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!

 

 

A Damp Squib?

Tags

Brassica, Brassie, Carrie, Casanova, Cosmo, Magda, Mary Tudor, Philip of Spain, Predictor, Sonia, Spain, Squib (explosive), Tarot

Once we had established that if there was a sprog, amazingly it would be Cosmo’s, we calmed Brassie’s fears that she might have twins again. The nuit de passion must have happened on the evening that she did not attend the choir rehearsal.

Lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice, Carrie assured her.

But Cosmo isn’t so much a bolt of lightning as a bolt from the blue, or even a damp squib, protested Brassie.

Too much information, I commented.

Here, Brassie, eat some of this chocolate marshmallow slice for me, said Carrie.  You’ll be eating for two- or three now. Only joking!

Don’t, expostulated Brassie.  I haven’t even bought a ‘Predictor’ kit yet.

Sonia came in at this point and I quipped,

Well, here is a perambulant one entering the premises, even as we speak.

We were just talking about boa constrictors, said Carrie and we nearly choked.

Actually, confessed Brassie, we were just debating whether I was pregnant or not.

Not the ghost of a chance, said Sonia.  I can tell.

How? we all said simultaneously.

Because- brace yourself, Brassica- I have seen Cosmo visiting Magda for the last month, when you thought he was sleeping in the observatory.

But I thought he was a damp squib!

Be that as it may, your symptoms are just a phantom pregnancy- like Mary Tudor’s. It will disappear, and I dare say, so will Cosmo, just like Philip of Spain did.

Brassie was ashen.  But I don’t want him to disappear.  I don’t want him to visit Magda.  What has she got that I don’t?

Oysters from ‘Know Your Plaice’ in North Street.  They’re aphrodisiacs you know.  He simply wouldn’t have been able to resist, said Sonia authoritatively.

So all the time I thought he was looking at the stars…

..he was lying in a moral gutter.  Upsetting, I know, but Sonia will disenchant them. She took out a cigarette and then pocketed it again, having remembered that there was legislation against smoking inside.

How are you going to split them up?  we asked, in admiration.

At Clammie and Tristram’s Fireworks party.  I think we are all going to be invited. I will set up a tent in the garden and do some Tarot readings.  I will serve her the Fool.

I’m sure Clammie will agree, if we tell her about the plan, I agreed. It’s so appropriate. Casanova’s Russian mistress was into divination, so it’s very romantic.  The Lovers and Greater Secrets feature in the Major Arcana, don’t they?

Don’t get carried away, warned Sonia. It’s all about presenting querants with their choices.  I’ll give him something nasty about wands!

Thank you so much, said Brassie.  I won’t need to go to the chemist’s now. But I’m still going to treat myself to those drainpipe jeans.  I’m worth it.

Of course you are, we all soothed her.

 

 

The Phantom Cavalier

Tags

Carrie, Cavalier, Chlamydia, Clammie, Classic FM, Costamuchamullah, ghosts, Harry Potter, Haunted house, Laughing Cavalier, Madam Blavatsky, Pipesof Pan, Sonia, Suttonford

Clammie passed the well-coiffed woman she privately called Madame Blavatsky almost every morning, after she had deposited the children at school. The woman sat outside Costamuchamullah café in High Street in all weathers, because she was one of the last addicts who smoked openly in Suttonford.

Often Clammie would reckon that she was due some me-time, which usually spread itself over most of the week, so, after indulging herself with- say- an alpaca purchase from Pipes of Pan, the Andean boutique, she would pursue her own addiction, namely a caffeine fix.

So it was that one morning, Clammie came to be sitting opposite the mysterious lady who had graciously removed her shopping bag so that a tired yummy mummy could have a spare seat at her aluminium table.

Normally Clammie wouldn’t have been able to tolerate smoke wafting over, but there were no seats vacant indoors and there was a slight breeze, which was blowing the offensive miasma in someone else’s direction.

I’m sorry. I know that I’ve seen you sitting here for a number of years, but I don’t know your name.  I’m Chlamydia, she volunteered, removing her Mocha out of contamination’s reach.

Madame Blavatsky flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette, perilously close to Clammie’s cup and saucer:

Oh, my name’s Sonia and I’ve been living in Suttonford for aeons.

Clammie asked where exactly in the town she lived.

In the haunted house, darling, – the one with the resident Cavalier.  Not laughing, you understand, but rather fleeing from capture in The Battle of Suttonford. He hid in our attic.

A haunted house?  I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, countered Clammie.

Well, you should, stated Sonia firmly.  I’ve experienced many over the years and, like more corporeal members of the opposite sex, you have to talk nicely to them if you are to co-habit peaceably.  For example, I have to ignore the fact that my resident often plays my instrument.  And no, it’s definitely not a pianola.

What! The Cavalier takes liberties with your instrument?  How very-eh-cavalier.

No, darling.  Pianos weren’t invented when he was around.  He prefers to tinkle my harpsichord.  He is considerably quieter and more mannerly than your modern day Jools Holland, for example.

How do you know that he is responsible and not someone next door, listening to Classic FM?  The wattle and daub is thin and there is no cavity to speak of between the walls in High Street.

I see the keys being depressed, said Sonia with utmost conviction.  Look, I’m a clairvoyant.  Can you come round next Wednesday for afternoon tea, and I’ll prove it?  I’d read your leaves now, but I see that you are having a Mocha.

Privately Clammie thought that if Sonoa was a bit of a soothsayer she should have known the answer, but publicly she replied:

Would you be able to tell me if I will ever live in High Street?

That depends on the leaves.  We can look into that later. But perhaps you will hear the harpsichord.  Sonia laughed at Clammie’s widening eyes.  Royalist House.  Three and three quarters High Street. Don’t fail me. Three o’clock.

She blew a smoke ring around Clammie, so that she had to close her eyes to prevent them from stinging from the ectoplasm.  When she opened them, Sonia had disappeared.  There was only a smouldering butt on the table, from which emanated a curling plume .

Like the feather from a Cavalier’s hat, Carrie mused.  I think I’ve been reading too much ‘Harry Potter’.