,

I don’t need anything this year.  Please just make a donation to Curs in Crisis.

Maybe the pugs could go on a driving course, like that giant Schnautzer cross

I saw online?  Their legs are a little short, though.  I’ll leave it up to you.  I

think they’d like it, though, as they often ride on my scooter.

Love,

Edward xx

(This brought tears to Tristram and Clammie’s eyes.)  She made Tristram a cup of

tea when they returned home with the correspondence and warmed up a mince

pie for him.  However, she eschewed one herself, as the fairy costume was a little

tight round the bust.  Tinkerbelle was obviously not a 36B.

Come Dine With Me

Tags

Andrew Fairlie, Appellation Controlee, Come Dine with Me, Dexters, Gleneagles, Jamie Oliver, La Boheme, Lidl, Mr Bean, Nigella, Rachel Khoo, spatchcock, Swarovski

Another blast from past Suttonford Chronicles since I hadn’t many readers in 2012 when I first started writing as Candia…

Tristram spotted the advert in a shop window in Suttonford’s High Street.  It invited amateur chefs to apply to take part in the Channel 4 programme Come Dine With Me.

Tristram adored cooking, which was just as well, as his wife rarely participated in the activity.  However, he did not dare to contemplate reproducing any of his signature curries as, Clammie, his spouse, had been furious that the proprietor of Benares Balti had gazumped them in the bidding for their forever home.  A mere whiff of garam masala would send her into a vindaloo of a spleen-venting frenzy and so he would have to rely on his milder fusion cuisine.

He was apprehensive, but secretly delighted when his application was successful.  It wasn’t so much the winning of £1,000 that was important; it was national affirmation of his skills.  And it gave him the opportunity to re-visit his beloved Rachel Khoo programmes. (Why wouldn’t Clammie wear scarlet lipstick and fifties skirts?)

But who were the other contestants?

He discovered the answer soon enough, and, as usual, there was a potentially explosive mix:  Nigel Milford-Haven, an effete form teacher from St Birinus’ Middle School, who was an acolyte of Andrew Fairlie of Gleneagles fame; Gisela Boothroyd-Smythe, a parent of the legendary Suttonford delinquents, Juniper and John, and Melinda D’Oyly-Carter, an aromatherapist and masseuse who was committed to all things pink and fluffy.  She was very tactile, but tactless and preferred to be addressed as Mimi.

Tristram was of the Jamie Oliver Whack It In! school; Nigel, surprisingly, given his vocation, was not.  He favoured sourcing everything locally and his partner had a field of Dexters and a dubious connection to a pig farmer, who smoked his bacon regularly.  Gisela loved bondage cookery.

What is that? I hear you ask, Dear Reader.

It meant that since she could neither control her husband, nor her offspring, she trussed fowl, spatch-cocked chicken and game and tied up joints ruthlessly. All her wine choices were Appellation Controlee.

Melinda, or Mimi, on the other hand, used vats of lubricious olive oil- extra vergine– ; oysters in season and thick-lipped moules in summer.  She over-used Coquilles St Jacques and sighed pneumatically, a la Nigella, as she lingeringly licked the backs of spoons.

Clammie wasn’t keen on having these strange self-publicists in Nutwood Cottage, but Tristram re-assured her that they would be confined to the kitchen and dining room.  With the cameras, it was a bit of a crush, however.  Mimi didn’t mind getting up close and personal with the cameraman, though, and wobbled nearly as much as the champagne jellies she had served to the others the previous evening.  She had deliberately placed her rhinestone-encrusted spectacles in his camera bag as an excuse to keep in contact.

Gisela was angry because her son had told his form teacher, the very one who was appearing on the programme, that his mother had cheated by tarting up a dessert from Lidl.

Nigel went on to stuff a goose with a Cox’s Pippin in the manner of Mr Bean’s preparation of his Christmas turkey.  He took exception to Mimi leaning over him, looking straight into the camera lens and pronouncing:  Ooh, Mr Milford-Haven: is that a tanker in your estuary or are you just pleased to see me? He insisted that this should be cut as viewing was before the watershed and half of his form would be watching.  He was right.  They were.  However, they were hoping that he would well and truly have his goose cooked.  So much for house loyalty.

When the cameraman came indoors from filming the frosty garden, Mimi took his hand and commented that it was frozen.  Cue for a snatch of La Boheme as background muzak, which was mainly lost on the great viewing public. Those that did recognise it, cringed at the cliché.

Oddly, Mimi won first prize.  As entertainment she had given her guests a pre-prandial massage – all except Gisela, who had been feeling unwell because of the overwhelmingly pink décor of the love-booth of a living room.  (What a contrast to the evening she had hosted, when everyone had been bowled over by gun dogs and had been told where to sit in ramrod chairs whilst being presented with offal, which was promptly fed to the canines under the table, as soon as her back was turned.)

Tristram’s meal was received with polite gratitude, but the others felt that his food technology was a little twee, like the choice of his children’s names.  The pugs snapped at the guests’ ankles at the start of the evening and Gisela was not impressed by their toy-like dimensions.  She liked a real dog that could work.

Nigel had worn a co -ordinating waistcoat and tie which matched the hues of his starter.  His food was deemed too fussy and poncey-a word which Tristram had not heard for a very long time.  He tried to encourage the teacher by joking that his main course had been ambi-Dextrous, but that the steak had been a little too pink for his taste.  He scored him an 8, to be kind.

It was a relief when it was all over and Clammie could access her drive again, without having to squeeze past Gisela’s Volvo.  She and Tristram and Gisela sent commiseration cards to Nigel.  After all, he would be writing their children’s end-of term reports in the very near future.

Melinda, aka Mimi, spent her £1,000 on a new pair of Swarovski-encrusted spectacles and a designer clutch purse, as the cameraman never did return the pair she had placed so carefully in his camera bag.