Heaven, You’re in Heaven

Tags

ballet pumps, ballroom dancing, bandstand, Ginger Rogers, Heaven, idiom, quintet, raining cats and dogs, Strictly Come Dancing

Chlamydia sighed, They’ll be starting ‘Strictly’ again soon.  Maybe

the formula is played out now.  I mean, where’s the glamour?  It

seems to be all about sex.

Hmm, I know.  I used to love the ballroom dancing programmes in

the Fifties- dresses with tulle, wired underskirts and women with

slashes of smiling scarlet lippie.  At least, I suppose it was scarlet,

since the programmes were all in black and white!

Did you go to dance classes?

Ballet- for about six weeks.

Why did you stop?

‘cos my granny bought me black ballet pumps, instead of pink,

like the other girls had.

Didn’t your father have his own band?

Yes.  He had a quintet. He played the drums and my uncle played

the piano.  My mum and dad met at the ‘dancing’.

Pity you didn’t stick at it.

I loved dancing at home, with my grandfather.  Here!

Not another one of your…

Yes, read it.  Go on!

HEAVEN, YOU’RE IN HEAVEN

Image by Michael Foskett

Sometimes we’d shuffle round a room, backwards,

with me balancing on his feet, dreaming

I was Ginger Rogers.  He’d teach me words

like ‘tapselteerie‘.  When it was teeming

down, he’d say,‘It’s raining cats and dogs!’ and,

idiom-proof, I’d stare outside the door.

Hand in hand, we’d go to the park bandstand,

to listen to the pomp of brass.  Adore?-

I worshipped him, with his tobacco tin

full of small change.  He never short-changed me.

At my command, he’d show his shrapnelled shin;

eject his dentures, ape-like, suddenly,

to make me gasp.  I’d taste his pipe sometimes,

although I retched.  He’d draw around my hand

and taught me all the tables, nursery rhymes.

He waltzed into the sunset and I stand

on my own feet, but find I cannot dance

in step with others, with such elegance.

Nice to see you; to see you- NICE!

Tags

Border Terrier, Brucie, Craig Revel Horwood, Dordrecht, Heat magazine, Jenny Packham, Johan Huibers, Lisa Riley, Louis Smith, Paxman, Strictly Come Dancing, Wembley

The whole St Swithun day prognostication thingy seems irrelevant as

it appears to rain incessantly whatever the season.  A Dutchman

named Johan Huibers built an ark in Dordrecht, complete with plastic

animals.  Well, I suppose they would float in any deluge.

Such meteorological topics did not interest Tiger-Lily, nor

Scheherezade, who were caught up with their £40 sweepstake

winnings from Brassie and Cosmo’s Strictly party. They had

accurately predicted that Louis Smith would win the Strictly Come

Dancing finals and, being altruistic girls, they donated part of their

winnings to their favourite charity, Curs in Crisis.  This was in spite of

Andy, the destructive Border Terrier having chewed the Christmas

tree lights and having caused mayhem at the party by plunging everyone

into darkness at the opening of the show.

Tiger called in to see how her grandmother, Ginevra was, after

having been abandoned the previous evening, when everyone ran to

Sonia’s house, in order not to miss the opening group dance by the

professionals.  In actual fact, once Cosmo had woken the wheelchair-bound

guest, she had been refreshed and then no one could get her to stop partying

until 2am.

Tiger’s mum, Carrie had eventually put her mother-in-law to bed as

the carer was off duty.

As mum was busy helping Ginevra with her morning ablutions, Tiger

had been left relatively unsupervised and she had ‘Googled’ Louis

Smith.  Almost immediately a very saucy photograph of the said

Olympic gymnast had popped up and he was not wearing anything at

all. Tiger was intrigued.  She was frustrated by the strategically

placed champagne bottle.  Apparently it had been a feature from Heat

magazine -a publication that would never be afforded entry to

Nutwood Cottage.  She immediately printed it off and Blu-tacked it

to her wardrobe’s inner door.

Imagine Carrie’s volcanic eruption when she discovered the same

indecent image on hanging up her daughter’s beaded Jenny

Packham dress later that morning.  (Tiger kept on having to correct

her mother.  It was Packham and not Packman.  Carrie should have

realised that Jeremy was not into bugle beads and fringing.  At least,

she didn’t think so.  But Paxman was different again.  It was very

confusing.)

Whatever.  Carrie sustained a shock as sensational as that

experienced by Craig Revel Horwood– and indeed the rest of the

nation’s viewers- when Lisa Riley did the splits at Wembley.

It was painful to think that her sweet, innocent Tiger of tender years

had downloaded such an image.

Gyles!  she called and then thought better of involving him.

The bedroom door was open and she jumped as a voice asked: Did

you call, Mrs Brewer-Mead?

It was Mrs Hatch-Warren, her cleaner.  She had let herself in with the

key she had been given.  Carrie was so overwhelmed that she had

forgotten that she had asked her to come in early to do some

ironing and other chores.

Shall I start by vacuuming Tiger’s bedroom? she inquired.

No!  I mean yes. Eh…  Carrie turned red and it wasn’t a hot flush.

Are you all right, Mrs Brewer-Mead?  the kindly cleaner asked

solicitously.

Carrie gulped.  Mrs Hatch-Warren, I know that you are a

grandmother to a fifteen year old girl.  Well, do you mind me asking

if this is normal?

She opened the wardrobe door.

Ooooh!  I’d say it was more than normal.  I’d say it was b*****

fantastic!  Mrs Hatch-Warren was from Yorkshire where this rather

crude modifier was in constant use and was considered an intensifier,

rather than being tinged with any offence.

So you think I should ignore it?  Carrie was prepared to take the older

woman’s advice.

Ignore it!  No, not at all.  I should come in here every day and have a

good look myself.  Fab-u-lous!  It’s not just Len who would give him a

10!

Mrs Hatch-Warren seemed energised and did all the ironing in

record time, but kept finding excuses to do more dusting in Tiger’s

bedroom.

Carrie was so shocked that she forgot to give the cleaner her

Christmas tip.  But the Yorkshire gran-with-attitude didn’t seem to

notice.  She felt she had had a huge bonus and spent the rest of the

day repeating Brucie’s catch-phrase: Nice to see you- to see you

NICE!

 

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!

Austerity Round Robin

Tags

Artem, Danny Alexander, Duchess of Cambridge, Eminem, Grayson Perry, Harriet Harman, Kirstie Allsopp, Lynne Truss, meggings, nausea, onesie, Portsea Island, Strictly Come Dancing, Tiger, Tracey Emin

Dear Victoria,

Am slightly ‘put oot,’ as they say north of the border, by Lynne Truss, that

witty journalist, nicking my idea for a satirical response to the Round Robin

letter, especially as I was just about to write mine.

We wish you and Andre a healthy and prosperous New Year.  You’ll be glad to

know that Kirstie Allsopp has popularised the de-worming, not only of pets,

but of all kinds of old skip-rescued furniture, so you will be able to continue

shipping your trove of tat over here for some time to come.  Austerity is good

for business.  Or your line of same. Sounds like it should be a proverb.

It’s been a hectic year as usual, with it being Suttonford’s turn to host le

jumelage exchange visit with Bric-a-brac.  The exciting news is that Ola,

Ginevra’s erstwhile carer, –the one who went off for some deeper mutualite

with the widower who had been billeted with your mother- is in a state of

infanticipation and her EDD coincidentally matches that of The

Duchess of Cambridge.  Magda, the replacement carer from the agency,

has gone over to Normandy to visit her compatriot and to help see

her through the period of la nausee – (wasn’t that a book?  I must

look it up on Amazon.) She might just be doing some research on the

the availability of spare widowers.

Gyles is fine.  Working hard to pay all the school fees.  Of course,

Tiger being a scholarship girl helps a bit. (15%)  I hope he likes the meggings

I have purchased for his Xmas.  I also hope he agrees to wear the onesie I

bought him for Brassie’s Strictly party on Saturday Night.    It’s either that or a

bare-chested Artem glitter special for his samba number.  We all have to do a

dance, but he said that he wanted to cover up and wished everyone would.

Spoilsport.

Talking of Tiger: it was an amazing privilege for her to have been

asked to carry the Olympic torch in the summer.  Gyles and I were

annoyed that she refused to wear the uncool white tracksuit.   It

wasn’t so very different from her polar bear onesie, I thought, and she never

takes that off.  Grey onesie, really.

Rollo went on a Parisian parkour programme in the hols and Ming

went wingsuit skydiving.  We did not tell their grandparents, though.

They were very proud of Ferdy winning the Mini Scientist of the Year

Award, all because Mr Milford-Haven had the foresight and nous to send his

essay on recessive genes and hair colour to Danny Alexander and various

government nobs.  Spelling? After the Harriet Harman episode, the Treasury

was only too happy to provide a generous grant for the newly instituted

award.  They seem to have the finances for some things. Of course, Gyles

spent half a term helping Ferd with the wretched thing, bless.

Ming was singled out for his ceramic project and has been making

pots with Grayson Perry.  He has to wear an overall to protect his

school uniform from all the slip clay, but wonders how his mentor

manages in those baby dolls.  He tries to remember to call him Clare.

Of course, Tiger’s heroine is Tracey Emin, or Eminem, as the boys have

dubbed her.  I don’t think Tiger has made her bed for a year now and

she refuses the cleaner entry to her room in case she disturbs her

work-in-progress installation.  I still have to pay the woman the full amount,

though, so no Chrissie bonus for her, since she takes that attitude. She earns

more than Gyles’ PA, in any case.  Or Gyles?-can’t remember which.

Gyles and I fancied island hopping in the summer, but in these times

of austerity, we only managed Portsea Island, Hayling and the Isle of

Wight.  We skipped Lee-on-Solent after remembering Alan Bennet’s portrayal of

it in Talking Heads (First Series) – the one with Julie Walters and the film crew.

More anon,

Have to make my mincemeat!  No suet.

tbc

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!

 

 

The ‘C’ Word

Tags

007 fragrance, C word, Clanger, Dottling Pauline, Fake or Fortune?, FT, Glenelg, Goya, Grayson Perry, Judith Leibner, Life of Riley, Monica Vinader, Philip Mould, Sarah Brightman, Strictly Come Dancing, Theo Fennell, Visnja, www.howtospendit.com, Zanzan Avida Dollars

Suddenly the temperature has plummeted here in Suttonford.  (Yes, it’s Candia.)

Why have you not been regaling us with the antics of your Suttonford friends and neighbours?  I hear you ask.  Why did you publish all that poetry recently?

Well, dear readers, I had OTHER THINGS TO DO and I thought the poetry would keep you amused till I got back on track.  You see, my geraniums- the ones that didn’t even flower this summer, owing to lack of sun- had to be uprooted and brought indoors before the first frost.  Then I searched in vain for seed from my sweet peas, but they hadn’t flowered either, so there were no pods.

Now I am continually hearing the ‘C’ word bandied around town.  Yes, Christmas will be upon us and I, like my female friends, will be found prostrate over the kitchen table, my head being attacked by Goyaesque, bat-like creatures representing the nightmarish oppression of trying to figure out what to purchase for all the individuals on my festal recipient list.  Our spouses, who take little to do with such trivialities, may be found prostate from other causes, but that’s another story…

What to buy for Sonia, our clairvoyant neighbour…?

The vicar solved this one, as when I attended the Curs in Crisis event at the local church hall, I bought an auction promise of a Bell, Book and Kindle exorcism which he had donated and which our medium might like to activate against her cavalier, in every sense of the word, ghost.  A signed copy of a media-friendly London art dealer’s book: Sleuth: The Awesome Quest for Lost Art Works might be appropriate as a souvenir of her having been featured on the BBC programme, Fake or Fortune (see earlier post.)  Sonia would probably prefer the author himself, but you wouldn’t want Mould in your stocking, would you?

Gyles’ mother Ginevra is easy-peasy:

a bottle of Dewlap’s Gin for Discerning Grandmothers always hits the spot.

Unfortunately one of her family will have to invest in their future by supplying her with a Theo Fennell USA Space Shuttle Tequila shot set. £15-18,000 is somewhat out of my league.

The Husband:

likewise no problem.  Vouchers for Pop My Cork!  and a DVD of Great Cricketing Moments fits the bill.  Maybe a Life of Riley bottle trunk if he is good. (No more ogling at Ola Jordan’s hot pants in Strictly Come Dancing.)

Starstruck Cosmo, who sleeps in his observatory-or that’s his story:

James Bond OO7 fragrance and an alibi.  Or maybe a certificate twinning Suttonford with a Martian market town. ( Don’t laugh. It’s already happened in Glenelg.) Cosmo could be registered for a Space Tourist flight with Sarah Brightman and could have a promissory note in a nice envelope. (Come to think of it, SB always sounded a bit like a Clanger.)

But does he wear man perfume?  I think of Tatiana in To Russia with Love: she tried to persuade the spy to dab a little and coaxed, Russian men use scent and James Bond replied tersely: British men bathe.

Gyles:

alligator loafers. Smooth.

Tristram:

a Dottling Pauline safe- no, wait a minute!  That’s £90,000. That’s a couple of years’ school fees. I suppose he could rent out the drawers for B&B in the manner of those mortuary file hotel rooms in Tokyo.  No, he can have a set of Grayson Perry The Vanity of Small Distances table mats instead- only £360.  He likes laying the table. Clammie told me.

Carrie:

a Visnja Power brooch.  Oops- no, that is £48,000.  She’ll have to make do with some Zanzan Avida Dollars sunglasses@ £260.  Wasn’t Avida Dollars an anagram of Salvador Dali, dahling?

Brassica:

Okay, she might have sent a note up her chimney to Santa Baby for a Judith Leibner Starfish clutch bag covered in Swarovski crystals, but at £3,125, she might just have to accept a less expensive Monica Vinader Agate-print scarf.

Clammie: Pippa Middleton’s Celebrate book.  Actually, no.  I’m keeping that for myself.  She can have a tube of anti-cellulite cream to assist her in maintaining a rear formidable like the Duchess’ sister.

And so on… You see, all you have to do is visit the FT howtospendit.com– simples!

Now I can concentrate on Clammie’s Guy Fawkes Party…

 

Tiger-Lily’s Sleepover

Tags

Alcopop, Epipen, Food, gender fluid, gluten-free, hypo-allergenic, Innocent smoothies, Juniper, Juniper berry, Merlot, One Direction, Pussy Riot, Rollo, Shopping, Sleepover, Strictly Come Dancing, Tiger-Lily

It was Friday night and Juniper was going to a sleepover at her friend, Tiger-Lily’s house.  Another three girls from their class were going too.

Carrie, Tiger-Lily’s mum, ensured that the girls would be comfortable in her daughter’s room.  There was a flat screen television, dvd, laptop and some futons.  Carrie had filled the mini-fridge with Innocent smoothies and she had confiscated the Alcopops from under the bed. Tiger’s brothers were directed to keep to their rooms, or to go to the playroom in the cellar and to leave the friends in peace.

The girls had brought their duvets, soft toys, pyjamas and mobile phones.  Soon they had changed into comfortable nightwear, over-sized anthropomorphic slippers and were ordering pizzas on their mobiles.  One Direction was blasting from the bedroom.

Juniper stood on the landing, crying.

What’s the matter, June? asked Carrie, solicitously.  Are you homesick?  You’ve only been here half an hour.

I’ve got too much prep, the child sobbed.  I can’t concentrate with all this noise.

But it’s the weekend, surely? placated Carrie.

Yes, but if I don’t stick to my three hour schedule every night, I won’t get an A* in all my subjects.

One night off won’t harm you, reassured Carrie. Have a slice of pizza.

I daren’t.  I’m wheat intolerant.

Oh dear.  Well, would you like a gluten-free sandwich and a nice mug of hot chocolate?

Can’t.  I react to dairy. Please don’t worry.  Mum gave me a packed supper.

She took a plastic tub out of her luminous satchel.  It contained two oatcakes and some tubes of paste.

Are you sure that’s enough? asked Carrie, watching the others fighting over the remaindered slices.

Positive.  I think I should go to sleep now.  It’s past my bedtime.

But, it’s only half past seven, the girls chorused.  We were going to watch last week’s ‘Strictly’.  Mum recorded it.

No, I’ve got to get up early to practise my flute.

So that was what the other case contained.  Carrie had helped Juniper to carry it into the house and it seemed really heavy.  The other girls were losing interest and had started to spray themselves with fake tan and apply hair straighteners to each other’s locks.  Juniper started to cough, so Carrie dragged a futon into the study next door and brought in a pillow, so that June, as she preferred to be called, could have her own space.

Maybe you’d like to sleep here then?

Yes.  I don’t really like girlie things.  My psychologist says that I am gender fluid.  You wouldn’t have a hypo-allergenic pillow, would you?  Feathers and aerosols make me wheeze a bit.

Carrie was beginning to worry about being in loco parentis to this child.

Do you have an inhaler with you?

Oh yes.  And my two Epipens.  Do you have dogs?  I thought that I could smell some.

Just the pugs, dear, but they sleep in the kitchen, next to the Aga and they are not allowed up here.

Juniper rolled up her Pussy Riot Rules sweatshirt and placed it on the futon as a make-shift pillow.  Carrie felt a failure as a caring mother.  Suddenly, Juniper shot a hand to her throat and said:

Oh, Mrs Brewer-Mead, I can’t be in the same room as a bowl of peanuts.  There seems to be one next to the computer.  They’re completely contraindicated for me.

Well, said Carrie, pretty much at the end of her tether, perhaps you’d be better joining the boys in the playroom until the girls want to put the lights out.  I’ll write a note to your form teacher to explain any substandard prep.  I’m sure you’ll get an extension.

Oh, thank you SO much, said Juniper demurely and trotted off downstairs in the direction of the cellar.

Later Carrie, after a large Merlot, thought that she’d better check on the boys as there seemed to be excessive noise from the cellar.

Ferdy, Rollo, Ming, Bill-come upstairs this minute!  It’s well past your bedtime and you are keeping the girls awake now that they have put out their lights.  Juniper, do you want…?

But the boys were reeling around the cellar, laughing uncontrollably.  Juniper was lying in a corner, incoherent and dribbling.  There were a lot of empty Alcopop bottles lying on the floor and the instrument case seemed to contain further supplies.

Wait till your father comes home!  Carrie shrieked.

She egged us on!  Ferdy grassed.  She said ‘Dewlap Gin’ was only 4% and, if it was for grannies, it would be all right.

Clearly Juniper was well-named and had more experience of the champagne flute than the musical instrument.  This was one child who wouldn’t be coming to Nutwood again, if Carrie had anything to do with it.