White Gold

Tags

Alex Salmond, Aljaz, androstenol, Anton de Beke, Boar's Head Carol, Ferraro Rochers, Limousin cattle, Pasha, Perthshire, pig in a poke, Plutarch, poo, Strictly male professionals, there's brass, Thornton truffles, truffles, tuber maculatum, where there's muck

Murgatroyd was becoming over-enthusiastic.  He had just purchased

some hazel saplings which were impregnated with truffle sporelings.

He had been assured that the spores originated from the hooves of

Limousin cattle which had come from a truffe-producing region.  Ca

marche, surely?

There was something magical about truffles.  Even Plutarch had

postulated that, though made of muck, they had been formed when

a lightning bolt had hit the ground.  And Murgatroyd had had a coup

de foudre idea when he had suddenly surmised that where there was

muck, there might be brass. He seemed to remember having read

about some schoolchildren in Perthshire who had discovered white gold,

or tuber maculatum, in their playground.  Children loved anything that

resembled poo, but they loved hard cash even more.  Apparently, they

were unbelievably, but altruistically donating the proceeds to their school

funds, to build a new kitchen.

Children seemed to be different nowadays.

But, at £2,800 per kilo it seemed a brilliant idea to seek

them out- the truffles, not the children, especially as he now had a

pig that he could train.

Diana dampened his enthusiasm.

It has to be a female pig, darling, she advised. The scent comes from

androstenol, a sex pheromeme found in boar saliva, so The Emperor

would not be attracted to the smell, unless he bats for the other team.

But we can get a sow, Murgatroyd pointed out.  I want to breed for

sausage production anyway.

Yes, well, I read that you’d hardly harvest any, as the beast eats most of

them and, if you try to take them from her, you will fall into the category

of truffle hunters who do not have a full complement of digits.  Also, I

seem to recall that someone said that even if you did find truffles in

Scotland, they wouldn’t taste of much.

That wouldn’t have been Alex Salmond then, he quipped.

Murgatroyd looked crestfallen. He had hoped to supply that canteen-

style restaurant that Dru had been harping on about- the one owned

by that Hugo Frondley-Whittingstall chap.

Have you told Aunt Augusta that The Emperor is male? Diana asked.

She’ll be so disappointed.

I’ll send her one of our Photoshop-ed calendars for 2015, said

Murgatroyd.  The Emperor looks so noble in December, with his crown

of mistletoe, surrounded by carol singers with the Boar’s Head Carol

on their music stand.  It was such fun producing it.  I hope we sell

loads.  The roof funding is really coming on nicely.

Well, she might not want a reminder of Time’s Winged Chariot and all

that, Diana said firmly.  After all, she might not get the full use of a

calendar.  I suspect she’d rather have a semi-naked portfolio of ‘Strictly’

male professionals.  However, I don’t want to raise her blood pressure, so

I’ll send her a box of Ferraro Rochers, or Thornton truffles instead.  I

expect they would be to her liking, unless you can source any truffle-

infused vodka.

As you wish, Murgatroyd conceded.  But I’m still going to get a sow.

Whatever, Diana replied. I just hope that it won’t be a pig in a poke, like

a lot of your ideas.

What do you mean by that? asked Murgatroyd.  It was going to be one

of their first arguments for a long time.

Nothing, she muttered enigmatically.  Nothing at all.

But she knew what he was like- of old.

Now, where could she buy some of those calendars with Pasha,

or Aljaz?

Tastier than some mouldy old lump of…She wished Dru could get a hold of some

of his spores.  Even Anton’s would do.  It was time that she was a

grandmother.

Shakin’ That Ass

Tags

Betty Grable, Botafogo, Bruno Tonioli, Claudia Winkelman, Craig Revel Horwood, dance-off, Darcy Bussell, Duchess of Cambridge, Elton John, gigolo, glitter ball, It Takes Two, Len's lens, maracas, Pasha, pickle my walnuts, Pippa Middleton, Pixie Lott, promenade position, rear spoiler, Renault, rigor mortis, Shimmy, sprung floor, Strictly, Tess Daly, twerking, varifocals

And now please welcome witty and glitzy raconteuse, Candia Dixon-Stuart

and her gorgeous gigolo partner, Pasha Kovalev.  Tonight they will be

twerking to…

It was really difficult to negotiate those stairs with the strobe lighting

which flickered from the glitter ball almost inducing an epileptic fit in me.

Without my varifocals I was entirely relying on Pasha’s supporting arm to

deliver me safely to the sprung floor.

Claudia blinked vacantly at me from under her veritable thatch of a fringe.

Her pale lippy gave her a look of rigor mortis– more so than The Human

Ironing Board‘s dazzling smile.

The orchestra struck up our number: I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister

Kate.  I truly wished that a member of our Suttonford sorority could have

stood in my shoes, whether she shared a name with The Duchess of

Cambridge, or not.  Come to think of it, Pippa would not suffer from

such self-doubt. I bet she could shake her rear spoiler to good effect.

Maybe she will be invited on the show, if she is not too busy babysitting…

Watershed, or not, our song referenced some murdered brothel madam

called Kate Townsend- but not many people would have known that.

Oh well, I would just have to try to shake my beading to its Pixie limit.

I adopted my promenade position.

It was all over in a flash.  Pasha had to carry me over to Tess, who

brushed a few sequins from my shoulder.

Put her down, Pasha, she hissed.  You’ll do yourself an injury!

Ohhh, Candia, darling!  All the boys are going wild over sister Katie’s

style.  Unfortunately...here Bruno fell onto the floor, laughing, and

had to grab Len’s arm to hoist himself back into his chair...you are not

called Kate, are you?  Maybe you were adopted.  He pursed his lips in a

pseudo pout which anyone could tell was ironic, nay sarcastic.

Clearly I won’t be invited to one of his all-night parties with Elton John.

Darcy tried to be kind:

Wow, Candia.  You came out here and owned that floor.  Pasha gave

you a really challenging routine and you…Well, if you could develop your

core strength more and fully extend your arms, finishing your lines..She

concluded lamely, reaching for her empathetic ‘five‘.  Basically that

was the equivalent of a negative number from Craig’s arsenal.

We were now under Len’s lens.  I think our lift was legal, but he clearly

was not going to pickle his walnuts.  Instead he reached under the table

and produced his maracas.

You see, it takes some time for the seeds to pass across to the solid wall

of the coconut shell, so you have to anticipate the beat.  He demonstrated

by waving them over his head and saying, Um cha cha; um cha cha!

It was as clear as mud.

You came out and gave it some welly, but it looked as if you were wearing

gumboots while you were at it, he added, a trifle unkindly.  It was one of

his more moody evenings, clearly.

I blushed under the fake tan.  Pasha gripped my arm.  Keep smiling, he

whispered.

To reference the original song, Craig drawled, you didn’t shimmy like a jelly

on a plate, darling.  You did, however, look as if you were in a trance.  I’ve

seen more successful posterior rotation in a Renault advert.  Your left hand

was positively splayed and your performance was nothing less than

flat-footed. Strictly-speaking, Betty Grable you were not.

I wanted to remonstrate that I hadn’t been able to get my orthotic insoles

into the high-heeled shiny slippers, but they would have thought I was just

trying for a sympathy vote, so I desisted and I will never know how I got up

those stairs, trying to shield my bouncing bosoms with my non-splayed hand

from an overhead camera which zoomed in on cleavage.

Claudia was rabbiting on about getting permission to use someone else’s

mobile.

Please, please, I mimed desperately.  I didn’t want to be in the dance-off.

Actually, I didn’t want to be there at all.  I knew my bum looked big in my

outfit.  The massive peacock feather tail didn’t help.  I’d told them peacocks

were unlucky, but they just told me to break a leg.  And I nearly did!

The scores were in.  No ‘seven’ from Len.  A predictable ‘five‘ from Darcy.

Bless.  Bruno stole a sidelong glance at Len and replicated his score.

Craig produced a card I had never seen before.  It said minus two.

He was obviously feeling generous.

Bottom of the leader board.  How embarrassing!  However, my public

may save me.  I may live to fight another day and that glamorous natural

mover who keeps scoring nines and tens may be on her way out.

I thought I was going to faint.  Pasha caught me in his arms.  It was

all worth it!

Dancing for us next week is…

But as my eyes re-focussed, I saw the shadowy outline of The Husband

bearing my morning cuppa.  He didn’t look anything like Pasha, even with

his shirt off.

What’s wrong? he asked solicitously.  You were muttering something about

botafogas.

Hmmm, I replied.  It takes two, babe.  Thanks for the tea.

He plumped up my pillows and I tried to sit up, but something was irritating

me.  I was sitting on a sequin.  Weird!

Ah well., at least when I go into Costamuchamoulah must-seen cafe I won’t

be besieged by boa-toting women shrieking, Keep Dancing!

Instead of shaking that ass, I will just keep kicking it.  And if you keep giving

me ‘likes‘ it will be the nearest thing I’ll ever experience to holding that trophy

aloft!

Intelligent Parenting?

Tags

arras, Artem, Denmark, eBlaster, Hamlet, intelligent parenting, Laertes, Machiavelli, Montalbano, Ola calendar, Ophelia, paranoia, Pasha, Polonius, Rainbow portrait, Reynaldo, Rosencrantz and Guilderstein, spyware, surveillance

Carrie was eager to spill the beans, and I don’t mean the caffeine

variety, though we were in our favourite haunt, post-Hallowe’en.

Tiger-Lily told me that Juniper’s mother has been spying on her daughter

via eBlaster, she whispered, looking over her shoulder.  Juniper discovered

that her mother was monitoring her every keystroke and was downloading

her e-mails.

Maybe that’s why her daughter can be so aggressive, I replied.  No one

takes kindly to having their privacy invaded.  I mean, take Hamlet..

Hamlet? Carrie looked confused.

Yes, he put on an antic disposition to cover up his anxiety at living in a

surveillance state.

I’d hardly call the Boothroyd-Smythe’s residence a temple to

totalitarianism!

No, I continued, but you take my point about Hamlet being annoyed when

people started influencing his girlfriend and manipulating his best mates?

Well, it’s years since I read the play, stated Carrie.  But, apparently Gisela,

Juniper’s mum contacted a company called SpectreSoft and ordered a

product, which she then had installed on Juniper’s computer.

Well, they used to say that people who eavesdropped never heard

anything good about themselves, I remarked.

The thing was that Juniper had only been Googling stuff for her

coursework and was using Twitter to gossip about a Housemistress called

Miss Fotheringay, who is apparently seeing an older man, to the delectation

of all the girls in her year, Carrie expatiated.

So, it has all been relatively innocent trivia?  But did Juniper find out that her

mother was turning into Elizabeth 1, all ears and eyes, like in that Rainbow

portrait?  

She was furious and ran away to her father’s house.  He supported her

human right to privacy and all sorts of nonsense was raised re/ access.

Sounds over-inflated, I opined.  It’s half term.  I wonder if things will cool

down and she’ll return before school starts?

Well, her trust has been shattered and she says she would prefer to board.

If the school allows it.  Her brother didn’t seem too upset. He just threw out

all her yarn and needles and took over her room, as it has much more space,

Carrie added.

Isn’t John- that’s his name, isn’t it?- worried that his mum may spy

on him?

No.  He says he could disable anything that she tried to attach to his

equipment.  But he considers her cool for trying.

An obnoxious little Polonius-in-the-making!  Someone will spear him

through the arras one day! I ventured.

If Juniper’s put into Miss Fotheringay’s house, then she can spy on her

teacher’s comings and goings for the rest of the girls, Carrie predicted.

St Vitus’ is probably as rotten a state as Denmark!  Girls can be so

Machiavellian!

It’s all about trust and, sadly, human relations were ever thus! I

pronounced. Even Rosencrantz and Guilderstein were traitors and

Ophelia was relaying information about her lover to her father.

Reynaldo was keeping a check on Laertes.  Everyone’s paranoid!

Carrie bit into a piece of shortbread.  I wonder if anyone is spying on

me? I shred all my receipts, but what if Gyles is intercepting my accounts

and he discovers how much I am spending in Costamuchamoulah each

month? What if he sees how many times I have clicked on ‘Artem’, or

‘Pasha’?

Or ‘Montalbano’? I teased.  Just be upfront.  That’s the secret.  Don’t

hide behind an arras.

What’s an arras?  She looked puzzled.

According to the guys, it’s the curvy bit of her anatomy that Ola wiggles

on ‘Strictly’, I informed her.

I shouldn’t worry about Gyles uncovering your secret passions.  All the guys

will be too busy clicking on Ola’s Calendar, by all accounts, so it’s touche and

you can bet that male viewings won’t come in single spies, but in battalions. 

I think your tiny peccadilloes are relatively innocuous and will be below the radar. 

If you’re worried, though, I’d just buy Gyles Ola’s calendar for Christmas.  That’ll

keep him off your tail!

The Medium is the Message

Tags

Artem, Beverley Sisters, Headington shark, Medium is Message, Ntingwe Kwazalu, Pasha, Pippa Middleton, Sergei toy, Stig, Tarot, UKIP, Warhol's Orange Car Crash, Yu Luo White tea

Tiger-Lily’s Diary

3^rd January, 2013

Dad has been going ballisitic as he had told Grandma not to have her

cronies round for what she calls Post-Hogmanay Lunchtime Wrinkly Drinkies

until Magda, her carer, returned from Normandy.  Ginevra needs monitoring.

It’s all her fault that Sonia drove back home like a drunken Stig.

Clammie, Sherry’s mum, said that it had taken her in excess of five

minutes to get Sonia a cup of basic English Breakfast in

Costamuchamoulah to calm her nerves.  The girl behind the counter

insisted on running through a list of all the speciality beverages until

Clammie had just snapped and shouted:

Never mind the Yu Luo White Tea from Hunan Province, nor the

Ntingwe Kwazulu from Fantasy Land.  Just get the old lady a mug of

regular navvy’s with two spoonfuls of sugar before she keels over!

The girl gave her a funny look and now Clammie is convinced that

she will be persona non grata for evermore.

(To whom shall she then go, for they have the beans of eternal life?)

Still, Sherry said that she was proud of her mater as she would rather

have a subversive parent than an Establishment Clone.

Candia said that Clammie had kindly waited with Sonia until the nice

young policeman had breathalysed the old dear and checked her

insurance particulars.

She couldn’t remember if her premium was with the glamorous,

pink-sequinned, singing Aussie triplets who look so like Antipodeal

Beverley Sisters, whoever they are.

She then thought that she might have changed over to the meerkat

one, as she thought she would have received a free Sergei toy.  She

liked Russians, especially Artem and Pasha, though she knew they

weren’t in the indemnification business.  She expressed her anger at new EU

directives regarding gender equity and insurance policies.  She was even more

inclined to vote UKIP, she asserted.

But in your case, madam, the policeman told her, it is not so much a

sex issue as an age-related one.  You see, the over-eighties have just

as many accidents as teenagers.

I certainly hope you don’t…

But Clammie had restrained her, especially when the pc had asked

her to consider giving up driving and opting for the Community Bus.

She consented to consult her Tarot Cards on the matter and agreed

that there were some things that she could not foresee.  Like the

brick wall, I suppose!  Then she let Clammie take her cribwards to

await Her Majesty’s Pleasure.

Candia says that Costamuchamoulah are going to keep the car in situ

if they can get planning permission. It should draw the crowds as

much as Pippa Middleton’s random appearances in town. Candia

said that if the people in Headington, Oxford, could receive

government blessing 26 years ago for a shark embedded in a

terraced house’s roof, then what dreaming spires can have, day-

dreaming shires should readily be permitted to retain.

(I like Candia’s turns of phrase!)

So, Untitled 2 may be here to stay.  Crash Art is very Postmodern

and so I am going to file my photos under Warhol and his 1963

silkscreen prints of the Orange Car Crash Fourteen Times.  If I can get

a bit of pastiche, parody and cross-reference going in my Art History project,

I won’t have to be a clairvoyant to see an A* coming my way.

The medium is the message!

Keep Dancing!

Tags

Artem, Aurora Borealis, Brassica, Brassie, Carrie, Erin Boag, Ginevra, Magda, Ola Jordan, Pasha, Sonia, Strictly Come Dancing

Is that you, girlfriend?  I had just got through to Brassie, via my tablet.

Can’t hear you, Candia.  My voice keeps echoing and it is distracting, complained Brassica.  Wait a minute I’ll phone you.

Better?

Heaps.

English: Sparkler, violent reaction (guy fawkes) Français : Cierge magique pendant la nuit de Guy Fawkes, en Angleterre. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Okay, Brassie.  Have just heard that you and Cosmo are coming to Clammie’s Guy Fawkes party and that you have made up.

Yes, it was all a misunderstanding.  Sonia got the wrong end of the stick.  Magda was simply helping him to shift boxes from Ginevra’s cellar to the observatory under cover of darkness.  It was so that the twins and I wouldn’t see our Christmas presents.  He’d had them delivered to Ginevra’s as she is always at home and I rarely am chez moi.

But how did you find out the truth?

Oh, Carrie visited Ginevra to amuse her by having a laugh at my expense over the exploding sloe gin.  However, Ginevra didn’t find alcoholic waste entertaining at all.  She said that it had served me right for adulterating perfectly sound booze.

Brassie continued:  Carrie picked up on the word ‘adulterating’ and, given the carer’s recent lexical expansion, asked Magda if she knew what that word meant.  She was hoping to warn her off Cosmo.

She cleared her throat and went on: Magda understood the insinuation –she’d been receiving some helpful idiomatic lessons with Cosmo as a way of him thanking her for carrying all that stuff to the observatory.  Ginevra had given them some linguistic books and a CD that Ola had left behind and she had provided some Dewlaps as a learning incentive.  But, she chaperoned them at all times.

She laughed: Sonia had jumped to the wrong conclusion after seeing them together.  So much for her Sibylline pronouncements!

Yes, she’ll be asking the butcher for some entrails next, to practise her divination.

Well, she sure needs some practice, but not on our business and family life.  Magda was furious at being accused and spat out that she had a boyfriend with an Audi and that Cosmo was a damp squib!

Where had she heard that from?

She overheard Carrie telling Gyles one evening when they had called in to see Ginevra.  They had no idea that she understood metaphor.

Cosmo is obviously a good teacher, I opined. But why was Carrie discussing what you told us in confidence?

Oh, she said it was because she had been so concerned about me.

Hmm. .So, all is forgiven?   

Yes, and I’m not-like- pregnant.

Good.  Well, don’t let Magda hear you using that dreadful filler.  It would be so-like-bad for her English.

Aurora Borealis observed in Norway on 2006-10-28. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Brassie laughed.  No, the only colourful affair Cosmo is having is with Aurora Borealis.  You can see it so far south just now.  That’s why he has been spending so much time out in the observatory.

I wonder what is in all those parcels?  I mused.

Better be something good, said Brassie.  By the way, what are you taking to the party?

Some iced biscuits shaped like comets and stars from Costamuchamoulah, I replied.

I’m taking some Nigella puff candy.  Is your husband coming?

No, he won’t move from the wood burner, especially if ‘It Takes Two’ is on.  Now that Ola Jordan has been eliminated, he has transferred his allegiance to Erin Boag.

Man, thy name is fickle. Oh, the twins like Denise van Outen.  Maybe I should record it.  I must say, I think Pasha is kinda cute, especially as a werewolf.

I like Artem, but I wish he had not disfigured his body with that dreadful tattoo.  His upper torso looks a bit like a leather chesterfield.

Can’t say I noticed the tattoo.  Hey!  I’ve just had an idea. Why don’t we have a Strictly finals party? I’ll host it.  Surely your husband would come to that?

Yes, he’d probably come out for that- but not in that way!  I added quickly.  I could hire him a matador outfit.  I could be the cape.

More like the rampant cow, she countered.

(And that is why we are friends: because we can take a put-down from each other.)

I think I should be a judge.

Keep Dancing!