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
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!
Carrie & Gyles.
PS What’s French for Keep Dancing!