http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/en-UKMokoFeed10http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/d0/84bba62aaa97c6ebcfbe38044fd938_160x200.jpghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/11/08/an_index~3264382/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-11-08:/2007/11/08/an_index~3264382/Thu, 08 Nov 2007 13:30:27 +0100 <p><em>It has been suggested that I provide an index to my novel-in-a-blog as navigating such a density of text can be rather troublesome. I hope this is of assistance. For the purposes of the blog it is broken down into episodes rather than in its original chapter form</em>.</p> <p><strong>Tales from Hake on Spinach<br> I N D E X</strong></p> <p><em>Blog pages 1-10:</em><br> Welcome to Hake on Spinach<br> About the author<br> A mere formality<br> A darts match in a charming country pub<br> And now to Lamprey Manse<br> To lunch at the Mal de Mer<br> Something in the Bullrushes<br> More in the Bullrushes<br> Neville's working day</p> <p><em>Blog pages 11-20:</em><br> The father of the twins<br> Preparations under way<br> Helena Ruby's secret<br> Denholm's dermatitis<br> Mrs Painswick's day<br> A momentary lapse of judgement?<br> Wheeling and dealing city style<br> A minor brush with the law<br> Refreshment after a taxing time<br> Domestic drudgery</p> <p><em>Blog pages 21-30:</em><br> Isobel's laundry concerns<br> Another darts match<br> Helena Ruby's headache<br> Helena Ruby asks the question<br> Isobel's Bavarian evening commences<br> The party's getting exciting<br> Mayhem erupts all around<br> Ron's spectacular finale<br> Helena Ruby makes her move<br> Helena Ruby moves to the Bullrushes</p> <p><em>Blog pages 31-40:</em><br> Nigel needs to take care<br> Boardroom misdemeanours<br> Will Nigel outwit the authorities?<br> Helena Ruby's new lodgings<br> Is unemployment looming?<br> Helena Ruby's unexpected day off<br> Helena Ruby has visitors<br> Sonia goes shopping and more besides<br> Sonia's day turns out better than expected<br> Nigel's fall from grace becomes public</p> <p><em>Blog pages 41-50:</em><br> Helena's stay in hospital<br> Ron goes up to the big house<br> Helena Ruby's rehabilitation<br> The residents take positive action<br> The great Hake Hall invasion<br> Helena Ruby gets to know Roberta<br> The transformation continues<br> Jolyon has a plan<br> Denzil takes a stand<br> Good news for Francis, bad news for Nigel</p> <p><em>Blog pages 51-60</em>:<br> Neville Martin Painswick's leisure activities<br> Helena Ruby's new career<br> A premises with potential<br> Ron on the road to rehabilitation<br> Denzil and Francis move on<br> A long overdue reunion for Helena Ruby<br> Josephine is sort of reconciled with her father<br> Hake Hall goes on the market<br> A new home for Neville Martin, Donna and their impending little one<br> Penultimate section</p> <p><em>Blog page 61</em>:<br> Here endeth the first story </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/11/08/an_index~3264382/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/11/08/an_index~3264382/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/welcome_to_the_world_of_hake_on_spinach~3192732/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/welcome_to_the_world_of_hake_on_spinach~3192732/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:28:40 +0200 <p><em>Picture if you will a grand old house dating back to Elizabeth I's time, occupied currently by Isobel and Nigel Lamington-Krill, the wealthy inhabitants of Hake Hall, where this saga begins. Now read on </em>...</p> <p>Isobel gazed with some concern at her nails and felt it was time for a visit to her manicurist, Mandy. On her right hand the thumbnail was horribly split, her index fingernail was terribly truncated and the remainder of her nails were suffering from varying degrees of downright disrepair. The major damage came about as a result of an accident with the coffee grinder after one too many gin and tonics prior to the arrival of her cocktail party guests. </p> <p>Rupert Urquart had consumed rather too much of Isobel’s special punch and it suddenly seemed very funny to him to attempt to insert the vol au vent into her cleavage. The manoeuvre was inexpertly executed and resulted in a messy and mildly embarrassing scene, although everybody laughed uproariously, and Nigel Lamington-Krill, her husband, having landed a blow squarely upon Rupert’s nose, thought no more of the incident. Upon recalling the scene, she remembered that all traces of blood would have to be removed too, or maybe it would be easier just to launder the garment herself and pass it to the local charity shop or give it to her housekeeper, Mrs Tremble, and be shot of the thing. After all, the fashion editor of Silk Scarf Trends and Country Interiors with Hounds had indicated in recent issues that short but unstructured was out and that the season’s colour scheme would be dominated by burnt umber and ultramarine, so maybe her unstructured cerise silk lace creation with exquisite detailing at the knees and shoulder straps could now be dispensed with, although the thought of Mrs Tremble’s ample frame in this diaphanous garment was mildly alarming. No, perhaps the local aggrieved country folks’ charity shop was the favoured recipient.</p> <p>Whilst Isobel sat reflecting upon the week-end’s events at Hake Hall Mrs Tremble was labouring over a particularly stubborn stain on the cream shag pile carpet in the en suite bathroom to one of the guest rooms in the east wing. As she sprayed, sponged and rinsed the carpet, her eye alighted upon a used prophylactic blocking the shower drain and she cursed the outrageous behaviour of the week-end guests, and wondered whether she would have time to take her ailing Dachshund to the local veterinary practice before joining the Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team. This evening they would be taking on the formidable ladies from neighbouring Halibut under Endive and she needed to be on peak form. The match would be taking place at the Raddled Beanpole where, as fate would have it, Rupert Urquart’s cousin Jolyon, considered to be the black sheep of the family, would be drinking heavily that evening.</p> <p><em>This is just the beginning. You still have to meet the residents of Lamprey Manse, the members of the Leek over Partridge hunt, ladies lunching at the Mal de Mer and many more characters who contribute to county life one way and another. Hope you'll come back and see how things are developing.</em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/welcome_to_the_world_of_hake_on_spinach~3192732/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/welcome_to_the_world_of_hake_on_spinach~3192732/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/about_the_author~3192723/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/about_the_author~3192723/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:27:21 +0200 <p><strong>Before I continue with further words, I thought it only polite to introduce myself. My name is Faith Bretherick and I have decided to give up on trying to get anywhere with agents and publishers. I am confident that I am never going to get my humorous novel published (maybe as it's not that good, I am under no illusions); so rather than let my 68,000 words sit gathering dust, I thought I may as well stick them in a blog and see what the reaction is</strong>.</p> <p>I hope it might raise the odd smile anyhow.<br> <em>So now, on with the story</em>....</p> <p>“I’ll be off now then, Mrs L-K. I think I’ve got the stain out of the carpet in the east wing en-suite but I’ll check on it tomorrow when I change the floral display.” Mrs Tremble had an unexpected gift in floral artistry and had in fact been approached by the local Women’s Group in order to promulgate her skills, but she declined being a very reserved character, and because she had had a falling out with the Treasurer over a very personal matter some years before.</p> <p>“Thank you Mrs Tremble. I may be at Follicles having a manicure and exfoliation and possibly a Japanese seaweed massage tomorrow, but Cook will be here early to make a start on preparations for my Bavarian evening. Perhaps you two could have a chat and get things under way.” Mrs Tremble’s heart sank. She could already picture frankfurters jammed amusingly into the chandeliers and the beer stains on that hideous Chinese silk rug in the large drawing room. Still, she had no time to linger as she very much wanted to get Denholm (her Dachshund) to the vet before his skin condition deteriorated any further.</p> <p>Hake Hall was an imposing pile, parts of which dated back to Elizabethan times. Its elegant frontage was largely symmetrical with broad stone steps sweeping up to the great glazed oak doors in the centre. The high stone mullioned windows were partly obscured by a vast and ancient wisteria which was now almost part of the building. Various later red brick additions were for the most part hidden from initial view and in all, the building conveyed an impression of effortless grace and tranquility. </p> <p>The large gravelled arc at the end of the drive to the front was neatly edged with thick, square-cut hornbeam hedging, with acres of undulating lawns on either side. An ancient yew tree stood imposingly in the distance, as did several other magnificent specimens, giving a marvellous sense of balance to the view. Topiary bushes followed the line of the drive but with their increasingly vague definition did give the impression of being over-ambitious. Ron Tremble, whose responsibility such matters were, was not renowned for his horticultural artistry and could only really relate to clean, straight lines and right-angles. He was not deft with shears.</p> <p>To the left of Hake Hall a high, wide stone arch within the remains of an old, weathered garden wall masked the entrance to the garage block which retained many features dating back to its original use as the coach–house. The clock in the bell-tower remained remarkably accurate; the rather too ebullient chimes had been disabled some years previously. </p> <p>Helena Ruby Tremble glanced absent-mindedly up at the clock before setting off at a brisk pace down the length of the drive to reach the Lodge, which was available to her and her husband in their roles as housekeeper and groundsman. It took about five minutes to walk the distance and even in her haste, Helena Ruby noticed that the simple iron fencing which ran down either side of the drive was in considerable need of repair and repainting, and imagined the almighty complaining from Ron which this observation would elicit.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/about_the_author~3192723/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourfictionwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/about_the_author~3192723/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_mere_formality~3192715/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/a_mere_formality~3192715/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:25:16 +0200 <p><em>Before I continue, and in the unlikely event that some unprincipled rotter should wish to plagiarise my work, I confirm the following</em>.</p> <p><strong>The moral right of the author has been asserted.</p> <p>All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.</strong><br> <em>Now with that out of the way, on with the story, where Helena Ruby Tremble gets home</em>. </p> <p>She went in through the back door of the Lodge, which was built in the gothic Victorian style, compact but with pleasing proportions and particularly elegant arched windows, an inevitable source of complaint when painting was required.<br> “You’ll have to get your own meal this evening, Ron, I’m playing with the darts team and won’t be back ‘til late and I’ve got to get Denholm to the vet’s before I go.” Ron Tremble sat smoking, disgruntled in his worn armchair watching horseracing on the television.<br> “Don’t know why you bother with that mangey mut.”<br> “Because, you oaf,” she thought to herself “he’s better company than you are. If I took you to the vet I’d ask him to put you down and do us all a favour.” Cheerfully however she said, “There’s ham and cheese in the ‘fridge, fresh bread, some nice salad but I’ve not washed it yet - that should do you.”<br> “Well don’t come in at all hours and wake me up and is there any cake left?”<br> “If I had the opportunity,” thought Helena Ruby Tremble, “I’d never come home again you curmudgeonly old basket.” Instead she said brightly, “Yes it’s in the round tin on the top shelf .”</p> <p>Helena Ruby ran upstairs to the bedroom, quickly changed into her darts team shirt and a pair of black trousers, went to the bathroom, brushed her hair and splashed her face with water then returned downstairs to collect the dog and depart.<br> “Wish me and the ladies luck!” she called out.<br> “Yeah.”<br> Denholm was duly scooped up from his rather flaky blanket and Mrs Tremble effected a speedy exit.</p> <p>Three years previously she had absent-mindedly entered a competition sponsored by Golden Good Morning Weight Conscious Crunchy Breakfast Bites and to her astonishment, won a high performance hatchback which she enjoyed driving tremendously. The driving lessons necessitated by this stroke of luck had been a little problematic and practice outings with Ron had been downright disagreeable. However, happily all that was now past and Helena Ruby at least had the freedom afforded by her own means of transport.</p> <p>Upon arrival at the veterinary practice, Denholm became decidedly anxious. His small canine brain was probably registering his last visit when he was bitten by a hamster beside whose cage he sat too close, and the ignominy of the treatment which followed. His anxiety triggered a bout of terrible itching and he started to dislodge flakes of skin and hair when scratching vigorously with his rear leg. Mrs Tremble realised she should have sat him on his blanket as the plum and midnight blue upholstery in her car received a liberal sprinkling of detritus. “Oh don’t do that Denholm, come on, let’s go and see the nice man who can make you better.” </p> <p>Once inside the surgery Mrs Tremble sat with Denholm on her lap waiting to be seen. This made Denholm feel more confident than being at floor level (even though as a result her trousers received a light dusting) and in due course the weeping owner of a condemned pet came out and Denholm was next. Mrs Tremble fleetingly wondered what became of corpses generated thus, then having walked into the consulting room, placed the now trembling Dachshund on the examination table. His complaint was diagnosed as some kind of nervous dermatitis and he was duly prescribed soothing unguents, and Mrs Tremble was advised to return with the patient if his condition showed no sign of improvement. There wasn’t time to return him home before setting out for the darts match, so she just resigned herself to the fact that she would have to give her upholstery a very thorough vacuuming tomorrow and set a course for Halibut under Endive.</p> <p>The road to the village was pleasant and tree-lined and Helena Ruby’s spirits lifted as she looked forward to her evening ahead and as the mellowing sunlight flickered through the leafy branches. She drew up in the car park of the Raddled Beanpole and decided it would probably be best if Denholm remained within the safety of the car, being diminutive as he was, and she promised to check on him regularly and bring him some water. She deduced from the vehicles already present that most of her team had arrived. The long-standing captain of the Hake on Spinach team, Pam Krenelli, whose husband died under suspect circumstances when on a business trip in Italy, had purchased a state of the art people mover with some of the life insurance. It proved very useful for the Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team when she was not transporting her five children, the youngest of which was born some time after Mr Krenelli’s demise. This had caused many raised eyebrows at the time. Pam, being wise, had said nothing and in due course the rumours had subsided.</p> <p>Helena Ruby supposed that most of the opposition would arrive on foot, it being their home ground.<br> “Be a good boy, Denholm, and I’ll bring you out some water - and try not to scratch too much. See you in a little while...” Helena Ruby planted a kiss on his upturned head then shut the door, locked the car and looked forward to the evening ahead.</p> <p>As Helena Ruby walked under the honeysuckle-laden arch at the door and as Denholm gazed disconsolately after her, his attention was distracted by the sound of hoofs scuffing and then he became positively alarmed as the terrible realisation descended that the car was surrounded by hounds eager to kill something. Not only did he start scratching furiously, but could not help himself doing what most animals in fear of their lives do. Suffice to say that the upholstery would require more than vacuuming now.</p> <p><em>- and never forget, dogs die in hot cars -</em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_mere_formality~3192715/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourfictionwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_mere_formality~3192715/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_darts_match_in_a_charming_country_pub~3192709/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/a_darts_match_in_a_charming_country_pub~3192709/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:23:44 +0200 <p><em>I'm sure you are anxious to know how Helena Ruby and her team fare, and what befalls the hapless dog, so on with the story where we find ourselves in the Raddled Beanpole </em>....</p> <p>The affable but anxious landlord, Corby, had suggested that the Leek over Partridge Hunt having exercised their hounds, and quite unable to prevent their accidental savaging of some unfortunate wildlife in their path, could not really be accommodated for post mortem drinks due to the darts match taking place that evening and because Jolyon Urquart was providing corporate entertainment for his city friends within the delightful surroundings of the sixteenth century coaching inn. However Roger Whittingly-Beargarden, who took it upon himself to be master of ceremonies on this occasion, browbeat Corby into providing at least one snifter for his fellow huntsmen before moving on to the Goat and Crowbar. It was agreed that the biddable Gloria would serve drinks from a tray to the Leek over Partridge contingent in the car park in an attempt to maintain a modicum of order. Sherry, beer and wine was duly provided, but this could not satisfy the more strident members who demanded whisky - and what sort of a hostelry did this fellow think he was running anyway?</p> <p>The hapless Denholm was by this time a quivering, scratching bundle of abject misery and the paintwork of Helena Ruby’s car was rapidly losing its lustre as the hounds reared up and pressed their noses against the windows to eye up their potential prey. </p> <p>Within the sixteenth century walls of the Raddled Beanpole bonhomie flowed freely and although Mrs Tremble had every intention of taking water out for Denholm, she was currently engrossed in a lively discussion with Martha Crenshaw of the opposing darts team about third world debt and the ethics of airfreighting exotic fruit and vegetables to supermarkets. It was announced that the match would commence in five minutes if the ladies would be good enough to rally themselves. This served as a timely reminder to Helena Ruby that she should check on Denholm and take him some water. </p> <p>The scene which greeted her upon emerging from under the honeysuckle laden arch with a bowl of water caused her to drop it in sheer disbelief. Not normally given to public displays of disapproval, Mrs Tremble was consumed with rage at the sight of her car being subjected to a form of canine vandalism and she could only guess at the distress being caused to Denholm. She inhaled deeply and quivering with fury yelled with all the force she could muster - “Get your bloody dogs off my car NOW.” </p> <p>Roger Whittingly-Beargarden sauntered over on his mount and said from his vantage point, “Good gracious, is that <em><strong>your</strong></em> car? I’ll see if we can’t get the hounds away.” He half turned in the saddle and called - “I say, Purvis call them off would you.” He turned back to Mrs Tremble saying, “A trip to the carwash will soon put things right,” then returned to join his colleagues, leaving Mrs Tremble scarlet and speechless with rage and impotence. She did not trust herself to speak and rushed to the car that she might comfort Denholm. The smell with which she was greeted confirmed her worst suspicions, but she did not hesitate in scooping up her pet and transporting him swiftly to the relative safety of the Raddled Beanpole. The Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team were most supportive of their distressed colleague and insisted Corby supply a large vodka and lime to help calm her. The captain assured her that she could have a lift back to the lodge at Hake Hall in her spacious vehicle, and she was sure that they could find something for Denholm upon which to lie.</p> <p>Murderous anger rendered Helena Ruby’s aim straight and sure and her team emerged victorious. Denholm, feeling far more relaxed now, snoozed on a broad windowsill in remnants of late evening sunlight while the victors imbibed amicably with the cheerfully vanquished. The consensus of opinion amongst the ladies was that if only the idiot menfolk could conduct themselves with equal magnanimity, there would be an awful lot less unpleasantness in the world. </p> <p>This convivial crowd gradually percolated into the part of the bar occupied by Jolyon Urquart and colleagues who were by this time all in particularly mellow spirits and more than happy to engage in social intercourse with the ladies. Such diverse subjects as field drainage, haute couture, veterinary practise, coiffure, inner city decay, financial markets, the European market, publishing, fast food, plumbing, horticulture, satellite television, wine tasting and carpets arose during the evening, all very good-humoured. As the protagonists began to feel they knew each other better, it seemed quite natural that Damien Fitzherbert should have his arm around the waist of Mary Petherbridge and that Jolyon should have his arm around Helena Ruby’s shoulders. Indeed, even ‘though Pam was limited to drinking pineapple juice and sparkling mineral water, she found herself sitting very amiably on the knee of Charles Enderby, who ventured to place his hand on her knee: he was not rejected. </p> <p>Last orders were called and Jolyon, by now full of affection for his fellow humans, instructed Corby to pour drinks for everyone in the Raddled Beanpole, and he should have one himself, together with the delightful Gloria. Jolyon would pay. The exercise was duly achieved, and Gloria, having served the drinks, was invited to join the assembled bon viveurs while a rather disgruntled Corby commenced clearing operations. </p> <p>As the Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team was rallied for the homeward journey, Jolyon leant into Helena Ruby’s neck and said thickly in her ear, “I really think we should get together again soon, my dear - I think we could have a lot of fun.”<br> Helena Ruby had difficulty believing what she was hearing - she flushed and said hoarsely, “But - I - it’s - well, there’s my husband ......” (although if questioned closely she would be at a loss to explain quite what relevance Ron had to her life these days).<br> Jolyon slipped his card into Helena Ruby’s moistening palm and said, “Ring me if you get the chance - I mean it.” </p> <p>The rest of Helena Ruby Tremble’s evening took on a dream-like quality, and it was only Pam’s diligence which ensured Denholm’s inclusion in the homeward journey, suitably installed on an old towel, although he was not particularly keen about staying put on it - there were too many interesting new smells to explore. Thus for a majority of the journey he was anchored firmly by the collar (perhaps a little too enthusiastically) by Mary, much to his chagrin. </p> <p>As Denholm and his owner alighted from Pam’s people-mover, there were muted but cheery goodbyes, and Mary took the opportunity to shake the towel out of the open door before Helena Ruby closed it firmly behind her. Pam offered to take Helena Ruby back to the Raddled Beanpole to collect her car at lunch-time tomorrow as she had to drive to Mackerel for a dental appointment, and the offer was gratefully accepted. Even the thought of what awaited her in the car could not dampen Mrs Tremble’s spirits as she attempted to gain ingress to the Lodge as quietly as possible, although she did inadvertently step on Denholm’s front paw which caused him to yelp.</p> <p>Helena Ruby sat at the kitchen table cradling a cup of tea whilst Denholm settled himself in his basket. She was blissfully indifferent to the fish and chip wrappings screwed up on the draining board and the squeezed tea bags sitting in a dark circle on the work-surface which was sprinkled liberally with salt and vinegar. She breathed into the steam rising from the mug and kept running over the evening’s events in her mind, and could not help but smile. She was still smiling as she trod carefully up the stairs, even though she was faced with the prospect of laying beside the man she must call her husband.</p> <p><em>Sweet dreams Helena Ruby</em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_darts_match_in_a_charming_country_pub~3192709/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourfictionwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_darts_match_in_a_charming_country_pub~3192709/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/and_now_to_lamprey_manse~3192698/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/and_now_to_lamprey_manse~3192698/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:22:19 +0200 <p>Hake on Spinach and environs had several rather grand properties within its confines, not least of which was Lamprey Manse. Of a slightly later vintage than Hake Hall it nevertheless exuded a certain grandeur but of a slightly more compact, red brick variety.</p> <p>In the dining room of Lamprey Manse Sonia Baddesley-Fanshawe consumed her third cup of coffee at the dining table which was strewn with delicately fragranced petals from her rather over-ambitious floral centre. Now certain that her husband Trevor was safely off the premises to work, as through the French windows she watched his green Aston Martin round the curve of the drive, she arose lazily and strolled, mule heels clicking across the Flemish-style black and white floor tiles in the hall, into the kitchen. </p> <p>The kitchen was fitted out with hand-crafted cabinetry imported exclusively from Mexico by a city business contact (Trevor’s choice, Sonia preferred clinical white) but it did offer, she conceded, useful storage space and gave a sort of non-functional warmth to the room. She took out of one of the custom-built spice drawers a wallet of special ‘tobacco’ and papers and proceeded to prepare her first and eagerly anticipated cigarette of the day. She jumped nervously at the noise of the mail dropping to the mat in the hall then cursed as she gathered up her spilt ‘tobacco’ from the floor. Jupiter, their labrador, made an energetic entrance through the open kitchen door having bidden his master farewell and plunged his muzzle into the exciting-smelling stuff.</p> <p>“Oh get out of it, leave it, you tiresome beast,” she said feebly. Sonia knew she had no control over the wilful black hound and now he had dribbled in her tobacco, she was forced to throw what he had not eaten into the bin, secreting it within a discarded cereal box. Having finally constructed a cigarette, her next problem was ignition of same. She frantically searched kitchen drawers for matches, with Jupiter skilfully contriving to stand in her way at every turn. In sheer exasperation she landed a light kick to his rump with her muled foot but in the process parted company with the slipper which described a graceful arc and came to rest beside the range cooker right in the coal scuttle (a mere antique prop which nevertheless proved rather useful as a repository for rubbish). Sonia limped to the hob with a newspaper spill which she had torn furiously from the discarded Times left on the side by the door and lit her mis-shapen cigarette very inexpertly from the flaming paper. The conflagration was such that she was obliged to drop the spill into the coal scuttle and before she realised what she had done, her nostrils were greeted with an acrid burning smell as the fur on her mule began to singe. Sonia’s need for the cigarette was greater than her desire to save her mule and she stood in the open kitchen doorway in her silk dressing gown, leaning against the frame and gazing across the sunny lawns to the twinkling water in the swimming pool beyond, as she lazily dragged on her cigarette and contentment percolated through her veins.</p> <p>Her reverie was sharply interrupted by the shrill noise of the smoke detector activating in the hall.<br> “Oh for Chris’sake,” she muttered venomously as she kicked off her remaining mule and padded furiously into the hall with the newspaper to dispel the fumes. Having silenced the dreadful thing, she turned and was greeted with the unexpected sight of Jupiter wandering unsteadily towards her.<br> “What on earth......,” she began but then the awful realization seized her. The dog had eaten her special tobacco and was clearly now feeling the effects. “You dopey dog,” she said before being seized with paroxysms of hilarity. She sat on the floor with him with her arms round his neck as he made feeble attempts to lick her affectionately.</p> <p>Sonia left Jupiter dozing while she had a shower and dressed for the day. She had been invited to join a ladies’ lunch at the Mal de Mer, a happening new restaurant which had recently opened in Mackerel, so it had to be something chic. She finally decided upon a fitted cream linen dress with a cropped burnt orange jacket. Sonia’s self image rendered her blissfully unaware of the unsuitable length of her garments, even with the evidence plainly displayed in the full length mirror before her. She would wear gold strappy sandals, thus painted her toenails orange to match the jacket, then decided she should paint her fingernails too. By the time all this had been achieved and she had her hair just right and her make up applied (perhaps a little too much mascara, but she was not blessed with long eyelashes), and she had whitened her teeth, she just had time for a pre-prandial gin and tonic whilst waiting for her taxi to arrive. Jupiter was still sleeping but she supposed he would be alright when he awoke.</p> <p>Sonia sipped her gin and tonic with the ice cubes tinkling delightfully in the glass as she sat by the dining table waiting to catch sight of the taxi. It was clearly going to be a very warm day and she began to wonder whether her outfit was entirely appropriate, and linen did crease so easily. Would she have time to change? She ran upstairs, threw the jacket on the bed, wriggled out of her dress which landed, and stayed, on the floor and sorted frantically through her wardrobe. A very revealing tight white tee-shirt and violet silk culottes seemed a winning combination, but it was a pity that she had no time to repolish her nails. Sonia scooped up her bag and door keys as the taxi arrived and walked jauntily out of the stained-glass front door. Jupiter was still asleep, but she called to him anyway, “‘Bye old thing, I’ll see you later.”</p> <p><em>Next we'll be visiting the Mal de Mer with Sonia</em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/and_now_to_lamprey_manse~3192698/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writingfictionhumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/and_now_to_lamprey_manse~3192698/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/to_lunch_at_the_mal_de_mer~3192685/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/to_lunch_at_the_mal_de_mer~3192685/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:20:08 +0200 <p><em>You have to imagine a delightful warm sunny day, then we can get on with lunch</em>....</p> <p>The trip to Mackerel took about twenty minutes and by the time the taxi arrived outside Mal de Mer, the driver was hugely relieved to deposit his rather overly-fragrant fare. Manicured bay trees in pots delineated the alfresco eating area where some of the lunch party had already gathered. Diamonds and topaz glittered on fingers, chilled white wine shimmered in elegant glasses, fingernails and freshly coiffed hair gleamed, and genteel laughter mingled with a cacophony of scent in the warm, still air which fairly crackled with sideways glances from behind expensive sunglasses as outfits and accessories were silently appraised. Just as Sonia was oblivious to her sturdy legs and generous hips, so was she oblivious to the reaction of some of the assembled ladies upon her arrival. She pushed her Trent Cabernet demi-shade sunglasses carefully onto her head.<br> “Lucinda, Verity - how lovely to see you, how are you, darlings,” she gushed. “Oh and Petronella, Melanie - I love your handbag. Is it Agar? I keep meaning to replace mine. Perhaps I’ll go up to town later this week - I’ve seen a Tabitha Weinstock suit to die for, I think it was in Silk Scarf Trends, or was it Fashion Chic? Anyhow, I thought I’d pay her a visit.”<br> “Sonia, good to see you. Tell me, what is your scent - it’s so - aromatic,” breathed Simone Dawlish, as they air-kissed.<br> “A Day in the Life, you know, SKB’s latest fragrance. Trevor bought it for me at the airport when he came back from Singapore - we may be doing a six month stint out there while he establishes a marketing presence for the company. Only trouble is, it will be so hot, but we would of course be fully air conditioned and I believe it’s a very civilized life. Do excuse me while I get a drink....” Looks were exchanged as Sonia went inside.<br> “That must be six months’ worth she’s wearing today!” said Melanie unkindly.<br> “Large gin and tonic please,” Sonia requested of the barman.<br> “Ice and a slice?”<br> “Oh yes please. In fact, make it a very large gin would you?” Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the cool, dim interior where ceiling fans rythmically stirred the air, Sonia began to appreciate what a very fine visage the barman had, with unusual grey eyes and even, white teeth which he displayed to devastating effect when he smiled. She appreciated also his well muscled forearms revealed by his rolled up shirt -sleeves.<br> “You must be very busy - this place is so popular, Steven,” (she read the name badge pinned to the lapel of his exotic-looking waistcoat) “- and I believe you had a very good write up from Ezekiel Trout in last week’s supplement.” Sonia leant onto the bar in order to emphasise her cleavage, amongst which was suspended a diamond pendant on a fine gold chain.<br> “Indeed we did - and the quality of our cellar was highlighted in the article. Ah, and here’s the author of our success - Charles....” As he sauntered from the doorway behind the bar, unseen by Sonia, Charles affectionately ran his hand across Steven’s tightly-clad buttocks.<br> “Hi, Charles - Sonia, Sonia Fanshawe.” She extended her manicured hand, her wrist encircled by a heavy gold bangle, another gift from Trevor following a visit to Dubai earlier in the year.<br> “Delighted, is Steven attending to you?”<br> “He certainly is - would you care to join me?”<br> “That’s good of you, but I’m off to visit one of my specialist suppliers now. Can I leave it all to you, Steven?” (The specialist supplier to which Charles referred was in fact not entirely relevant to his catering operation, but this was something of which Sonia really didn’t need to be aware.)<br> “Sure can, boss.”</p> <p>Sonia reluctantly left the bar and returned outside to join her fellow luncheon guests and Steven observed her exit with a wry smile. She had to replace her sunglasses as she emerged into the sunlight and was unable to execute the manoeuvre quite as smoothly as she would have liked - her hair had caught in one of the ornate hinges, and whilst concentrating on trying to release it before being observed, she tripped on the threshold, spilling some of her drink as she did so. A dark stain appeared on the violet silk, but she took comfort in the fact that it would soon dry in the warm air and tried very hard to compose herself, dabbing the damp patch with a tissue, before joining the twittering throng, hoping that nobody had been watching her.<br> “It was simply awful, I mean just how can you get chewing gum out of mink?” whined Penelope D’Arville. “Oh hello Sonia, how lovely to see you. You’re looking well - I love your bangle.”<br> “Penny - how nice to see you. You must give me the name of your colourist - your hair looks stunning and makes you look so much younger!”<br> “Why thank you, how kind. I decided to give Anthony Furnival-Pirouette a try. There was a feature on him in a recent Sunday supplement and I thought ‘Why not!’ - time to make a radical change to my wardrobe and my hair! I called in to the Hermione Shrubfest studio while I was in town and her collection really is most inventive. Picked up a couple of lovely tops, but had to buy some slacks as they’re not really the sort of thing you could wear with a skirt. Trouble is, when you start along those lines, you end up buying far more than you meant. My titanium card took a severe thrashing and when I got home Henry was a bit miffed and did suggest I might thin out my wardrobe, and he didn’t even notice my hair. Men - they simply have no idea!” There was a general murmur of agreement.</p> <p>All members of the lunch party were now assembled (with the exception of Jocasta Bentwood who was indisposed after a bibulous evening in the library at the Old Rectory with Lord Pith-Witherstock and his housekeeper) and took their seats at the tables which were laid out with crisp white table cloths, beautifully folded napkins, elegant glasses, designer cutlery and a single white rose in a glass tube at the centre of each table. Brenda and Michelle were their waitresses; Brenda glowered and Michelle simpered. Steven attended to the drinks orders and manoeuvred deftly between the lunching ladies, receiving many admiring glances as he did so; Steven smiled a lot.</p> <p>Sonia’s taxi arrived to collect her at four o’clock and she was not looking quite as fresh as she had earlier. There was a suggestion of dark rings below her eyes where her mascara had migrated a little in the heat and her lips were looking unfashionably pallid where her lipstick had not recently been replenished. What a blessing that she had used Tivoli’s Total Supra-Guard Extra Protection Anti-Perspirant with extracts of sphagnum moss and elder berries.</p> <p><em>So now you've met the ladies who lunch. Back to matters in Hake on Spinach tomorrow</em>. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/to_lunch_at_the_mal_de_mer~3192685/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionhumourwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/to_lunch_at_the_mal_de_mer~3192685/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/something_in_the_bullrushes~3192673/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/something_in_the_bullrushes~3192673/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:18:16 +0200 <p><em>Back at Lamprey Manse </em>-</p> <p>When Sonia opened the front door and walked slightly unsteadily into the hall, she dropped her bag and keys on the central circular table and was aware of a singular lack of greeting from Jupiter. This was because he was still asleep. She bent down and looked closely to ensure that he was still breathing, having to prop herself against the wall, then meandered upstairs to refresh herself and change into a rather more casual outfit before commencing upon preparations for the evening meal. Trevor normally arrived home at about 7.30 p.m. and as Sonia never really had become sufficiently acquainted with the vagaries of her state of the art range cooker, she always had to give herself plenty of culinary latitude (accompanied by several generous glasses of wine, naturally - it was the only way to cook and lent a certain panache to her otherwise unadventurous cuisine).</p> <p>Unable to think up a convincing explanation for her fire damaged footwear, Sonia deposited the mule in the bin beneath several layers of household waste then went again to the spice drawer in order to roll herself a soothing cigarette, which she was able to light easily this time with matches retrieved from the bar at Mal de Mer. She opened the kitchen door, strolled across the terrace and sat half way down the steps, leaning her elbows on her knees and soaking up the tranquility as she gazed across the sunlit garden, blowing curls of smoke into the still air. Jupiter appeared sleepily at the top and lay down, apparently not sure-footed enough to tackle the steps. </p> <p>Sonia took a last drag on her cigarette, ground it out beneath her sandalled foot then buried the remains in the loose earth beside her. She returned serenely to the kitchen, followed by Jupiter who now had the energy to wag his tail, uncorked a bottle of white wine which had been chilling in the ‘fridge, filled herself a large glass and assembled some vegetables in preparation for the evening meal. </p> <p>Trevor arrived at about 8.00 p.m. and received a slightly less than usually enthusiastic welcome from Jupiter, however he was sufficiently preoccupied not to give it much thought. He dropped his keys on the kitchen surface, kissed Sonia on the cheek as she was trying to crush the lumps out of the sauce with a fork and said, “I say darling, heard from Dick Neville-Lazenby today, you know, well-connected merchant banker, had Christmas drinks with him on his boat, and he said, strictly hush-hush, heard it from a minister, that old Lamington-Krill and his set-up might be heading for a bit of an investigation. Tried to head it off apparently, him donating so much to the party and all that, but now the Germans have got involved, it’s going to be difficult. Looks like he’s taken the piss once too often. Can’t say anything, obviously, but a bit close to home isn’t it?”<br> “You’re in the clear aren’t you?”<br> “Oh yes, not actually done any deals with him since helping finance that estate of his, you know, Buttercups, Bodewells, ah, Bullrushes, that’s it. Never touched anything foreign, in fact haven’t been in touch for some time. Best left that way for now if poss m’dear, under the circumstances.”<br> Sonia, exasperated with her efforts, tipped the contents of the pan down the sink, rinsed it, then tipped in a jar of ready-prepared sauce from the cupboard and stirred it absent-mindedly.</p> <p>“Mmm, come to think of it, Isobel wasn’t at the lunch today, but she never knows what he’s up to anyway. Gin and tonic darling?”<br> “Excellent. Large one please. Oh, and do remind me that I need to get the Aston serviced in the next week or so, old girl not running quite as smoothly as she should.”<br> “Do you want me to arrange it?”<br> “That would be marvellous darling, thank you.”</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/something_in_the_bullrushes~3192673/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/something_in_the_bullrushes~3192673/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/more_in_the_bullrushes~3192661/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/more_in_the_bullrushes~3192661/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:16:00 +0200 <p><em>Trevor has made reference to the Bullrushes development, so now meet an inhabitant </em>.....</p> <p>As Hake on Spinach was home to several very grand properties, so indeed it had also recently acquired a development of what were described in the sales literature as superbly appointed but modest executive-style homes. There were however as far as it is possible to judge these things, no modest executives living therein.</p> <p>In the master bedroom of Number 5, The Bullrushes, Neville Martin Painswick rolled over to silence the irrepressible alarm clock beside him and was positively dazzled by the shafts of brilliant early morning sunshine which pierced the carelessly closed flimsy floral curtains. His wife, Donna, had insisted on fully co-ordinated furnishings and the resultant effect made Neville feel as if he slept in a frilled, floral display case with authentically leaded bow window. It was difficult to tell where the soft furnishings ended and the wallpaper began, but he did notice as he lay there that the contrasting border running around the top of the wall was slightly torn and that he would have to attend to that and the small crack in the ceiling before it was seized upon by his wife – after all, it had only been decorated two months ago. He sighed heavily and wondered how he had been persuaded to move to the thoughtfully designed yet affordable luxury of The Bullrushes which sympathetically reflected the idyllic surrounding countryside. He had been perfectly happy in their terraced house in the centre of Great Roach – within walking distance of several good local hostelries, two curry houses, a chip shop and every amenity he ever really needed.<br> He realised they would need more room with their first baby expected in six month’s time, and supposed that he gave in far too easily because Donna was pregnant and he didn’t like to argue with her. She was at this moment retching in the en suite bathroom and he did experience pangs of sympathy for her.</p> <p>She came back to bed looking very pale in her oyster silk nightdress and Neville stroked her head.<br> “Never mind, love. It won’t last for much longer. Can I get you anything?”<br> “No thanks – I’ll just stay in bed ‘til I feel less queasy. It’s my day off. Will you be home for lunch?<br> “I’ll take sandwiches today as I’ve got Mr Lamington-Krill’s Jensen in for a major service and I think Colonel Whipstock is bringing in his Bristol for me to look at – had a bit of a prang in the car park of the Startled Partridge. Don’t worry, I’ll make them before I go.” With this, Neville Martin Painswick got out of bed, gently pulled the valanced duvet up to cover his wife and padded into the en suite bathroom in his boxer shorts to make preparations for his day. </p> <p>Having made himself beef paste and tomato sandwiches, Neville located his newly -laundered overalls in the airing cupboard on the landing, looked in on Donna (now sleeping), then went noiselessly downstairs so as not to disturb her. He cringed as one of the treads creaked loudly and thought to himself that for a new house, this one was not very well finished and that no-one seemed to take a pride in their work any more. He took enormous pride in his work, which was why he had such a surprisingly prestigious clientele and never any shortage of work.</p> <p>As if to compound these irritations, he had to pull the neo-Georgian front door to quite sharply as it had never been a perfect fit from the day they moved in. The hanging baskets either side of the porch swayed gently as he made his exit and got into his car parked on the paved drive. His workshop was about 10 miles away in a fairly dilapidated light industrial unit in a farmyard and Donna had often urged him to consider moving premises to somewhere ‘more fitting’ – meaning light, bright, modern and expensive – but Neville was content in his rural surroundings and had no intention of moving.</p> <p><em>Tomorrow we'll go to work with Neville Martin. More fun than lunch? We'll see.</em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/more_in_the_bullrushes~3192661/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourwritingfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/more_in_the_bullrushes~3192661/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/neville_s_working_day~3192647/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/neville_s_working_day~3192647/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:13:28 +0200 <p><em>So let us join Neville Martin Painswick as he arrives at work</em>....</p> <p>He pulled up outside his unit and smiled as he saw Nigel Lamington-Krill’s Jensen parked in the yard beside the Volvo and the Shogun also booked in for today. His young assistant Melvin would be in later when his father dropped him off on his way to the hospital in Mackerel to visit his mother and her new twins which were a source of some bewilderment to the Tredwell family. Neville was a kind-hearted employer and was prepared to accommodate Melvin’s slightly irregular hours as he was showing great promise and was a very willing worker.</p> <p>Neville unlocked the door to his workshop and stepped over three sets of keys which had been posted through the letterbox the evening before. He opened up the rolling shutters at the front of the unit and as the morning sunshine streamed in, he flicked on the switch to the radio and the sound of Mozart filled the air. He pulled on his boiler suit, breathed in deeply then walked over to pick up the keys. </p> <p>“Right, Volvo first,” he said to himself as he walked to the kettle and switched it on. He got no further with making tea as he realised that the milk in the bottle he picked up had gone solid, and would have to wait until Melvin arrived with fresh supplies. He shrugged and walked out to Vanessa Sellerby-Corbett’s car, unlocked it and drove it on to the ramps in the workshop. He was standing beside the hydraulic controls when the telephone rang, so Neville walked across the workshop, turned down the radio then picked up the handset. It was Mrs Baddesley-Fanshawe wishing to book in her husband’s Aston Martin for a service. The day was duly agreed and Neville entered the details in the large, oily finger-printed diary accordingly.</p> <p>Neville was engrossed beneath the back axle when Colonel Whipstock arrived with his slightly dented Bristol. The Colonel never had displayed much inclination to employ any social graces and sounded the horn vigorously in order to gain Neville’s attention. Neville climbed out from under the Volvo, wiped his hands on a rag, and knowing the Colonel to be fairly deaf, said quietly, “That’s alright you old bugger, I’ll come to you, you just sit there……..” – then as he approached the Bristol and its occupant, called out, “Good morning, shall we have a look at the damage?” as the Colonel wound down his window.<br> “Bloody shame that idiot landlord decided to put bloody tubs of flowers in the car park – looks bloody ridiculous, I mean it’s a car park for god’s sake, not a bloody garden…” Colonel Whipstock flung open the car door and levered himself out of the leather upholstery. Neville thought it best not to proffer assistance as he observed the overweight, gnarled, wheezing and bewhiskered old goat.<br> “I think this can be beaten out without too much trouble, but I think we’ll have to replace the ….” Neville Martin Painswick did not get to complete his sentence as Melvin’s father drove round the end of the building rather too fast and failed to take the necessary avoiding action before ploughing into the back of the Bristol and shunting it forward a few feet, which caught the Colonel’s knee and felled him like an oak. He lay in the oily dirt spluttering and wheezing, arms flailing and Neville looked on completely aghast, almost unable to comprehend the scene before him.<br> “What the….” he began as Melvin’s father got out of his Astra.<br> William Tredwell was not normally a man given to outward displays of emotion but, trembling, he shouted hoarsely at Neville as he walked towards him, “What a bloody stupid place to leave a car …” and then, in less abrasive tone and pointing at the Colonel, “Is he alright?” Rather nonplussed, Neville responded “I don’t know. Bloody well help me with him. You were driving like a moron anyhow.” </p> <p>The two men reached Colonel Whipstock who had managed to manoeuvre himself onto his side, clutching his knee and groaning, and they heaved him upright taking one armpit each and sat him on an overturned oil drum. William Tredwell shouted to Melvin, who had been trying ineffectually to mop up the milk which had been jettisoned into the footwell by the abrupt conclusion to their journey, to ring for an ambulance, but this order was promptly countermanded by Neville who said he could drive the Colonel to the casualty department. The Colonel barked that he didn’t need any bloody ambulances, hospitals, what a lot of fuss, but was overcome by the pain of his injury and slipped, ashen, gasping and barely conscious back into the dirt before Neville and William had the chance to prevent his collapse.</p> <p>“Christ, is he having a heart attack?”<br> “Melvin, ring an ambulance NOW” yelled Neville Martin Painswick. A tense twenty minutes ensued during which time Colonel Whipstock was not particularly lucid but he was made as comfortable as practicable under the circumstances. William and Neville decided he was safer on the floor, besides which, he was a not inconsiderable weight to attempt to raise.</p> <p>The ambulance crew diagnosed shock and a broken leg and were to be congratulated upon the deftness with which they managed to lift the Colonel into the back of the ambulance, and not least, the diplomatic way in which they handled their irascible patient who was heard insisting forcefully as they fastened the doors that he have a private bed.</p> <p>“I suppose you’ll have to pass your insurance details to the old boy when he’s up to it – I can’t carry out these major bloody repairs without the insurance company’s say-so. My day’s really buggered now.”<br> “Ah, yes,” faltered William Tredwell. “I’m, um, sort of between insurances at the moment, what with the twins and everything……”<br> “Jesus Christ, I don’t believe it!” exploded Neville Martin Painswick, then, flatly, added “Oh too bad, it’s not my problem, I’ll just have to find out from the Colonel where he wants the car left and I wash my hands of it. You, mate, are in the shit. In fact, I wouldn’t draw attention to myself in that car if I were you.”</p> <p>William Tredwell was indeed in the mire.<br> “Look mate, couldn’t you at least stick a new headlight in for me so I’m legal and I’ll get it insured today. Melvin still needs a lift ‘til he can afford a car and there’s Deirdre and the twins. I’ll be completely stuffed…”<br> Neville Martin took a deep breath then said “Oh alright, but you owe me big time and how’re you going to sort things with the Colonel?”<br> “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ll have to persuade him to settle without involving the bloody insurance company, but I haven’t got that sort of money – what are we looking at – at least a thousand? Don’t suppose Melvin could work it off in overtime?”<br> Until this juncture, Melvin had omitted to opine upon the situation, but now felt constrained to offer his point of view:<br> “Thanks, Dad. P’raps I should become a rent boy – would that help? If you hadn’t been driving too bloody fast none of this would have happened.”<br> “Here we have doctor Melvin Tredwell MD, professor of the bleedin’ obvious,” retorted his father. Melvin cursed his parentage quietly and stalked angrily into the workshop.<br> “Sorry, mate. Anyhow, if we can get this headlight sorted I’ll be off.”<br> “Yeah, right.”</p> <p>It took Neville half an hour to effect the necessary running repairs during which time William Tredwell inspected closely the damage to the rear of the Bristol. He did not however confine himself to mere visual inspection and Neville became intensely irritated to find bits pulled off, a rear light half dismantled and the number plate unscrewed, with William Tredwell now sitting in the driver’s seat fiddling with the controls and stroking the walnut veneer.<br> “Get your bloody hands off that car,” shouted Neville.<br> “Sorry mate, I was just looking. Keep your hair on…”<br> “Look – I’ve patched up your car. Just go away and get it insured and leave me in peace.”</p> <p>Neville Martin Painswick watched Mr Tredwell reverse into an overgrown bank, shrug his shoulders then drive off with a clod of grassy earth embedded in his rear bumper. Neville shook his head, then running his fingers through his thick dark hair, sighed and walked back to the workshop, calling out to Melvin,<br> “Make us some tea would you?”<br> “It’ll have to be black – no milk mate,” came the reply. Exasperated, through gritted teeth Neville said to Melvin, “Is there anything your father comes into contact with that doesn’t go wrong?”<br> “Hopefully my job,” replied Melvin nervously.<br> “Hey, he’s not your fault! I’ll nip to the corner shop and get some milk. D’you want to get going on changing the oil in the Jensen? I’ll be back in ten minutes then maybe we’ll get some work done.”</p> <p><em>An inauspicious start to the day - more fun tomorrow. </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/neville_s_working_day~3192647/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writingfictionhumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/neville_s_working_day~3192647/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/the_father_of_the_twins~3192636/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/the_father_of_the_twins~3192636/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:11:43 +0200 <p><em>Having caused mayhem for Neville Martin Painswick, Mr Tredwell is now visiting his wife, Deirdre, and his new baby twins.</em></p> <p>William Tredwell purchased a meagre and overpriced bunch of flowers from an opportunistic vendor outside the hospital entrance then after several unrewarding circuits of the car park, came to rest in a bay marked ‘Staff Only’ saying he’d only be ten minutes and it couldn’t do any harm.</p> <p>He duly made his way to the maternity ward but Deirdre was not occupying the bed in which he expected to find her.<br> “Ah, Mr Tredwell, isn’t it?” William turned round to be greeted by an earnest member of staff who didn’t appear to be a nurse. He glanced at the badge on her lapel which read ‘Daphne Paddlewick, Senior Medical Social Worker’.<br> “We’ve been trying to contact you at home, but your telephone doesn’t seem to be working. Would you like to come into my office?”</p> <p>The news which Daphne Paddlewick imparted to William Tredwell left him somewhat perplexed. Deirdre had been apprehended at 2 o’clock that morning trying to hail a taxi along Mackerel Boulevard wearing a coat over her night attire. Had it not been for the fact that she was wearing slippers and had a drip tube hanging from her sleeve, she may have got a lot further, but as it was, a very sympathetic police constable returned her to the hospital, despite her pleas to the contrary.<br> “So you see Mr Tredwell, we will have to keep your wife in for a bit longer in our special unit until we can get her sorted out. Obviously the babies can stay with her, but we think it would be best for all concerned if you gave her a couple of days to settle down. Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?”<br> “When can she come home? The freezer needs defrosting and we’ve eaten nearly all the ready meals. I need ironed shirts for my job and I don’t know how the washing machine works. I think the milk needs paying an’ all.” Daphne Paddlewick was prepared to attribute this response to shock, but somewhat icily said, “I think you’ll agree, Mr Tredwell, that it is most important to make sure your wife is well before she can be expected to return to domestic drudgery, don’t you think? And don’t forget the twins….” It would be true to say that William Tredwell was having the utmost difficulty in assimilating the concept of the presence of the twins in his life. Deirdre Tredwell meanwhile was quite unable to come to terms with the concept of the twins and Mr Tredwell in hers.</p> <p>William Tredwell walked across the hospital car park disconsolately and was just about to get into his car when a tall, thick-necked porter accosted him: “Can’t you read, mate? See those big letters on the floor? They say ‘S T A F F O N L Y’. They don’t say ‘Reserved for lazy gits’. If I see your tatty vehicle here again, I’ll let the air out of your tyres, alright?” William Tredwell nodded his head wearily and opened the car door to be greeted by the nauseating smell of putrefying milk. He slumped into the seat, wound down the window and started the engine.</p> <p><em>Tomorrow we return to Hake Hall where preparations begin for Isobel's Germanic entertainment </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/the_father_of_the_twins~3192636/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionhumourwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/the_father_of_the_twins~3192636/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/preparations_under_way~3192626/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/preparations_under_way~3192626/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:10:13 +0200 <p><em>So now we return to Hake Hall </em>....</p> <p>Helena Ruby Tremble sat at the long scrubbed refectory table in the cavernous kitchen of Hake Hall sipping coffee whilst discussing the floral requirements for the Bavarian evening with Isobel Lamington-Krill. Isobel’s intended extravaganza should, if indeed any title were required, more accurately have been entitled a Germanic evening, but Helena Ruby did not feel it her place to correct Isobel’s geographical inaccuracies. If Mrs Lamington-Krill wanted Alpine cow bells hung from the swags of hops on the banisters, then cow bells hung from the swags there would be. It seemed that Nigel’s contacts in the City could easily be relied upon to procure same. On environmental grounds, Isobel was steered away from the charming notion of having gentians and edelweiss featuring heavily in the table centres. On the grounds of self respect, she was firmly assured that having waiting staff dressed in traditional Tyrolean garb complete with plaited hair coils for the ladies and lederhosen for the men, was a non-starter (for Helena Ruby would be among their number, and even she had her pride).<br> “Oh very well, but I do think it’s a shame – it would have been such fun. Anyway, I see an overall yellow theme for the main displays, Mrs Tremble. My Uncle Theobald is in possession of a stuffed bear which he is happy to lend me. I thought it would be fun to put him, the bear I mean, (Isobel giggled) in the dining hall. I don’t know whether you could produce some sort of garland for the thing?”<br> “I’ll order all the flowers I need next week. May I get them delivered here for the Friday, then they’ll still be fresh for me to do on Saturday – it would be best if they could be left in the cellar. And while I’m here, is Turtle available to assist with removing the downstairs drapes? The cleaners are collecting them tomorrow so they’ll be back by Friday.”<br> “Go ahead with the flowers Mrs Tremble, and if you think of anything else we’ll need, just let me know, won’t you. Use the Floral Artists’ Guild in Mackerel. They’re so much more imaginative than Fenestra’s Floristry, and more co-operative too.” (There had been a falling out between the Lamington-Krill household and Fenestra Bingley-Schwarz, a hard-bitten northern woman who had disparate business interests in the most unlikely quarters.) “I have an account there and they know me.”<br> “OK Mrs L-K.”<br> “And I’ll tell Turtle to see you about the drapes after lunch. Well I must get on. I have a hair appointment, then lunch and I promised India I’d get her the books on her reading list that she couldn’t find.”<br> “Will she be attending the Bavarian evening?” enquired Helena Ruby.<br> “I hope so, and I said she could bring some friends if she wanted. I do hope she brings that a nice young Ferringby-Purcell lad. I believe his parents are big in laminates.”</p> <p>India Lamington-Krill, only daughter of Nigel and Isobel, was studying social sciences and media at the University of the North East Regions. Although neither parent would say as much, this was a disappointment to them as they had naturally assumed that their not unintelligent daughter, upon whom had been lavished a very expensive education, would aspire to Oxbridge where she could happily mix with her own kind. She had other ideas.</p> <p>Helena Ruby Tremble drained her limited edition Bistra Blashworth coffee tankard, stood and smoothed her skirt and thought to herself that she really could do with losing a little weight as her eyes fell upon the straining fibres encircling her midriff.<br> “I’ll be getting on then. I’ll see Cook later to discuss the catering arrangements in detail.”<br> “Right-o Mrs T.”</p> <p>Helena Ruby opened the back door of the Lodge and stepped into the kitchen. D’you want lunch Ron?” she called. Silence greeted her. Denholm trotted out with wagging tail and she scooped him up affectionately. “Where is the old bugger?” she said into his silky ear. “Ron?” she shouted again up the stairs, but still no response. Then Helena Ruby noticed the still warm tea-bag left steaming slightly on the draining board and assumed she had missed his lunch break, a suspicion confirmed by a sausage roll packet and sweet wrappers jammed into the overflowing bin. She took a deep breath, deposited Denholm then heaved out the bin liner and its contents and dropped the overladen sack into the large dustbin hidden behind a badly trimmed laurel hedge just outside the door. It occurred to Helena Ruby then that Ron lavished more care on the Lamington-Krill household than he did theirs, but then he was paid to do it.</p> <p>Helena Ruby felt her jacket pockets to make sure she had her keys and having reassured herself, idly removed a card from the left pocket. It was Jolyon Urqhart’s business card. Her heart felt as if it had begun to beat fit to burst and her hand started trembling slightly. Images of that astonishing night came back to her. She took several deep breaths to calm herself. Had he really meant what he said? “Don’t be so stupid Helena Ruby,” she said aloud to herself. She became overwhelmed by the feeling that she was a supremely foolish, overweight, unremarkable woman. As if anyone would look twice at her. Denholm looked up at her quizzically. In a grand gesture she crumpled the card and went to drop it into the kitchen bin only to realise that she hadn’t replaced the liner. Thus she dropped the card back in her pocket and went swiftly about her business in an effort to quell a rising feeling, almost of humiliation. She sighed heavily as she removed the general debris left carelessly, as always, by Ron, then made herself a piece of cheese on toast and put it under the grill. As Helena Ruby sat at the table sipping tea, she became seized with the determination to improve her diet and to take herself and her life into hand. She had only taken a few bites of her toast and looking down at Denholm sitting bright-eyed at her feet, said “Right, young man. This is going into the bin. Things are going to change.”</p> <p><em>How true Helena Ruby, how true </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/preparations_under_way~3192626/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/preparations_under_way~3192626/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_secret~3192610/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_secret~3192610/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:08:04 +0200 <p><em>Lunch time is over for Helena Ruby</em>...</p> <p>Helena Ruby returned to Hake Hall, feeling slightly hungry, where her major task that afternoon was to clean and dust the glass cabinets in the large drawing room, hall and morning room, having supervised the removal of the drapes with the apparently indifferent assistance of Turtle, whom she always had the impression would rather be pressing the newspapers. The operative who arrived to take the drapes for cleaning rather alarmed them both. He was a young, thick-set fellow with very nasal diction and studs embedded in a majority of his facial features. He had clearly not been in receipt of any effective customer service training. He also seemed to consider the company transport in which he arrived as some sort of high-performance vehicle and dislodged considerable quantities of gravel upon his departure. Helena Ruby made a note to contact the cleaning specialists, for she was now mildly concerned that the great expanses of velvet, silk and brocade just commended to their care might not be returned in good order, nor in good time.</p> <p>It would have horrified Isobel and Nigel to know that this youth was a close acquaintance of India’s and had a specifically engineered purpose for the visit. When he had followed the curve of the drive out of sight of the house, he pulled over, jumped out and opened the back doors of the van. Looking all around to ensure he was not being watched, he pulled out a large, heavy bag and with some difficulty, sprinted after a fashion across the grass and between ornamental shrubs behind one of which he secreted the bag. Stooping low, he ran back to the van and drove off at a rather more sedate pace than previously in order not to draw attention to himself.</p> <p>With one cabinet still to do, Helena Ruby turned to look out of the window and noticed that the late summer afternoon had an intangible heaviness about it. She stretched her back and yawned then draped the duster over a chair back and went to visit Cook in the kitchen for a bit of lively conversation as much as anything. She strolled across the hall and whilst idly trying to picture the stairs bedecked with hops, her eye alighted on a rather exuberant cobweb entwining the chandelier. “Someone’s been busy,” she said to herself.<br> “Ah, Mrs T,” Cook grinned as Helena Ruby walked into the kitchen. “Take a seat, tea in a jiffy!” Cook wiped his hands then poured two mugs of tea, took them to the table and sat down opposite Helena Ruby.<br> “So, are we all set for the German extravaganza? I don’t think the food will be too much of a problem. The butcher’s got all the meat I need, but isn’t wiener schnitzel Austrian anyway?”<br> “Mrs L-K doesn’t seem to be bothered with letting minor details affect her plans, and I don’t think anyone will care anyhow.”<br> “I think you could be right there. And let’s face it man, nobody could drink Blue Nun and eat frankfurters and sauerkraut all evening.”<br> “Mmmm. Have we got final numbers, and is it silver service or buffet?”<br> “Buffet. Mrs L-K thought it would be more, now what was the word she used – convivial, that’s it. I think that’s her version of riotous, but I could be wrong. Will Ron be helping with the setting up?”</p> <p>Ron and Cook tended to give each other a wide berth. Ron was convinced that Cook was an illegal immigrant and it was obvious to Cook that Ron was an appalling bigot apart from the other less appealing aspects of his character. He liked Helena Ruby and never understood how the two of them could ever have had anything in common. Nobody knew that Helena Ruby Tremble had been obliged to marry Ron and that she was the mother of twin girls. They now both led their own lives well away from their parents. An annual Christmas card was the only indication for Helena Ruby that they were both well. It was a source of enormous sadness to her but she was unable to discuss it with Ron who never really even acknowledged their existence these days.</p> <p>Helena Ruby had attempted to broach the subject of the Bavarian evening with Ron yesterday, only to have her enquiry met with a depressingly predictable barrage of non co-operation and general spleen. Nigel and Isobel Lamington-Krill were fair employers, if a little self-absorbed, but when reminded would pay their staff for duties performed outwith their general employment terms, but Ron it seemed felt the need to make a point of being as awkward as possible. Ostensibly it didn’t make him any happier and merely caused intense frustration to those associated with him. Here was a man who seemed to enjoy being miserable. This thought did several circuits of Helena Ruby’s mind whilst she drank her tea.<br> “Um, I’m not sure yet. I suppose it depends on how much he’s got to do in the garden and I think they want the pool cleaned as well,” replied Helena Ruby, rather lamely. Changing the subject, she said, “I think India might be coming. Didn’t think it was her sort of thing.”<br> “Ah, the lovely India,” said Cook, raising his eyebrows and smiling. “I wonder who she’ll have in tow this time. Oh well, on with the fancy fish fingers. We can finalise battle plans in a few days.” He pushed his chair back which screeched across the Bolivian hand-cut slate flagstones. “I wish they’d get something put on those chair-legs. That drives me nuts. I mean, it’s not like they can’t afford it for chris’sake!”<br> Helena Ruby stood up too, pushing her chair back similarly, smiling at Cook and raising her arms in a gesture of helplessness.<br> “Back to the crystal ware,” she sighed.<br> “Yeah, once more into the morning room Mrs T!”<br> “You really are wasted here you know.”<br> “It does me for now. Ciaou!” With a flourish, Cook turned on one heel and whistling, swaggered to the Aga. Helena Ruby, shaking her head and smiling to herself, repaired to the morning room, opened the ornate glass cabinet door and carefully lifted out a particularly hideous semi-gilt punch bowl.</p> <p>It had become unseasonally dark and begun to rain heavily, and Helena Ruby realised that she was going to get very damp walking back to the Lodge as she looked down with misgiving at her strappy summer sandals. At that juncture, Isobel returned in a flurry of gravel as she braked hard by the front of Hake Hall. Turtle appeared from the large drawing room, walked to open the doors and took Isobel’s wet jacket.<br> “Oh dear, it’s terrible out there! Thank you. Take the car round to the garage would you Turtle? I’ve left the keys in it. Could you bring the shopping from the back seat – oh and take a brolly or you’ll get soaked!” Turtle silently acknowledged her instructions with a slight bow of his head and lifted the necessary item from the ebony and silver umbrella stand by the door.<br> “Pleasant day?” enquired Helena Ruby emerging from the morning room.<br> “Thank you Mrs Tremble, yes, although my hair is simply ruined .”<br> “Oh what a shame. Did you manage to get the books for India?”<br> “Lunch went on longer than I expected and I couldn’t miss the opportunity of the preview at the Adastra Gallery. Belle Winter-Heston took me as her guest. I only learnt today that it was her grandfather who founded Heston’s House of Lingerie. He must have been quite a fellow.”<br> “Good gracious! Were the paintings interesting?”<br> “I really wouldn’t know. I’m really not an artist you know, but it was fascinating to see who was there. And some of the outfits were quite frightful Mrs T!” Isobel walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of chilled wine from the monstrous refrigerator. She sat down on the leather couch by the doors to the terrace and kicked of her shoes.<br> “Aah, that’s better. I say, something smells good!”<br> “Marine life for your delectation,” responded Cook, very much hoping that she did not intend to take up residence in the kitchen. Helena Ruby followed her through the door and said, “I believe I’ve got everything you wanted done today. The glass cabinets are clean, yours and Mr L-K’s bathrooms have been given a thorough going over, and I took the opportunity just to tidy the dressing rooms.”<br> “Splendid, you may as well call it a day then Mrs T, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Considering the prevailing weather conditions, Helena Ruby flushed slightly when she asked whether she might borrow a brolly as she would be walking back to the Lodge.<br> “Oh Mrs T, I’ll get Turtle to run you down there – silly of me, I didn’t think. You’ll be absolutely drowned dear woman!” That was exactly what Helena Ruby did not want, but she knew she could not extricate herself from the arrangement, so steeled herself for a ride with Turtle, whom she knew on this occasion would definitely rather be pressing the papers.</p> <p><em>- and more stormy weather to come - </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_secret~3192610/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_secret~3192610/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/denholm_s_dermatitis~3192597/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/denholm_s_dermatitis~3192597/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:06:13 +0200 <p>Ron had returned to the Lodge early due to the prevailing inclemency and when Helena Ruby arrived breathless at the back door, she hurried in to find him leaning over Denholm whom he had by the collar, spraying him with Superhold Ultrafirm Hair-o-sol with added shine and conditioning. Denholm, not unnaturally, found it most upsetting and was squealing and wriggling.<br> “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” shouted Helena Ruby , barely able to comprehend what she was seeing.<br> “Damn’ mutt keeps leaving hair and his disgusting bits of skin on my chair – this should cure it,” responded Ron. “It did last time.”<br> “You stupid, horrible man,” she snarled. Helena Ruby pushed him away and scooped up the distressed Dachshund, making soothing noises as she walked into the sitting room with him. It was clear that the only way of restoring his coat was to bath him, a pastime of which Denholm had never been overly fond. However, in due course, a very sorry Denholm wrapped tightly in a towel emerged from the bathroom in Helena Ruby’s arms. She was so furious with her idiot husband that she could not find the words to convey to him just how much she despised him. He by this time was sitting in his usual place watching a more than usually pointless game show on the television, oblivious to the rest of the world, so Helena Ruby, who now could not bear even to be in the same room, took Denholm to the kitchen where she proceeded solicitously to apply her hair dryer to the damp and trembling dog.</p> <p>The words “I’m not carrying on like this, I’m not, I can’t,” were repeated over and over in Helena Ruby’s mind. All manner of wild plans of escape emerged only to be discounted for a plethora of reasons, and Helena Ruby began to shed tears over Denholm as the suffocating hopelessness of her situation closed in all around her. Oh how she wished she had her girls there. Their absence seemed like a great black chasm in her life. She took the bottle of Christmas vodka from the back of the cupboard, poured a generous measure into a tumbler depicting a palm-fringed beach, and finding only orange squash with which to mix it, ran some water into the glass and downed it in about four gulps.</p> <p>In due course, Ron sauntered into the kitchen and with no real sign of contrition, enquired as to the likelihood of an evening meal. Helena Ruby was fairly numb by now, and knowing remonstration would be completely unrewarding, said he could have sausage and egg, thinking to herself that she would be delighted if it choked him. Denholm took refuge under the table, quivering then scratching. Twenty minutes later Helena Ruby thrust Ron’s meal in front of him on a tray and without waiting for any response, left the room and after sitting in the kitchen for some time, drinking another large vodka and nursing Denholm on her lap, she settled him in his bed and went upstairs to have what she hoped would be a relaxing bath, and thence to bed hoping sleep would render her senseless before Ron came up to bed.</p> <p>Helena Ruby lay in bed rigid with exasperation and certainly no inclination to sleep. She tried very hard to make herself relax, but could feel the tension in her neck and shoulders. She lay on one side, then the other, then on her back, getting more and more furious. She sat up and punched her pillow hard several times, tears springing to her eyes. From downstairs she heard sounds of Ron moving around, then a yelp from the kitchen but her need to shut Ron out was greater than that to comfort Denholm, so feeling terribly guilty, she rolled over, planted her head in the pillow under her duvet of despair and made a passable impression of being deeply asleep.</p> <p>Sleep did eventually take hold and the next thing Helena Ruby Tremble registered was the piercing tone of the alarm. Having given herself three minutes to make contact with her extremities, she got stiffly out of bed, pulled on her tired, rose-coloured candlewick dressing gown and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, to be greeted enthusiastically by Denholm. He was again scooped up and kissed on his silky ear, and Helena Ruby breathed in the fragrance of his shampooed pelt and held him close while consideration of her prospects sparked and rebounded with increasing clarity in the sunny crispness of that morning which she welcomed in through the opened blind.</p> <p>“Here’s your tea,” said Helena Ruby as she planted a steaming mug beside Ron’s bed. It was not time to disrupt her domestic routine just yet, and she knew that if Ron didn’t get to work on time, his bad humour would only rebound on her and, it seemed, Denholm too. In a moment of exuberance, she drew open the bedroom curtains to admit the clarifying light declaring, “It’s a glorious morning!”</p> <p><em>What will Helena Ruby do now? We must wait awhile because next we will return to the good residents of the Bullrushes </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/denholm_s_dermatitis~3192597/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourwritingfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/denholm_s_dermatitis~3192597/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/mrs_painswick_s_day~3192585/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/mrs_painswick_s_day~3192585/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:04:43 +0200 <p><em>Meet Mrs Donna Painswick as she prepares to leave for work</em></p> <p>Donna Painswick zipped up her pastel pink overall, which was inevitably tighter with every passing day and it occurred to her that she should approach the management of Follicles regarding provision of maternity wear, as she intended to continue in her position as senior manicurist and facial therapist for as long as practicable. She aimed to finalise payments on their leather and mahogany three piece suite upon which she had insisted for Number 5 The Bullrushes. The old velour suite just wouldn’t have looked right in the practically proportioned yet airy sitting room, and because they were on special offer, it seemed only sensible to install a wide screen, slim line, low distortion television with integral movie-quality speakers, for which she also intended to conclude payments before becoming a full time mother.</p> <p>She checked her hair and make-up in the bathroom mirror and looking at the crack which ran behind it, sighed heavily - Neville really did need to pay more attention to the house. A spray of ‘A Day in the Life’ (which no longer prompted nausea) completed her preparations, and she duly left Number 5, The Bullrushes, having to slam the front door hard, and caught the bus into Herring le Parterre, where Follicles had its main branch in the charming seventeenth century high street.</p> <p>Donna checked her appointment diary having taken off her jacket and smiled as she noted that Mrs Penelope D’arville was booked in for 9.30 for a full facial, manicure and pedicure. She always gave generous tips.<br> “Is Shirley in today?” Donna asked Mandy. Shirley owned Follicles.<br> “I think she’s coming in this afternoon. She said she had to go to Dean’s school this morning – he’s being picked on. Didn’t think they allowed that sort of thing in expensive places like that, and I thought he could handle himself anyway.”<br> “I think my little one will be going to the local somehow unless Neville ever gets his act together,” remarked Donna wistfully. “Anyhow, have you got many in the diary for today? Did you see that thing on the telly last night….” And so the conversation continued aimlessly.</p> <p>Ever more scent filled the air as the day’s beautification progressed, sometimes conversation flowed, sometimes it did not and at 4.30p.m. having bid the redoubtable Mrs Olga Arkenplank a cheery farewell after a somewhat challenging manicure (which she felt essential for attending her grandson’s christening), Donna approached Shirley who was attending to the accounts at her desk in an oak-beamed alcove.<br> “Er, excuse me Shirley, may I have a quick word?”<br> “Just a moment Donna and I’ll be with you,” said Shirley as she ran her finger down a column of figures. It occurred to Donna as she observed Shirley’s bowed head that she really should get her roots done. Having concluded her addition, Shirley looked up over her rimless spectacles and smiled at Donna.<br> “Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?”<br> “Well, you know I’m pregnant. It’s just that my overall is getting a bit tight and I wondered if I could get something well, a bit more maternity, really,” said Donna rather uncertainly.<br> “Ah, yes, we’ll have to have a squint at the workwear catalogue – can’t have you bursting at the seams. I’ll look it out and you can choose something suitable. Is that alright?”<br> “Yes, thanks very much Shirley. Oh, and, um I was sorry to hear that Dean’s not happy at school – it must be a worry.”<br> “They are a bunch of complete incompetents at St Herripole’s and I intend to find somewhere a bit less stuffy. He’s obviously too lively for them. Hah, call themselves an educational establishment. I told the head just what I thought of him and his school and if he can’t do what I thought I was paying them to do, then I’ll pay someone else. I’m going to look round the Arthur Trenchwarren Foundation tomorrow – I think he’d fit in well there. You’ve got all this to come of course, haven’t you?”<br> “It seems a long way off. Ah, here’s Mrs Dawlish for her facial. Thank you Shirley.”<br> “No problem.”</p> <p>Sitting on the bus home to The Bullrushes, Donna Painswick considered the future and smiled as she pictured the nursery (which was yet to be suitably decorated) and all the trappings of new motherhood. The state of the art pushchair would just about fit in under the stairs, although Neville would have to get rid of all his motoring magazines currently residing therein. And he really would have to attend to the cracks and squeaks at Number 5 – she wanted it all to be perfect. As she stepped from the bus she hummed quietly in the early evening sunshine as she strolled home.<br> Donna Painswick inserted her key in the front door lock but before she opened it, her attention was caught by a fairly sizeable gap between the door frame and the brickwork. She was sure it hadn’t been there that morning. She waved to Hazel and Barry Levinson whom she saw were gardening next door at Number 3, and invited them to come and have a look at the door frame. After lengthy conversation during which Barry returned to his trowel, it transpired that the Levinsons were having similar problems with their house (although Donna and Neville had opted for ‘The Everglade’ whilst the Levinsons chose the rather more basic and less roomy ‘Riverbank’ which did not have feature stonework to the front façade). Hazel also informed Donna that the Durcastles at Number 8 had mentioned difficulty with their panoramic sliding patio doors and that the dog had narrowly missed having a length of guttering land on it only last weekend.<br> “D’you think we should contact the builder, after all, the houses are brand new and meant to be guaranteed, aren’t they,” said Donna. “We should get the men to give them a ring, after all, it’s their sort of thing isn’t it?”</p> <p>Barry was duly summoned and was forced to agree that maybe it was time somebody brought the less than satisfactory standard of their homes to the builder’s attention. Donna said she would send Neville round later to discuss it. She would probably have to go to bed as she got very tired in the evenings, what with work and everything. Donna then shouldered the front door open, sending the hanging baskets swaying wildly, and once inside took off her shoes, putting them in the rack placed strategically beside the front door, and with relief slipped puffy feet into her exuberant sequinned slippers. She scuffed her way into the kitchen, opened the freezer door and withdrew two authentic Taiwanese fish suppers which could be prepared in the microwave in ten minutes. It had been recommended that she eat plenty of fish, thus a trip to the fish section of the local Supa Savas high quality, low price superstore became inevitable. They did not cut corners, only prices apparently. </p> <p><em>Tomorrow we will see how Mr Painswick's day develops </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/mrs_painswick_s_day~3192585/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionwritinghumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/mrs_painswick_s_day~3192585/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_momentary_lapse_of_judgement~3192573/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/a_momentary_lapse_of_judgement~3192573/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:02:51 +0200 <p><em>I should perhaps warn you that if you are possessed of finer sensibilities, extra-marital sex appears, albeit briefly, in this post. It was inevitable.</em></p> <p>While waiting for Neville to return, Donna settled on the sofa with her feet raised on velour cushions which really didn’t match, and maybe she should have a look in the soft furnishing shop opposite Follicles tomorrow to find something more suitable. The last time she had tried to raise the subject with Neville, he was watching a Grand Prix motor race on the television and was clearly completely disinterested. She was flicking through the channels while waiting for her favourite early evening suburban soap opera to commence when the telephone rang. That was something else they needed to get – a cordless telephone. She sighed, got up and went to the hall where the telephone was placed on an ornately carved reproduction Raj table. It was Neville. He had been held up finishing off Mr Baddesley-Fanshawe’s Aston Martin and as a friend had dropped Mrs Baddesley-Fanshawe off to collect it, he’d have to stay on.<br> “You go ahead and eat love, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Sorry.”<br> “You know I don’t like eating alone,” sighed Donna.<br> “Look, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to get this finished. I’ll be back soon, promise.”<br> “But I told Barry you’d go and see him. Oh never mind, I’ll talk to you later. ‘Bye.” And before Neville Martin Painswick had the opportunity to apologise further, she put the ‘phone down and returned to the sofa.</p> <p>Neville Martin Painswick suggested to Mrs Baddesley-Fanshawe that she go and sit in the office, but as it was a pleasant evening, she elected to stand outside and watch him finish, although her footwear was singularly inappropriate. Her stiletto heels would keep sinking into the earth, but she was more than content to gaze upon Neville Martin’s lithe body as he worked under the bonnet of the car, very evident even through his overalls.<br> She lit a cigarette and blew smoky wisps into the still air.<br> “Did Mrs Painswick mind you staying on?” she enquired, smiling at the view she beheld. Without lifting his head, Neville Martin replied that she wasn’t too pleased, but in her present condition, she did take everything a bit too much to heart, and he was sure she would be fine.<br> “Oh you’re going to be a daddy, how marvellous!” she breathed. Sonia trod her finished cigarette into the dirt, sauntered as best she could to the car, and gently caressing Neville Martin’s overalled thigh, said “I guess that means you’re not getting any sex at the moment then.” Neville Martin Painswick dropped the spanner he was wielding and slowly turned and stood up straight to face Sonia, completely unable to believe what she had just said. He was too stunned to react and was easy prey for her as she grasped him around the back of the neck and pulled his head towards her for a passionate kiss.<br> “Oh god, you’ve got a beautiful body – share it with me,” gasped Sonia. Neville Martin planted his oily hands around Sonia Baddesley-Fanshawe’s not insubstantial waist in order to keep her at arm’s length.<br> “P-lease, Mrs Ba….”<br> “Call me Sonia,” she said huskily as she pulled herself to him for another kiss. His arms relaxed a little as quite against his will, he found himself enjoying the sensation and was almost unaware that his hands were moving down from her waist to her curvaceous rump as they lingered over a very absorbing kiss. Like a steel blade plunged between them, the telephone rang and Neville sprang back muttering “Oh god I’d better answer that.”</p> <p>“Yeah, hello love, nearly finished. Well, say, about half an hour. No, please don’t wait for me if you’re hungry. Yeah, I will, I’ll be as quick as I can, promise.” Neville Martin Painswick was breathless and his heart was racing. He turned from the desk to find Sonia standing behind him with her blouse unbuttoned to reveal a fairly impressive cleavage. He also could not fail to notice the black hand prints that clasped her waist.<br> “Oh my god, oh bloody hell,” was all he could say before Sonia enveloped him in a completely seductive embrace. She slid one hand inside his overalls and smothered his cry with another kiss. He was completely helpless and all thought of returning to Donna at Number 5, The Bullrushes was momentarily blanked from his fevered mind.<br> “Make love to me you fantastic fellow,” she said softly in his ear, “it’s quite safe my darling, I have the necessary. Come on, you know you want to….” After a few unconvincing denials, he did, there on the desk.</p> <p>As Neville Martin was buttoning up his overalls after this moment of complete madness, feeling elated but ashamed and then just panic stricken, he lifted his head to see Sonia smiling at him, dressed in nothing but her knickers and plunging bra, holding her oily clothes out with one hand.<br> “What am I to do with the evidence, Mr Painswick?”<br> “Oh my god, oh christ” was all he could say. She pouted at him, with laughing eyes, and said that luckily for them, she had jeans and a sweater that Trevor had collected from the laundry for her still in the back of the Aston, but she would leave her oily clothes there for him to dispose of. They were unceremoniously stuffed beside the filing cabinet.</p> <p>Neville Martin Painswick had difficulty completing his work on Trevor’s car. It was awkward to attempt everything at speed with shaking hands, knowing she was standing there watching him. He had never felt so enervated before in his life.<br> His work completed, and not knowing now how to address Sonia, wiping his hands on a rag and looking at the ground, he said, “I’ll um, send the bill on to you…”<br> “Darling, that was value added,” said Sonia as she lifted his chin with a well manicured finger. She kissed her finger and placed it on his slightly parted lips. “If you ever feel like getting to know me better, here’s my card – give me a ring. I have the house to myself all day.” And without another word or a glance, she tottered to the car and drove off.</p> <p>Neville Martin Painswick slipped the card into his top pocket, looked at his watch and yet again uttered an expletive. He hurriedly pulled down the shutters, wiped his sweaty palms on his overalls then realised he had to change into his shirt and jeans, the arms and legs of which seemed to have knotted themselves purposely in order to delay his return to Number 5, The Bullrushes. He flung his overalls through the office door, locked it with still shaking hands, climbed into his car and made a hasty exit.</p> <p>“Hello love, sorry I’m late,” called Neville Martin quietly as he came through the front door. There was no reply. Donna was asleep on the sofa with the television on, her empty plate and a glass on the floor. Neville Martin took the opportunity to go into the downstairs cloakroom and was horrified to see Sonia’s crimson lipstick evident upon his forehead, and a scratchmark down one side of his neck. Having hastily removed the crimson smudge, he emerged from the cloakroom muttering “Brambles, it was the brambles.” Breathing deeply to calm himself, Neville Martin went into the colour co-ordinated kitchen and grimaced at the sight of his Taiwanese fish supper waiting to go into the microwave, however he was feeling positively light headed and decided food would probably help. After its allotted time rotating in the built-in eye-level compact microwave cooker, he spooned the steaming compilation onto a plate, poured over the thoughtfully provided sachet of sauce and walked to the sitting room to join his wife. Donna stirred as he slumped into the chair, spilling some sauce on his shirt, and as he uttered another expletive, she turned her head and yawning, said, “Oh, so you’re back then.”<br> “Yeah, that Baddesley-Fanshawe car was trickier than I thought, but don’t worry, I’ll be charging overtime on the bill. This fish is delicious,” he added lamely.<br> “It’s probably too late for you to go next door now, but did you see the front door – one of you men is going to have to speak to the builders – these are meant to be brand new houses. And you’re going to have to get rid of your magazines from under the stairs – that’s where the push chair is going to go.”<br> “I’ll try to get that sorted out at the week-end love, I’ll take them to the workshop I suppose. So what’s wrong with the front door then?”<br> “Didn’t you see when you came in?”<br> “Um, no, I’ll have a look now as soon as I’ve finished this.”</p> <p>As Neville got up and left the room Donna switched the channel to Celebrity Decorating Challenge. It was always an interesting source of design ideas for her to consider, and she was wondering about a theme for the baby’s room.<br> “Blimey, that’s quite a gap isn’t it?” said Neville as he came back into the room. “So what did next door say?”<br> “Oh, nothing really, but they have had a couple of problems and you ought to talk to them, get some support for a complaint to the builders. What do you think of that colour for the walls?”<br> “Mmmm. It’s not too late, think I’ll just nip round now.” Neville Martin Painswick welcomed any distraction at the moment. </p> <p>Barry and Hazel Levinson invited Neville into their sitting room which might itself have been the subject of some cutting-edge interior design experiment. Even with his almost total indifference to interior decor matters, Neville wondered whether they were perhaps colour blind. Following the normal initial niceties and polite enquiries about work and family matters, discussion of the quality of workmanship on their houses commenced. It was on the whole pretty shoddy, but cracks in the masonry were a bit more than just shoddy, and only yesterday Hazel had discovered a damp patch in the cloakroom.<br> “So really we need to contact the builders and get them to come and have a look then,” summarised Neville. He found himself offering to undertake the task, following a second super-strength lager in which Barry insisted he join him, but the day thus far had been so bizarre, why not?</p> <p><em>Tomorrow we will meet Nigel Lamington-Krill in the rather better appointed surroundings of his place of work </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_momentary_lapse_of_judgement~3192573/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_momentary_lapse_of_judgement~3192573/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/wheeling_and_dealing_city_style~3192557/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/wheeling_and_dealing_city_style~3192557/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 12:00:31 +0200 <p><em>Not an oily handprint in sight......</em></p> <p>Nigel Lamington-Krill loosened his tie as he tipped back in his ergonomic leather and beech executive swivel chair and admired the view afforded by his panoramic office windows which overlooked more impressive sections of London’s skyline. A stark chrome frame containing studio posed soft-focus pictures of Isobel and India smiling at anyone who cared to look sat facing him and he tapped it saying, “This will do us very nicely girls!” He had just had a very interesting conversation with the owner of a disused fertiliser factory upon which the housing development arm of his company, Harmony Homes, stood to make a profit of indecent proportions if he could get to know the local planners at Turbot as well indeed, as he had those at Hake on Spinach. They had agreed to meet for lunch as this sort of thing could not really be discussed over the telephone. </p> <p>Taking into account the supposed provenance of Elliott Swardley (reluctant owner of said disused factory), Nigel felt that a meal in a booth at Banners, washed down with an ale or two perhaps, would fit the bill. The silver cutlery, champagne and damask table cloths could wait until the deal was clinched, perhaps. Nigel leaned across to the intercom.<br> “Alisha, book me my usual booth at Banners, yeh, for, say, er what is it now, yes, say one o’clock.”<br> Alisha brought in some letters for Nigel to sign and said that whilst he had been on the telephone, his agent’s office in Hake had been in touch, in connection with the Bullrushes development. He frowned momentarily and said, “Well didn’t they say what it was about?”<br> “All they said was that they have had several complaints from the residents recently and that they needed to speak to you.”<br> “Oh is that all, what was it, wrong colour on the walls?”<br> “I really don’t know, but they were quite insistent that you ring them back.”<br> “Oh, after lunch, not now.” And with that, Nigel imperiously waved the duly signed letters at Alisha who took them in a very elegantly manicured hand, and with pursed lips, made a swift exit from the room. Perhaps now was a good time to apply for the holiday which had been suggested by a charming man from the Serious Fraud Office who had called in to see her. She had his card somewhere safe, and she had received the necessary independent corroboration. </p> <p>Nigel thought he would walk to his lunch appointment as it was a nice day. What, he wondered, could the residents of the Bullrushes possibly have to complain about? He thought that sort of twee housing was just to what the lesser inhabitants of Hake would aspire. Not unduly perturbed he stood up, straightened his tie, and went to the wash-room to check his appearance. He washed his hands, applied a little cologne and could not help grinning at himself in the mirror. He wondered whether that gorgeous little Hungarian waitress would be there today. </p> <p>Nigel arrived at Banners about ten minutes early and it occurred to him that it was a shame to be inside on such a glorious day, but then would Elliott Swardley really appreciate the continental ethos of lunching alfresco? He suspected not, but he was appallingly narrow-minded about such things. He ordered a carbonated filter-purified tap-water with extra ions (if only he knew it) as he needed to keep a clear head, and awaited the arrival of Mr Swardley. His favourite waitress was not in evidence, but a passable blonde with an Irish accent seemed most attentive and he smiled broadly as she leaned over the table with cutlery and a menu.<br> “Ah, Elliott, over here!” called Nigel as his guest came through the door. They had only met briefly once before at a rather unlikely charity lunch recently hosted by an oil corporation on a rather brazen damage-limitation exercise, but he was easily recognisable from his build, his pony-tail and the fact that he was still hugely uncomfortable in a shirt and tie. His fertiliser factory had gone out of business, he said, due to strangulation by EU rules, however both he and Nigel knew there was rather more to his demise than that. Nigel knew he needed to sell the premises and, literally, move on: and for the right price, Nigel could make that happen for him.</p> <p>They shook hands, Elliott sat down and they ordered a very traditional steak pie and chips at Nigel’s suggestion. Elliott would have preferred the salad but did not wish to appear churlish. He had half a pint of ale as he was trying to get back into shape and Nigel had a bottled wheat beer. By the end of their lunch, the two men had made some progress towards reaching an understanding, although Elliott was a harder nut to crack than Nigel supposed, but they parted company amicably with the promise that Elliott would contact Nigel within a week having done some ‘figure work’.</p> <p>Nigel was glad of the exercise on the way back to the office and was confident that Elliott would sell to him at a preferential price, he had to really, no-one else would touch his contaminated site.</p> <p>Upon his return to the office, Nigel told Alisha he didn’t want to be disturbed, not even if his Hake agents rang again, walked through and sat at his desk then touched the speaker pad on his slimline aubergine digital desk ‘phone and dialled a sister company in Germany.<br> “Guten Tag, Fischbacher Korporation,” came a digitally remastered voice from the cunningly concealed miniaturised loudspeaker.<br> “Guten Tag, Fritz Kennenspitz, bitte,” replied Nigel. </p> <p>“Ah, Fritz, wie gehts? Nigel here,” he said, picking up the aesthetically considerate yet practically designed handset as Fritz answered the ‘phone.<br> “Fritz, I need to release some capital for a housing project and I wonder, is the Black Forest hunting lodge available in the next month or so? I may need to entertain some local dignitaries.” Fritz’s response caused Nigel to frown and sit up straight in his chair.<br> “OK, so transfer from one of the offshore accounts – it will only be relatively short term and we stand to make one hell of a profit, trust me.” Fritz needed to confer with colleagues and would contact Nigel shortly. He also thought Nigel should know that the German financial authorities were showing an interest in the joint dealings of the Fischbacher Korporation and Lamington-Krill International, particularly regarding various applications for obscure European Union grants.<br> “They can prove nothing, and whilst I think of it Fritz, can you get hold of a consignment of Alpine cow bells, and send them to Hake Hall in the next week – we’re having a bit of a do. Thanks, that will be excellent. Look, don’t concern yourself, we’re in the clear and if I can land this housing deal, we’ll be fine. Chill, Fritz!”</p> <p>Nigel Lamington-Krill got out of his chair and strolled to the window, rubbing his temple. Having contemplated the human activity beneath him, he looked at his understated slim watch and felt he’d put in a sufficient day’s work in the office. He needed to get back to his study at Hake Hall where some of his private papers needed further examination. He strolled to his reproduction Regency desk, pressed the intercom pad on the ‘phone and said “Alisha, get Terry to bring my car out will you, I’m leaving in two minutes. I may be in a bit later tomorrow, so just take messages...... Oh they can wait until tomorrow. See you then.”</p> <p>Nigel tightened his tie before leaving, splashed cold water on his face in his wash room, dabbed it with an unfeasibly white fluffy hand towel then combed his hair, smiled at his reflection and in jest saluted himself in the mirror, clicked his heels then turned and left for the lifts. Upon emerging from the revolving glass doors at the entrance to the building in the late afternoon sunshine, he donned his Trent Cabernet zero reflection sunglasses and sauntered down the semi-circular slate steps to receive the keys to his Jensen from Terry.<br> “It’s in bay 5, squire, lovely afternoon to give the old girl a bit of a work-out!”<br> “Indeed. No bad traffic to report then?”<br> “Nope, clear all the way last I heard.”<br> “Excellent! See you tomorrow then.”<br> “Good evening sir.” Nigel Lamington-Krill opened the door of the Jensen, laid his jacket on the back seat, loosened his tie again then slid into the driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition. He started the engine, opened the sun roof and took off into the London traffic with alacrity. Whilst stationary at traffic lights, he inserted a recording of a Mozart concerto into his surround-sound car hi fi system and felt he was at one with his world. He idly watched a girl with flowing blonde hair and an ample bosom totter across the road on improbably high heels in a very short skirt, and smiled to himself. Mozart filled his surroundings and life was good. </p> <p><em>- Good for the moment perhaps - </em>. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/wheeling_and_dealing_city_style~3192557/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourwritingfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/wheeling_and_dealing_city_style~3192557/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_minor_brush_with_the_law~3192543/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/a_minor_brush_with_the_law~3192543/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:58:26 +0200 <p><em>You might remember that we left Nigel luxuriating in the good life as he left his office.</em></p> <p>As the suburbs began to give way to more open spaces and green fields, so Nigel picked up speed in his car, for as Terry had so rightly indicated earlier, it was a good opportunity to give the old girl a bit of a work-out. Mozart had been replaced by Beethoven and it was with particular annoyance that Nigel noticed the flashing lights of a police car some way behind him as he dashed along a particularly inviting stretch of wide, straight and almost empty road to a particularly stirring passage.<br> “Bollocks, damn!” he said through gritted teeth as he applied the brakes and pulled slowly to the side. The patrol car duly pulled up behind him and the occupants got out. One of them strolled purposefully to Nigel’s open window and he was momentarily taken aback to see that this was a female police officer. Blessed as he was with a certain genetic arrogance, especially where those he considered to be less well educated than he were concerned, Nigel, having removed his Trent Cabernets purposefully, tried the approach that the road was empty and he wasn’t doing any harm and didn’t they have bloody burglars and illegal immigrants to victimise instead? Nigel half intended this to be funny, but the police officers rather failed to appreciate the tone of his humour, and the WPC invited him to step out of his car while she commenced upon completing the appropriate paperwork. Her colleague meanwhile sauntered around the front of the car and having looked at the tyres, glanced at the windscreen and said, “Do you intend to render your vehicle legal in the near future sir?”<br> “Now what have I done?” responded Nigel somewhat testily, starting to drum his fingers on the car roof.<br> “Driven a vehicle in considerable contravention of the prevailing speed limit on the Queen’s highway whilst not displaying a valid road fund licence disc sir,” came the response.<br> “Oh bloody hell, it’s only a few days out of date, what is your problem? My PA obviously forgot. I’ll make sure she does it tomorrow.”<br> “To whom is the vehicle registered sir?”<br> “Me of course, who else would it be?”<br> “It is the responsibility of the registered owner to ensure that the vehicle is legal and roadworthy, not that of the registered owner’s PA sir.”<br> “Look I’ll get it done tomorrow, alright? It was just an oversight. Do I look like an habitual criminal?”<br> “I don’t believe I am qualified to say sir, what would one of those look like exactly sir?”<br> “Now don’t get cocky with me, just get this bloody paperwork done and let me go about my business, <em><strong>if</strong></em> you would be so kind, officer.”</p> <p>Nigel threw the proffered paperwork on to the passenger seat, got back into the car, replaced his Trent Cabernets and with a supreme effort, suppressed his towering annoyance and fought the natural urge to depart at speed being mindful of the officers of the law eye-catchingly evident in his rear view mirror. When at last they turned off the road and out of sight, Nigel dialled his office on the mobile ‘phone.<br> “Alisha, I’ve just been stopped by the bloody police and my car tax has run out. How did that happen? ............ Oh, didn’t I? Are you sure? Well can you make sure it is entered into the system, I don’t want to come into contact with those types again. Yeh, yeh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p> <p><em>Nigel really should learn to be more gracious. </em> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_minor_brush_with_the_law~3192543/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/a_minor_brush_with_the_law~3192543/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/refreshment_after_a_taxing_time~3192445/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/refreshment_after_a_taxing_time~3192445/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:39:49 +0200 <p><em>Nigel feels a little relaxation is in order. As is my custom, I should warn the reader that sex appears in this post, although within marriage on this occasion.</em></p> <p>As he neared Hake on Spinach, Nigel decided a pint or two in a local hostelry before returning to Hake Hall was most definitely required, thus he drew into the Raddled Beanpole which, from the vehicles in the car park, already appeared to have quite a few visitors. He drew up beside Colonel Whipstock’s old Bristol and remarked to himself, “Hah, haven’t seen the old boy in here for ages.” He got out of the car, removed his tie altogether, locked the door and strolled in. Gloria greeted him cheerfully as he removed his sunglasses in the beamed gloom and slid them into his shirt pocket.<br> “What can I get you, Mr L-K? A pint of your usual?”<br> “A pint of Roach Royal Ruby, yes, thanks Gloria. I see the Colonel’s in this evening?”<br> “Yes, he’s not been long out of hospital – the leg took a long time to heal and” (lowering her voice) “he wasn’t a very co-operative patient I hear. He’s over there.” She gestured towards an upholstered corner seat where Colonel Whipstock sat with one leg outstretched and his walking stick on the table.<br> “Colonel – too early for another double?” called Nigel Lamington-Krill.<br> “Never too early dear boy, never too early!” Nigel walked over to join the Colonel with the drinks.<br> “I hear you had a bit of a prang – bad luck!”<br> “The bloody prang was nothing – I’ve had my sister staying at Herring Grange since the accident. I swear I’ll be tidied to death – can’t find a damn thing in the place. She insists on driving me as well – leg’s still a bit stiff, y’know, but she’ll do for my gearbox. She tidied her last husband to death three years ago, still, left her a packet, so she’s alright.”<br> “Where is she now, Colonel? I’ve never met her.”<br> “Made her go and join the ladies in the garden – some charitable do-gooding going on – she’ll sort them out, and I get ten minutes’ peace. Anyhow, how’s life in the city? Anything I should be investing in? Cheers!”<br> “Cheers! Mmmm...” Nigel took two great gulps of his ale. “Aaah, I needed that. Everything, old boy, was fine until I got stopped on my way back by bloody police with nothing better to do than victimise law-abiding citizens.”<br> “Know what you mean old boy, where are they when some little bugger’s stolen your garden statue? Cheers!”<br> Thus Nigel Lamington-Krill spent an amiable hour at the Raddled Beanpole before returning to Hake Hall in mellower mood than earlier. </p> <p>As Nigel got up to leave, Colonel Whipstock’s redoubtable sister made an entrance via the stable door which led to the garden, requesting a tray of drinks for the ladies.<br> “Ah, Amelia,” bellowed the Colonel, “ let me introduce you – Nigel Lamington-Krill, this is my sister, Amelia Strang-Wellow.” Amelia strode over and grasped Nigel’s hand, shaking it heartily.<br> “Delighted, delighted,” she enthused, as Nigel beheld a woman approaching Amazonian proportions, sporting what could best be described as rustic-chic garb, with her grey hair piled exuberantly upon her head and secured with an assortment of combs and clasps.<br> “If you’re still in residence, you must come with the Colonel to Isobel’s Bavarian evening we’re holding at Hake Hall. You really would be most welcome, may I call you Amelia?”<br> “Oh I say, how kind. I can stay on as long as I like, and I know Peregrine can do with the company, and still isn’t very steady with his bad leg – isn’t that right old thing?” she enquired of the Colonel who responded with a suitably barbed glance aimed at Nigel. Nigel smiled, wishing them both a very pleasant evening, and took his leave.</p> <p>Driving up to Hake Hall now in good spirits, Nigel left the Jensen by the garage block and left the keys in the ignition for Turtle to put it away later. Whistling, he gathered his jacket and tie from the back seat, stuffed the papers issued to him in his pocket and went in to the house via the conservatory.<br> “Hello, anybody about?” he called. He could hear Cook preparing the evening meal in the kitchen, but he would not have been heard above the strains of Bob Marley, so he went up the elegantly curving stairs to his dressing room to change his clothes. He heard a shower running and realised that Isobel was in her bathroom. He smiled to himself, stripped naked, throwing his discarded clothes onto a chair, then walked noiselessly to Isobel’s shower, pulled the door open, stepped inside and clasped his wife in a passionate embrace, smothering her shriek of surprise and feeble protestations with urgent kisses. They made love in the scented, steamy cubicle.</p> <p>Wrapped in finest Egyptian cotton monogrammed bathrobes, Isobel and Nigel sat on the sumptuously upholstered seat at the end of their enormous four poster bed.<br> “So you’ve had a good day then, darling?” Nigel couldn’t be bothered to recount again his encounter with the officers of the law.<br> “I think I’ve got another housing deal in the offing. Oh, and better than that, I now know what Colonel Whipstock’s first name is – it’s Peregrine! I met his sister this evening and suggested she might like to come to the Bavarian evening too – she’s a very, ah, stout type, but good fun I think. Quite Germanic really! Ah, I may also need to invite a couple of key local authority types along too – don’t know yet, all depends on whether any of them come to my project presentation lunch. ”<br> “I need to firm up arrangements with Cook and Mrs Tremble in the next few days, but a few extra won’t make any difference.”<br> “Oh, and Fritz is going to send over a box of cow bells – I asked him today.” Nigel did not feel he needed to share any more detail of his conversation with Fritz. Isobel wouldn’t understand the niceties and otherwise of international finance anyway.<br> “Marvellous, thank you darling – it’s going to be such fun. And India rang today – she’ll be home next week and said she’d love to be at the Bavarian evening. I’m so pleased!” Isobel leant over and kissed Nigel on the forehead.<br> “Good, well let’s get dressed and go down for a drink before dinner. Cook sounded as if he was having a good time in the kitchen – hope it tastes good!”</p> <p>After dinner as Turtle cleared away the last of the dishes, Nigel said he needed to spend a couple of hours in his study, so Isobel took the opportunity to stroll around the garden and make a note of jobs to be done by Mr Tremble.</p> <p><em>Tomorrow we visit Mrs Tremble, who is not happy with her lot</em>. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/refreshment_after_a_taxing_time~3192445/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writingfictionhumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/refreshment_after_a_taxing_time~3192445/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/domestic_drudgery~3192435/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/domestic_drudgery~3192435/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:37:04 +0200 <p><em>Helena Ruby Tremble is feeling trapped and miserable, but determined</em>.</p> <p>At Hake Lodge, Helena Ruby Tremble sat on the edge of the bed, having just deposited a neat pile of ironing in the airing cupboard, and began to consider the logistics of packing her belongings, for she had concluded that it had to be soon. The sound from the television drifted up from the sitting room below and she sighed heavily. Yes, it had to be soon. Helena Ruby sat with her head bowed in her hands and hot tears dripped unbidden through her fingers. Although resolute she was still desperately miserable. She wanted to see her girls, she wanted to be happy.<br> “OK Helena Ruby,” she said to herself, standing up, taking a deep breath and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand “it’s up to you, there’s no-one else.” Helena Ruby went into the bathroom and pressed a cold flannel to her eyes, blew her nose on the rose tinted super-soft quilted toilet paper and resolved to be out before her 48th birthday which fell on 27th August. She forced a smile at herself in the mirror above the basin and said again, “It’s up to you.”</p> <p>Helena Ruby Tremble slept fitfully and awoke before the alarm. She had dreamt of being pursued by a German chef wielding a cheese grater, she had seemed to be in an eternal quest to find her apron, Denholm was somehow a guinea-pig and gave birth to so many babies that she was knee-deep in small, elongated rodents which all contrived to stop her fleeing the chef or finding her apron. Back to reality, Helena Ruby slipped out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and left Ron snoring. It was, astonishingly, another glorious morning and upon opening the kitchen door she was greeted enthusiastically as always by Denholm. She yawned, ran her hand through her hair, stretched, then filled the kettle with water and switched it on. “Let’s go out for an early morning walkies shall we my darling? This morning is too good to waste.” Denholm, recognising that word, started performing a strange, fevered circular movement whilst wagging his tail vigorously and Helena Ruby scooped him up, laughing and buried her face in his silky ear. She drank her tea and took a mug upstairs and put it on the bedside table for Ron, who stirred and grunted. She gathered up the necessary clothes, said she was taking Denholm for an early walk as it was such a lovely morning, then before he could offer any opinion, went to the bathroom where she hastily washed and dressed.</p> <p>Strolling along in the dazzling morning sunshine and listening to the birdsong, Helena Ruby’s spirits lifted. On a morning like this, anything seemed possible. Today she would ask Cook whether he would consider taking a lodger and her dog. This would be the first step, to where she couldn’t imagine, but it had to be in the right direction. Helena Ruby returned to the Lodge to encounter Ron in his vest and pyjama trousers complaining that he couldn’t find a clean shirt. What a singularly unattractive proposition he was. She pursed her lips and said icily, “So you didn’t manage to find one in the airing cupboard then – too much effort I suppose.”<br> “There weren’t any hanging up, how am I supposed to know?” he responded, completely undented by the venomous arrow silently launched at him by his wife.<br> “How indeed,” thought Helena Ruby Tremble , “how indeed.” She stepped purposefully up the stairs, removed every ironed item from the airing cupboard, placed them firmly on the bed then proceeded silently to hang every shirt, put every item of underwear in its correct drawer and the spare sheets in the top of the wardrobe. Then she walked downstairs and said “Right, I’m off to work.” Without waiting for any response, she opened the back door and departed for Hake Hall. Today she was going to put all this behind her.</p> <p>“Morning Mrs L-K,” said Helena Ruby as she came through the kitchen door. “Anything special you want me to see to today?” Isobel was standing by the salt-glazed farmhouse sink cutting the stalk ends from a bunch of exuberant daisies.<br> “Good morning Mrs Tremble. Just a general clean and tidy I think, but perhaps you could start in the laundry room. Some of Nigel’s shirts have come back from the laundry rather creased – I think I need to have a word with them – they’re becoming a bit slap dash. It’s ever since that lout Craig was made manager. Standards are slipping. Oh, and if you could give India’s room a good airing and make sure it’s all nice for her, she’s coming back for my Bavarian evening.”<br> “Certainly Mrs L-K, you must be looking forward to it, it must be hard when you don’t see her for so long.” Helena Ruby was vaguely aware of the irony in this observation, seeing as how India had been sent away to boarding school at the earliest opportunity. It didn’t seem to have done her any actual harm, but with the possible exception of the appalling Bartley-Grantwick twins, destined no doubt for the judiciary, she couldn’t imagine why anybody would voluntarily send their children away.<br> “Oh it will be wonderful to see her, yes. And if you get a moment, you couldn’t do these flowers for me could you? You know where all the vases are. I thought I’d put these in the main hall. They’re such a cheerful greeting!”<br> “Of course,” said Helena Ruby Tremble, anxious for Cook to arrive.<br> “I thought it would be a good idea for us to discuss the final details of my Bavarian evening with Cook today, if that’s alright with you, Mrs T?” Helena Ruby’s heart sank. She was hoping that Isobel Lamington-Krill would obligingly spend the day in pursuit of something suitably vapid, however she clearly had other intentions perfectly suited to ruining anything Helena Ruby Tremble might have planned. There would be other opportunities; but today would have been good, it felt like Helena Ruby’s perfect moment.</p> <p><em>Doesn't life just engineer things like that? </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/domestic_drudgery~3192435/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionwritinghumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/domestic_drudgery~3192435/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/isobel_s_laundry_concerns~3192426/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/isobel_s_laundry_concerns~3192426/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:35:35 +0200 <p><em>Back to the chores, Helena Ruby </em></p> <p>As Helena Ruby Tremble tidied Nigel and Isobel’s dressing rooms, placing disparate footwear in appropriate pigeon holes, she reflected upon the almost state-like proportions with which Isobel was imbuing her frankly risible Bavarian evening. As far as she could tell, people were eager to attend purely because of the overwhelming hospitality likely to be available and not because they had any desire for a taste of Germany, nor indeed, the company of Mr and Mrs Lamington-Krill. Braying twits, most of them. She had not had the opportunity to approach Cook with her proposition. Isobel seemed determined to pursue each detail of the catering arrangements to oblivion, having purchased yet another recently published and highly acclaimed glossy cookery book, this time fortuitously encompassing the ethos of German cuisine. However, Helena Ruby had another darts match to attend later and her thoughts turned to that. Her sphere of life meant she was sufficiently removed to be fairly indifferent to Isobel’s plans or the motivation of her intended guests. </p> <p>Helena Ruby supposed she would have to prepare a meal before she left. She had been in such a state of anxiety and vague anticipation lately that she had rather lost her appetite, but Ron would be expecting his tea and she could not stomach a confrontation at the moment. Pam had said she would collect Helena Ruby at seven o’clock, in two hours’ time. She took Nigel’s jacket from the reproduction Regency chair and hung it in his wardrobe then leant down and picked up his discarded trousers and placed them in the large square wicker laundry basket. The only laundry to which Helena Ruby was expected to attend was what Isobel coyly referred to as their ‘delicates’, for which an embroidered finest Irish linen bag was provided, discreetly hung inside Isobel’s wardrobe door. Thus, Helena Ruby picked up Nigel’s socks and underpants and placed them in the requisite receptacle. She noticed a business card on the Chinese rug which she assumed had fallen from his trousers and picked it up. It had the Harmony Homes blue and silver crest on it, with Nigel declared as Chairman in deep maroon print. Helena Ruby shrugged and placed it on the table beside the rest of the discarded contents of his pockets.</p> <p>Having concluded her day’s work, she turned and observed herself in the cheval mirror and sighed deeply, snatching a rather lurid silk tie draped across the frame and hanging it back on its appointed rack in the wardrobe. She turned to the mirror again and said to her reflection, “Well you fat, middle aged nonentity, is this all you’re going to do – tidy other people’s lives for them?” Tears sprang up again and just as she was searching for a tissue, Isobel came through the door.<br> “Ah, Mrs T, I thought I heard you in here. Oh dear, are you alright?”<br> “I think I’ve got a cold, I haven’t been feeling too good,” said Helena Ruby lamely.<br> “Oh goodness, you must be alright for my Bavarian evening – I’m relying on you! Anyway, what I wanted to say was that I’m going to cancel our arrangement with Great Roach Laundry. They just don’t press things properly and on several occasions the bed linen has come back with nasty marks on it. I thought we’d try Love Your Linens, it’s in Mackerel and Petronella Throck-Wallaby has particularly recommended them to me. Have you heard of them?”<br> “Um, no, but I’m sure it’s worth giving them a try. It seems a shame to have to iron all the shirts twice,” said Helena Ruby, having gathered herself together. “Will you forgive me if I go now, I have a darts match this evening.”<br> “A darts match, Mrs T. That must be fun! Where is it?”<br> “The Startled Partridge.”<br> “I don’t think I’ve been in there. Well have a good time and I hope you feel better soon.”<br> “I’m sure I shall,” responded Helena Ruby, raising a smile. “I’m going to make sure I do,” she thought to herself. </p> <p><em>That's the spirit Mrs Tremble </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/isobel_s_laundry_concerns~3192426/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writinghumourfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/isobel_s_laundry_concerns~3192426/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/another_darts_match~3192419/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/another_darts_match~3192419/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:34:09 +0200 <p><em>Well Mrs Tremble surely deserves a little entertainment outwith her domestic chores</em>?</p> <p>Helena Ruby returned to the Lodge and as always, Denholm was delighted to see her and Ron was watching television. “Hello darling,” she said to the dog, scooping him up affectionately, then she walked through to Ron, stroking Denholm’s ear and said, “I’ve got darts tonight so will egg on toast do?”<br> “That’s not much – can’t I have bacon and chips too? I’ve been working really hard today.”<br> “Well so have I, so do you want egg on toast or not?” Helena Ruby was struggling to contain her venom, but just kept thinking to herself that soon all this would be behind her. “You could have beans with it,” she added through gritted teeth.<br> “Oh whatever, I’ll probably go to the chip shop later.” Helena Ruby had completely lost her appetite, so having provided food for her husband and refraining from tipping it upon his ungrateful head, she went to the bathroom to wash and change as Pam would be there in half an hour.<br> “Well, at least make the effort,” she said to her reflection as she brushed her hair, and glancing at a decorative bowl on the window sill containing a few unused cosmetic gifts, she picked up a container of mascara and gingerly applied it to her generous eyelashes. It did seem to lend the suggestion of a sparkle to her grey-green eyes. She smiled at the effect and went on to apply a hint of topologically rebalancing non reflective pre-foundation crème which must have been at least three years old, but she shook it well, and once applied, it gave her visage a certain pleasing smoothness, and she smiled to herself again. Helena Ruby went to the bedroom, took a jacket from the wardrobe and as she turned, saw in the window the reflection of Pam’s car pulling in. She ran downstairs, told Ron expressionlessly that she was off now, rubbed Denholm’s head affectionately, telling him it was best if he stayed behind this time, picked up her handbag and went out to join the Hake on Spinach ladies’ darts team for their friendly match against the good ladies representing Mullet and district.</p> <p>Upon pulling up in the car park, Pam remarked upon how much nicer the exterior looked since Terence, the landlord, had put large tubs of flowers around the edge, and her passengers all agreed. They duly disembarked and entered the cool, dim calm of the Startled Partridge. The dart board stood out like a beacon, lit as it was by a piercingly bright downlight at the far end. Most of the opposing team were already there, and introductions having been made and hands shaken, Helena Ruby thought to herself again what a very civilised way this was in which she and her fellow protagonists conducted themselves. They all bought drinks while waiting for the last two ladies to arrive and Helena Ruby found herself feeling quite light headed after consuming the vodka and lime she thought she deserved. It was, she supposed, because she hadn’t had much to eat.</p> <p>The last two players having arrived, the match duly commenced and within an hour and a half, the Hake on Spinach team conceded defeat. None of the ladies were really inclined to leave, thus more drinks were ordered and as the evening was still light and wonderfully warm, they repaired to the garden. In these delightful surroundings, Helena found herself relaxed and at ease and realised she was laughing for the first time in months. She wondered what Jolyon might be doing at that moment, remembering her last darts match. Helena Ruby passed the pay ‘phone on her way to the lavatories and on her way back, she was seized almost as if by an external force and on a whim lent impetus by four vodka and limes, pulled the twisted business card out of her jacket pocket and dialled Jolyon Urquart’s mobile telephone number. As it rang, she felt as though hot needles were pricking her scalp, her palms began to sweat and she was about to put the handset down with the word ‘stupid, stupid, stupid’ reverberating about her cranium, when Jolyon answered his ‘phone. Helena Ruby Tremble’s heart was beating so hard, she thought she would pass out.<br> “Hi, Jolyon Urquart.”<br> “Uh, I, um - it’s Helena, d’you remember, from the darts match?”<br> “My dear, of course I remember, I’ve been waiting for you to ring. Where are you?”<br> “Er, I’m at the Startled Partridge, do you know it?”<br> “Sorry, you’ll have to speak up – where, the speckled what?” (Helena Ruby’s voice had dropped almost to a whisper for fear of being overheard.)<br> “Oh god, look, it doesn’t matter. Sorry, I shouldn’t have rung, the credit’s run out…” Tears welled up as she replaced the handset and Helena Ruby felt her face turn crimson. She felt unutterably stupid. She took a deep breath, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and turned to rejoin her colleagues when the pay ‘phone rang. The enervation was electric and Helena Ruby’s hand seized the ‘phone; despite her best efforts to sound controlled, the ‘hello’ she uttered was delivered in a high pitched, strangulated tone, full of anticipation.<br> “Did someone order a taxi for Limpet?” enquired a voice, “only our driver’s wife has gone into labour and the replacement will take half an hour.”<br> “Er, I don’t know,” said Helena, having difficulty responding to the enquiry. “I’ll, er, pass the message on.”<br> “Thanks love.”<br> Helena Ruby Tremble walked slowly to the bar and ordered a double vodka and lime. She was mentally berating herself. “You stupid, stupid, woman. You’ve just made a bloody fool of yourself. D’you honestly think that anyone would look twice at you, you stupid, tedious waste of space.” She paid for her drink and in the time it took her to walk out to the garden, had finished it in several gulps. Not really caring now what anybody thought of her, Helena Ruby called out, “Is there anybody here called Limpet, only the taxi will be late – some poor woman has gone into labour.” </p> <p>The rest of Helena Ruby’s evening was spent in a haze of mild intoxication and self loathing, and when asked by Pam when delivering her home whether she was alright, only she seemed a bit quiet, offered the standard lame excuse of being just a bit tired. She sat in the kitchen clasping Denholm and weeping into his neck, rocking gently back and forth. How she wished her girls were there. They were her only worthwhile achievement. </p> <p>Despite her bleak mood, Helena Ruby Tremble was aware of a thin thread of determination to which she was firmly anchored and she promised herself that she was going to take the chance and approach Cook at the first opportunity tomorrow. Automatically she picked up the plate and cup left by Ron and put them in the sink, threw two used tea-bags in the bin and heaved a big sigh, saying quietly “Not for much longer, this has got to finish.” Thus she went resolutely upstairs to the bathroom, removed her now smudged eye make-up, splashed her face with water then slipped quietly to bed. Sleep evaded her for some time as she re-lived the evening, wishing she hadn’t made that ‘phone call. She wondered whether the taxi driver’s wife had given birth yet and what sort of a life awaited the child. Helena Ruby still had a good portion of her life ahead and it was going to be better than hitherto, it had to be.</p> <p><em>Hope springs eternal, Helena Ruby </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/another_darts_match~3192419/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionwritinghumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/another_darts_match~3192419/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_headache~3192411/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_headache~3192411/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:32:50 +0200 <p><em>Poor old Helena Ruby, her day is not very sunny today</em>.</p> <p>It was raining heavily when Helena Ruby awoke next morning and she had a dreadful headache. With some effort she got out of bed, wearily put on her dressing gown and went downstairs to the kitchen to make tea. As she bent down to Denholm’s enthusiastic welcome, her head was pounding and she sat heavily on a chair, overcome by a wave of nausea. All Helena Ruby could manage was to get herself some water and swallow pain killers, then she sat with her head in her arms on the table, with Denholm sitting disconsolately at her feet. She felt as if the room were rotating about her and when she lifted her head, she could barely see Denholm for jagged lights spearing her vision. Crying hurt, but she could not stop herself. Helena Ruby dabbed her eyes with a tissue and knew that all she wanted to do was lie down, close her eyes and rest her pounding head. She had not had a migraine like this for years. </p> <p>Helena Ruby did not want to return to bed beside Ron, but the spare bed was not made up and so, with leaden limbs she wearily climbed the stairs, pushed the bedroom door open and said, “Ron, I’ve got a migraine, I can’t go to work today.” As she thankfully lay her head on the pillow, Ron sat up, pulling the duvet with him and said, “Can’t you take some aspirin?” Helena Ruby could not be bothered to answer and just lay there in misery. She didn’t even care whether Ron bothered to apprise Isobel of her malaise or not.<br> “OK well I’ll get my own tea then.” </p> <p>After what seemed an interminable succession of banging cupboard doors, yelps, running water, coughing, the creaky wardrobe door (which did nothing for Helena Ruby Tremble’s wellbeing), Ron’s ill-tempered search for clothes and his final grudging “Well I’m off to work now”, peace finally descended upon the house and Helena Ruby slept fitfully. Denholm, aware that all was not well, slunk up the stairs and pushed his way through Helena Ruby’s bedroom door. He was not normally allowed in the bedroom (the result of an edict by Ron) and was fascinated by all manner of new smells to investigate. He encountered Ron’s moth-eaten slippers thrown in the corner and having examined them for some time, lifted his short back leg and urinated on them. Having left his mark, he trotted back round the bed and, standing on his hind legs, drew himself up level with Helena Ruby’s relaxed hand and began licking it affectionately. Helena Ruby stirred, opened her eyes and smiled. At least her vision was a little clearer now. She scooped Denholm’s rump up on to the bed and the two lay there together, momentarily content.</p> <p>Having dozed for another two or so hours and receiving much solicitous licking and nuzzling from Denholm, Helena Ruby felt much improved and lay looking at the ceiling wondering about her future. The events of the evening before ran idly through her mind and that same inspiration, devilment, call it what you will, began to take hold of her again and despite all that she had beaten herself up about, the self-belittlement, she was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to make contact with Jolyon, and what better opportunity than now in peace and calm with Ron off the premises. She glanced at the clock and realised that he would be home in about half an hour. That gave her enough time. She slowly sat up, making sure that her head would not start pounding again, and Denholm jumped up, tail wagging frantically.<br> “I’ve got terrible butterflies old thing, your mum is about to do something ridiculous, but at the moment she doesn’t care!” Helena Ruby kissed Denholm on the head then gingerly got out of bed, found to her relief that she had shaken off the migraine and went to the bathroom to freshen up before making the telephone call. Denholm trotted happily behind her.</p> <p>With familiarly shaking hand, Helena Ruby lifted the telephone and taking a deep breath, dialled Jolyon’s number from his increasingly dog-eared card. Again, her heart felt as if it was about to burst through her ribs as she anticipated his voice answering the call. What she was going to say, what if anything was to be arranged, she hadn’t the faintest idea.<br> “Hi, Jolyon’s ‘phone,” came the unexpected response from a velvet-voiced woman, oh god, clearly from a more suitable background than Helena Ruby Tremble. She felt as though her veins had been filled with hot treacle and heard herself say “Oh dear, I’m sorry, that isn’t Janet’s number is it,” in exaggeratedly clumsy tones.<br> “No dear, there’s no Janet here;” purred the velvet voice, “better luck next time.”<br> Helena Ruby gulped back a sob as she put the ‘phone down and right on cue, Ron barged through the back door, his only response being “Oh, you’re up then. I told the boss I didn’t know when you’d be back.” In a vain effort to take her mind off the excruciating humiliation she felt, Helena Ruby Tremble made Ron sandwiches, claimed a relapse and returned to bed taking her own personal miasma of misery with her. Denholm knew better than to follow her on this occasion and installed himself in his own bed and hopefully out of Ron’s sight.</p> <p><em>Get better soon Helena Ruby, for you have Isobel's Bavarian evening with which to contend before very long</em>. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_headache~3192411/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionhumourwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_s_headache~3192411/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_asks_the_question~3192398/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_asks_the_question~3192398/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:31:29 +0200 <p><em>So here we are, on the morning of Isobel's German extravaganza; let the fun begin</em>.</p> <p>As Helena Ruby entered Hake Hall on the morning of Isobel’s Bavarian evening, she was greeted with the sight of Turtle manhandling a startled-looking stuffed bear from the entrance hall to the dining room. She smiled wryly and went to the kitchen where she found Cook un-stacking cases of food products associated one way or another with things Germanic. Her arrival elicited a grin and the cheerful offer of tea (English) which she happily accepted. Chair legs were duly scraped across the floor as they perched at the edge of the table, which was laden with cutlery, crockery and table linen, ready for Helena Ruby to set out in the dining room.<br> “Mrs L-K’s not started the day in a good mood,” Cook informed Helena Ruby. “Nigel had to go out this morning and won’t be back until early evening – I heard raised voices. And flying gravel as he left. I guess that will need raking before this evening.”<br> “Ah, yes, not the best day to go absent. Still, I don’t think Mr L-K’s likely to be a lot of help setting up. Ooh, I know what I meant to tell you - did you know that it’s his company who built the estate you live on? I found a business card in the dressing room.”<br> “No I didn’t, but that’s interesting as I know there’s a fair bit of unhappiness about the, shall we say, workmanship, and I think the residents are forming some sort of action group. I’ve had to get my front door re-hung once already, my mate’s very handy like that, and he doesn’t think much of the building. Cowboys everywhere, eh? Ha, cowboys and cowbells!”<br> “Mmmmm.”</p> <p>Not wanting to waste any more time in idle chat, and with a frothing tide of hopes and intentions rising up inside her, Helena Ruby finally seized the moment to ask Cook what she had been summoning up the courage to ask for what felt like an eternity. She inhaled with some deliberation then without allowing herself any more leeway, said “Um, I don’t know how to ask you this, but, er, would you have a spare room for a lodger and small dog?” She felt the heat and colour rise in her cheeks as she raised her eyes to look at Cook who was returning to the table with two mugs of tea.</p> <p>“Er, would I be correct in thinking, am I completely wrong …… do you mean you? I, er, well…. Blimey Mrs T, you’ve rather caught me by surprise. I mean, why, well, er, you know….” Almost without drawing further breath, Helena Ruby launched into a torrential explanation.<br> “I’m leaving Ron. Living with him is making me completely miserable, I can’t bear it any more. But I don’t want to find another job just yet. It would only be for a few months until I can get myself sorted out. I know it’s a terrible imposition, but I’d earn my keep, pay you rent, stay out of your way. And .....I, ... oh dear, would you object to the dog? I can’t leave him.”<br> Duly accompanied by the sound of scraping chair legs, Cook pulled out the chair to sit down and handed a mug of tea to Helena Ruby. Having put down his own mug, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.<br> “Er, I’m not always alone in the house you know.”<br> “Well I didn’t expect you not to have any friends, and like I said, I’d stay out of your way.”<br> “I’ve got, ahem, shall we say, one very special friend who often stays, but hey, it wouldn’t affect the spare room I suppose Mrs T, if you know what I mean?” Cook grinned broadly and Helena Ruby couldn’t help but respond likewise.<br> “I’m really pleased for you, I’m sorry, it was thoughtless of me not to consider, I shouldn’t have asked, I just didn’t think......... I don’t want to cramp your style.” Helena Ruby’s cheeks began to colour up again and she really wished she hadn’t started this particular conversation. “Look, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have put you in this position, please forget I asked. It was a stupid idea anyway.” Helena Ruby immediately decided she’d have to find another job.</p> <p>“Hey, not so fast. If I can help you out I will Mrs T – you know, I think we’ll all get along just fine. Yeah, in fact, I’m sure it will work.” Helen Ruby’s eyes filled with tears of relief and gratitude. Here, at last, was the promise of a beginning to the way out. She reached across the table and squeezed Cook’s hand as she was now unable to speak.</p> <p>Having finished her tea and composed herself, Helena Ruby Tremble set about her day’s tasks with renewed enthusiasm. She carried her floral displays up from the cellar with a spring in her step, and humming quietly to herself, arranged them variously on tables, sideboards and window sills. She placed a stray yellow rosebud behind the left ear of the stuffed bear which upon close inspection, proved to be a rather moth-eaten affair with two broken teeth and a cracked eye.<br> “You could do with a good vacuuming,” she said to it, then laughed as she envisaged the balding pelt being sucked into the hose.<br> “Maybe not old thing.”<br> Swags of hops were draped along the stair banisters and across the gallery with odd-sized cow bells hung here and there, looking decidedly ill-matched. Ron Tremble and Turtle had been given the job of applying this particular touch thus the end result was no great surprise. Helena Ruby made a mental note to vacuum the floor where vegetation had fallen and been ground underfoot, then went to the kitchen to see if she could make a sandwich as she didn’t really have time or the inclination to go back to the Lodge for lunch.<br> She found Cook engaged in unpacking all manner of cold meats from the state-of-the-art ‘fridge the size of a garden shed, and he looked up with a smile as Helena Ruby Tremble came into the kitchen. “Hey, Mrs T – I need your artistic input with all this dead flesh!”<br> “Anything, Cook, anything to help as long as I can have something to eat. It’s going to be a very, very long day.” Still apprehensive about their earlier conversation, she added, “You know, you’re perfectly free to change your mind if you feel I’ve sort of manoeuvred you into a corner.”<br> “Not necessary my friend, it’s not a problem. Like I said, we’ll get on just fine. Give the neighbours something else to talk about too.”<br> “Oh goodness, thank you, thank you so much. It’s just that I ... ah ...oh dear, I’m welling up again.”<br> “Make us both a sandwich and pull yourself together woman! We’ve got one hell of a lot of work to do.”<br> At this moment in her day Helena Ruby allowed herself to start believing that everything might just work out alright.</p> <p>Isobel Lamington-Krill however was beginning at the same time to feel that her evening was going to be anything but alright. She had returned from her manicure and collagen-rich facial to find that the wrong sparkling wine had been delivered. It should, of course have been German.<br> “Bloody hell – Nigel should be here sorting this out,” fumed Isobel. She tried contacting his mobile ‘phone but it was switched off. “I haven’t time to sort this out now. Serena is coming to do my hair for me. Damn’ and blast,” she said to anyone who cared to listen, as she stamped upstairs, blissfully unaware that Serena had the appointment in her diary for the following week-end. As it was, Turtle merely raised a sardonic eyebrow as he stood sampling a particularly fine malt from the cabinet in the large drawing room. He had been having a tiresome day thus far supervising deliveries and ensuring domestic good order and he needed something to buoy him up for the evening’s activities. Then he took a deep breath, smiled to himself and strolled to the kitchen to observe the activity therein.</p> <p>With Turtle’s rather more energetic than usual assistance, Helena Ruby transported the glasses, crockery, cutlery and table linen to the dining room and installed it as indicated in a rough sketch hastily produced that morning by Isobel, but on the understanding that Helena Ruby must do what she thought best, she had, after all, a better eye for this sort of thing than Isobel. Numerous cold dishes, beautifully presented and garnished and encased in acres of plastic film were then arranged between candlesticks and a magnificent floral table centre on the ivory-coloured damask-covered table and along the vast sideboard. Helena Ruby and Cook stood back to observe.<br> “Doesn’t really look very German does it?” said Cook.<br> “No. Maybe what it needs is some of those beer drinking jug things,” said Helena Ruby with her hands on her hips.<br> “Couple of Panzer tanks too perhaps,” muttered Turtle as he went out through the door.<br> “Well we’ve done all we were asked Mrs T, now we have the evening to get through.”</p> <p><em>And what an evening it is going to be, Helena Ruby </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_asks_the_question~3192398/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>fictionhumourwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_asks_the_question~3192398/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/isobel_s_bavarian_evening_commences~3192388/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/isobel_s_bavarian_evening_commences~3192388/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:30:07 +0200 <p><em>And just what is the butler up to?</em></p> <p>Turtle was planning his own particular wry touch to the evening’s events. In a past career he had acquired an iron cross with which he intended to embellish the hapless bear, and he was also in possession of a disarmed hand grenade and several other items which he thought it might be amusing to deploy at some suitable juncture in the evening. A long-standing financial venture of his had weathered all manner of ill omens and had now come to fruition. This was to be his parting gesture. He need be obsequious no longer. </p> <p>Meanwhile Helena Ruby took a last tour of inspection, straightening a couple of stalks in her arrangements, picking up a few fallen hops and dropping them in her apron pocket, then walked across the landing and knocked on Isobel’s bedroom door where she supposed her to be, in order to confirm that she had checked all the rooms, provided fresh towels and that she would be returning to the Lodge to change shortly.<br> Isobel was inconsolable in her bedroom. She still couldn’t get in touch with Nigel, India was going to be late and that stupid, stupid girl Serena had got the date wrong for doing her hair.<br> “Everything’s a complete mess Mrs T,” wailed Isobel. Looking at Isobel’s blotchy, mascara-stained face Helena Ruby could not help but concur. In a half-hearted attempt to buck up Isobel, Helena Ruby suggested that Isobel have a shower, wash her hair then Helena Ruby could at least blow dry it for her – something she had always longed to do for her own daughters, both blessed with thick, glossy locks of chestnut hair. Isobel was surprisingly grateful for Helena Ruby’s offer of assistance, so it was agreed that Helena Ruby would return to the Lodge, wash and change and then return to help Isobel and have something to eat. Even Ron’s perpetual bad-tempered grumbling could not dampen Helena Ruby Tremble’s newly found spirit of bonhomie. He was to be in charge of car parking that evening, so they would see very little of each other.<br> Isobel Lamington-Krill insisted Helena Ruby share a glass or two of the ‘wrong champagne’ with her as the hairdressing got under way, and just as the finishing touches were being applied to a now beaming and marvellously coiffed Isobel, Nigel was heard to slam his dressing room door and turn on the shower.<br> “Better late than never,” said Isobel smiling at Helena Ruby in the mirror.<br> Whatever passed between Nigel and Isobel upstairs, when they descended in preparation to greet their guests who would be arriving shortly, they were arm in arm and presenting a united front. Isobel’s coiffure was a tad less sleek than half an hour previously, but she looked presentable enough in leather trousers and an off-the-shoulder chemise. As if to complete the moment, India burst in to the hall with a large khaki duffle bag over her shoulder, beaded dreadlocks cascading.<br> “Mum, Dad – sorry I’m late – stopped to help out at a protest on the way down.”<br> “Darling, were you hurt, what’s the wound over your eye?”<br> “Oh, my stud went septic, but it’s clearing up now.”<br> “Darling, you never told me about that, and what’s happened to your hair? It looks as though you haven’t washed it for months.”<br> “Mum, you know how you fuss and they’re dreadlocks.”<br> “Oh, well, come and give us a hug. Welcome home darling! I want to hear all about how you’re getting on.”<br> Having given a potted summary of her course, her friends and financial status to Nigel and Isobel, India went upstairs to prepare for what she hoped would be a very successful evening. Her father had naturally promised her additional funds, but then he did every time she came home.</p> <p>About half an hour after the appointed commencement guests, not wishing to be first, began to arrive. In a state of mild nervousness mixed with excited anticipation Isobel spent the time checking on the buffet table (which looked absolutely splendid), sipping the sparkling wine and checking her appearance every five minutes in the vast mirror hanging in the entrance hall. Nigel sat pondering in the huge leather chair in his study, carefully considering his next manoeuvre in securing the necessary permission for Harmony Homes to build on the factory site, upon which he now knew he had clinched a very favourable deal. He had to find a friendly soil analyst, a willing worm.</p> <p>Nigel was woken from his reverie as he caught sight from his window of the first guests arriving, sighed, got up, placed the documents from his desk in the safe, then went to join Isobel in the hall. There was much air kissing, the air was laden with expensive, pungent scents, double-barrelled ladies of leisure shrieked in recognition and ostensible delight, husbands and partners shook hands and slapped backs, and Isobel’s Bavarian evening had begun. She could now relax as she had the feeling that it was clearly going to be an enormous success. India, wearing an astonishing burnt orange diaphanous affair, looked almost exotic, but Isobel did think it was a shame that she wore black leggings and baseball boots underneath. However she was so grateful that her daughter was happy to attend that she really couldn’t complain.<br> Nobody noticed that the sparkling wine was not in fact German and the carefully selected scene-setting tapes laboriously put together by one of Nigel’s eager young IT fellows were very swiftly tossed aside in favour of altogether more transatlantic tunes. These were extracted from a vast selection of CDs housed in a purpose-built faux Regency cabinet with slightly faulty hinges in the large drawing room.</p> <p>“She’s here somewhere,” Isobel responded to yet another enquiry about her daughter, and it occurred to her that India really hadn’t been much in evidence for the last hour at least. It was too bad, she really could have made a bit more of an effort.<br> “Ah, Carnubia, how are you my dear, are your stitches healing? I hope that plastic surgeon is struck off. To want a 36D and end up with, well, not exactly a matching pair, is shocking. It’s a disgrace, particularly as you paid for it yourself. I expect Miles is going to sue? But you’re looking lovely anyway, very skilful couture. Is it a Tabitha Weinstock? I love the colour.”</p> <p>Drink and food were consumed with gusto as Helena Ruby, Cook and Turtle replenished, circulated and observed. A couple of local girls had agreed to assist in the kitchen (for a fee) and Helena Ruby glanced enviously at the lithe young girl in a very short, tight skirt who was busy collecting plates and glasses. There she was, Helena Ruby Tremble, wearing over her black skirt and white blouse her token pinny which only served to emphasise her sturdy stature, when who should catch her eye from the hall but Jolyon Urquart. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and shifted her gaze to the floor, then the table to which she turned, wiping her suddenly clammy hands on her crisp white pinny with exquisitely embroidered edelweiss on the pocket. Panic gripped her and she started moving dishes on the table as a distraction and primped the table displays. As she passed the stuffed bear she noticed it still had the rosebud balanced behind its ear, and that it was also now sporting some sort of medal round its neck Jolyon had sauntered to the dining table, walked up behind Helena Ruby Tremble and spoke into her ear over her shoulder.<br> “The flowers look fine to me. How about a break and a breath of fresh air my dear?” Helena Ruby nearly shed her skin, was electrified.<br> “I shouldn’t, I can’t, I’ve got ……” Jolyon took her by the elbow and steered her firmly through the French doors, across the terrace and behind the pool house, a haven of dark anonymity amongst the glare and twinkle of garden lighting effects.<br> “Why didn’t you ring me back, I was so pleased to hear from you,” he said softly as he held her at arm’s length. Jolyon put his hand under Helena Ruby’s chin and lifted her bowed head. Her big dark eyes glistened in the gloom.<br> “I just felt so stupid,” she whispered, finally plucking up the courage to look directly into his eyes, “- and the second time I tried, I thought it was your girlfriend answering.”<br> Jolyon drew her towards him and kissed her. She closed her eyes, not quite being able to believe that this was happening to her. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed anyone except Denholm.<br> Just as Helena Ruby was being transported to another plane of existence, she was plucked unexpectedly back to reality. A youth in combat gear complete with balaclava and walking backwards hugging the wall, reversed into them, but was clearly as nonplussed as Helena Ruby and Jolyon.<br> “Oh I say, frightfully sorry, didn’t expect anyone down here. Don’t mind me, bit of night manoeuvres. Carry on.” And he slipped away into the darkness, crouching low. Bizarre ‘though this was, having more pressing matters on his mind, Jolyon said, “Yes, let us carry on,” undoing Helena Ruby’s top buttons and kissing her cleavage. She became utterly helpless as desire gripped them both. They kissed passionately, first clinging to each other then running their fingers through each others’ hair, they fumbled as they somehow sank to the ground together, but suddenly, entwined, Helena Ruby was seized with the desire to laugh helplessly, she couldn’t contain herself, it was as if a coiled spring had suddenly been released from its box, everything was glorious, hilarious and she lay with Jolyon in the long grass convulsed with laughter. It was infectious and soon Jolyon was laughing until the tears ran down his cheeks. They lay in the darkness embraced, dishevelled and euphoric. Jolyon was kissing Helena Ruby’s neck and she was running her fingers through his hair as the laughter subsided.<br> The noise of what sounded like breaking glass somewhere outside broke the spell, and Helena Ruby Tremble sat up, mildly alarmed and brought back to the reality of the Bavarian evening, saying “Did you hear that? I really should go back and see what’s going on.”<br> “Hear what, oh come back, it’s so cosy....”<br> “I really ought to go and see, I’m meant to be working, but look, thank you, I mean, well, you know, I ...”<br> With a long kiss and the promise to get in touch again very soon they parted unwillingly, hurriedly brushing the grass off their clothes, and having re-assembled each others’ exterior appearance as best they could, Helena Ruby returned breathlessly to the house via the kitchen door, smoothing her slightly grass-stained pinny, while Jolyon sauntered back through the French doors and into the hall smiling and distracted, and returned to join the bibulous throng hoping he would catch sight of Helena Ruby returned to her duties.<br> Cook was sitting with his feet on the table drinking his own special blend of herbal tea and raised a friendly eyebrow upon Mrs Tremble’s return and she grinned expansively at him.<br> “Just taking the weight off, as, I suppose you have been Mrs T?”<br> “Er yes, needed some fresh air, you know...” Not very convincing. “But I heard a noise, sounded like it came from the front, glass breaking. Has anybody been to see?<br> “Probably the girls throwing out some bottles, I’m sure it’s nothing, blimey they’ve got enough security equipment and I assume Ron is in charge. You’ve er, got a daisy in the back of your hair by the way.”</p> <p><em>Happiness at last for Helena Ruby Tremble? </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/isobel_s_bavarian_evening_commences~3192388/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourwritingfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/isobel_s_bavarian_evening_commences~3192388/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/the_party_s_getting_exciting~3192378/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/the_party_s_getting_exciting~3192378/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:28:25 +0200 <p><em>Let's go outside again for a moment</em>.....</p> <p>Turtle meanwhile was nowhere to be found, for, wearing his SAS officer’s cap, he was by the garages plying Ron with a cocktail of remainders and regaling him with tales of the war. Having bedecked the bear with the iron cross, Turtle had also half buried his hand grenade in the dish of pot pourri in the main cloakroom, and wondered whether it had yet been noticed. Ron meanwhile, not an experienced bon viveur, was rapidly becoming reckless and incoherent, cynically encouraged by Turtle who really had no time for the man, for he was a small-minded bore.<br> Cook and Helena Ruby went to check on the sweets and replenish the drinks table, although as might be imagined, Helena Ruby was not really paying attention to the Black Forest gateau and apple strudel trodden into the rug and somehow adorning a particularly elaborate candle-stick. She did however find the sight of a frankfurter pushed between the bear’s teeth highly amusing. </p> <p>Blissfully unaware of unfolding events Isobel, glancing past several guests at her reflection in the hall mirror, made her way to the kitchen in search of ice-cubes and was surprised upon opening the door to find that the girls she had hired were nowhere to be seen and the kitchen strewn with debris. However, she was too busy socialising and just made a mental note not to employ them again. Mrs Tremble and Cook could cope. She walked back towards the large drawing room carrying the replenished ice bucket and, looking again rather more closely in the mirror on the way back, seeing that her eye make-up was looking a little tired, she made a detour to the cloakroom in order to effect some repairs. She handed the ice bucket to Cook, who was on his way back to the kitchen and said,<br> “You couldn’t just take that through to the drinks table could you? Oh, and have you seen those two girls, the kitchen’s in an awful state.”<br> “Can do, and they were there half an hour ago. I suspect they might have gone outside for a smoke, it’s what girls of that age do.”<br> “Maybe, but I shall have to speak to them about it, I mean, what are we paying them for?” With that, Isobel lurched slightly into the cloakroom, bolted the door and exhaling heavily, flopped inelegantly onto the closed lavatory seat. Her pointed lizard-skin boots were squeezing her feet terribly and it was such a relief to take the pressure off. As she sat massaging her temples, she caught sight of the hand grenade in the pot pourri dish and muttered “What the ....” Isobel quickly tidied up her eye make-up, ran her fingers through her hair to restore a little more body, then even with her feet throbbing, went hurriedly in search of Nigel. Nigel was eventually to be found in the conservatory deep in conversation with Vernon Starling, a not entirely popular local figure who owned a vast cement works on the outskirts of Great Roach and was currently embroiled in major confrontation with councillors (‘petty officialdom’) and neighbours (‘whingers, all of them’) over his plans to excavate a gravel pit. He was an undeniably unpleasant character, but it seemed he might be able to put Nigel in touch with the willing worm he sought.<br> “Darling I ...”<br> “Give me five minutes Izzy, this is important business!”<br> “But darling, there’s something you must see now, really!”<br> “Can’t it wait? nobody’s dying are they?” Vernon was enjoying all this hugely and chimed in, “Found an unexploded bomb in the garden?” Isobel ignore the dreadful man and just said , “Nigel, pleeease.”<br> “Oh OK, Vernon excuse me, pour another Scotch and I’ll be back.”<br> “So what the bloody hell is so important then?” asked Nigel testily.<br> “There’s something you should see in the cloakroom.”<br> “What, a severed limb, a leaking pipe?” Isobel and Nigel got to the cloakroom only to find it occupied. Isobel became very agitated and just as she was about to try to describe to Nigel the source of her concern, Miles Kent-Burrowes emerged, slightly bemused at the welcoming committee the other side of the door and holding the offending bowl in his hand.<br> “I say, latest sort of air freshener old thing?” he asked.<br> “Bloody hell, how did that get there?”<br> “Don’t worry old boy, as far as I can tell it’s harmless, used to be in the bomb squad y’know. German. See? You can tell from the maker’s name round the top. Not seen one of those for years. Where did you find it?” Nigel really wished he would keep his voice down.<br> “I, I really don’t know, someone’s idea of a joke I guess,” stuttered Nigel. His mouth had suddenly gone dry and he had a very uneasy feeling.<br> “Bloody clever to find that Iron Cross too, what a laugh old boy! No detail left out. Good party old chap, bloody good.”<br> Nigel might have guessed where he would find this particular offending article, and was not disappointed. He angrily pulled the frankfurter from the bear’s jaws, which was unfortunately accompanied by several teeth, and roughly removed the Iron Cross, ignoring Isobel’s plea that that he be more careful with her uncle’s bear, as a result of which one of its ears became detached. Isobel disconsolately bent down and picked up a couple of teeth and the ear and for want of anywhere better to put them, dropped them into the cutlery drawer of the sideboard amongst the fish knives. Nigel dropped the medal into his pocket and wondered just who had been responsible for this. He would examine it more closely later in the privacy of his study.<br> Luckily the guests were unaware of Nigel’s discomfiture and he continued as if nothing had happened. Well, what had happened? Nothing. Some joker had bunged a grenade in the pot-pourri and given that bloody bear a German medal. That was all. But still he was uneasy. Isobel threw herself back into the party with renewed vigour, determined not to let Nigel’s behaviour spoil her evening.</p> <p>It was not Nigel’s behaviour about which Isobel should really have been concerning herself.</p> <p><em>- and we'll soon find out why - </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/the_party_s_getting_exciting~3192378/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourfictionwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/the_party_s_getting_exciting~3192378/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/mayhem_erupts_all_around~3192362/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/mayhem_erupts_all_around~3192362/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:25:48 +0200 <p><em>We left the party in full swing, now let us return. I must include my customary warning that extra-marital sex occurs in this post.</em></p> <p>Whilst the merriment continued, India had slipped upstairs, removed her eye-catching outfit and donned black top, combat trousers and gloves, and a black knitted hat into which, with difficulty, she stuffed her dreadlocks. She ran down the back stairs which usefully, led to the old wash-house where she met several eager accomplices from university together with Perpetua Tenby and Lucy Farlow-Pitt (the kitchen absentees). Two of the lads were sporting balaclavas, although they were finding them a little on the warm side, and Perpetua, giggling, suggested they try stockings instead. Terence told India of an encounter with an amorous middle-aged couple behind the pool-house, but that they didn’t seem to take much notice of him and he had mentioned night manoeuvres, so he thought it was OK. Muffled laughter rose through a grate near the garages, but the inhabitants there were by this time a little too inebriate to notice, or care. India had managed earlier in the evening surreptitiously to remove the fuse controlling the security floodlights which were thankfully, clearly labelled and had in a moment of panic when her father unexpectedly emerged from his study, dropped it into a huge pot standing in a corner of the entrance hall containing a palm. She couldn’t risk being found with it in her possession.<br> “Hello darling, enjoying the party?”<br> “Ooh, er, yes, it’s great, thanks. I, er, just found some rubbish in the pot, I’ll put it in the bin, must go to the loo....” Nigel was sufficiently distracted by general events not really to notice just how very insincere his daughter’s explanation of loitering by the potted palm was. There was no way in which that fuse would ever be retrieved.</p> <p>Terence had retrieved from the shrubbery the holdall secreted last week by the studded youth, and within the old wash-house the assembled conspirators, all now wearing their gloves, began sharing out the contents. There were paint sprays, screwdrivers, knives, a canister of fake blood, spray-glue, cans of expanding foam and torches. Walking quietly with this array of equipment jammed into pockets and pouches was not going to be easy.<br> “OK, this is it gang, keep it as quiet as you possibly can and at the first sign of trouble, scarper. You two, if you can’t make it back up to my room there’s a rendezvous at Paddy’s parents’ place, it’s just down the road past the post box, and they’re on holiday, right?” and she turned to Paddy Figglestarch for confirmation.<br> “Yep, the old folks are in Mustique for a month so I’m in charge. I’ve stuck a ski stick with a bottle on it by the side entrance. The alarm’s not on and you can get in through the pool house, but pleeeease take your shoes off!”<br> “OK, great, so are we all ready then? (Gloved thumbs up.) Brilliant! Tally ho!”</p> <p>The motley crew slunk around the front of the house and did not in fact need their torches as the moon produced sufficient illumination for their task, which was a relief as this left both hands free. Cars known to belong to Roger Whittingly-Beargarden and his cohorts were identified by India with a sprayed red cross on the bonnet. The others circulated amongst the gleaming vehicles and as carefully as they could, sliced tyres, sprayed expanding foam into exhaust pipes and sprayed glue onto windows followed by handfuls of dirt, grass and leaves (akin to Easter card construction so beloved of infant schools, minus the cotton-wool Easter chick). Perpetua spelled out ‘CARNAGE IN THE COUNTRYSIDE’ in fake blood across the bonnet of Mr Whittingly-Beargarden’s Bentley while Lucy etched some interesting designs in the paintwork of the door with a screwdriver. Terence, not blessed with great verbal dexterity, scratched along the side of Purvis Mallard’s monstrous black 4 x 4 ‘thermonuclear terminator’ (or some equally asinine epithet) ‘SKUM WAGGON’ and sprayed expanding foam into both exhaust pipes, then with a spray-can of blue paint wrote ‘BASTED’ across the back. He had some difficulty piercing the tyres so contented himself with just a front one then moved on to help India throw grit and grass onto a huge silver BMW, which she had prepared earlier.</p> <p>Whilst spraying ‘ASSHOLE’ on the top of a very low sporty number, Perpetua rather overstretched herself, lost her balance and fell through the fabric roof which gave way with a rather satisfying rending noise. Whatever satisfaction there was to be had from this was instantaneously dispelled as the car alarm started in deafening fashion and the game was up.<br> “Shit, scarper!” called India in a loud, hoarse whisper. As she was pulling Perpetua from her inelegant sprawl across the car, the front door was thrown open and light from the hall spilled out onto the steps, closely followed by agitated guests wondering if it was their vehicle registering distress.<br> Nigel was amongst their number and was struck almost speechless as his eyes adjusted to register the enormity of what lay before them. “What the .....” he mouthed, but was elbowed aside by Roger Whittingly-Beargarden yelling customary abuse and demanding to know why someone didn’t switch the bloody lights on. Mr Whittingly-Beargarden caught sight of a retreating shadowy figure behind a large shrub by the steps, leapt upon them from there and a brief scuffle ensued. He was rather winded by this manoeuvre and not a little unsteady on his feet anyway, and when the terrorist in the bushes grabbed him by the hair, he fell forward as his hair-piece parted company with his scalp. Said hair-piece was flung into full view of everybody now spilling out of the front doors, squawking and hollering, and Roger Whittingly-Beargarden’s intended victim managed in the surrounding inebriated chaos and patchy darkness to make a panic-stricken escape while badly stifled giggles started breaking out from some spectators on the steps. India and the two girls had managed to run back around the side of the house unseen thence into the wash-room, where doubled up and gasping, they gradually got their breath back.<br> “Christ .. that .. was close,” whispered India. “Better .... get back ..... upstairs and .... change bloody fast.”<br> With leaden legs, the girls returned up the stairs as fast as they were able and once in the safety of India’s well-appointed neo-gothic room, rapidly changed back into their earlier attire, washed in her en-suite bathroom, brushed their hair, tried to stop trembling, then put all incriminating evidence into a black plastic sack which would be secreted in the bins amongst the rest of the party debris. The two girls managed to get down the main stairs unnoticed and hurried to the kitchen which, thankfully, was empty as everybody was by now observing the fracas at the front. They started clearing and cleaning with a vengeance; it helped steady their nerves.</p> <p>Meanwhile, uproar ensued amongst the topiary and gravel as aggrieved guests discovered the vehicular carnage, and more voices were raised demanding that somebody turn some bloody lights on. Helena Ruby ventured out, and buoyed up by her recent amorous encounter, upon seeing Roger Whittingly-Beargarden’s vandalised car, laughing, said out loud, “Never mind, a quick trip to the carwash will soon put that right, squire!” Nigel, by now in a state of rage and frustration, had just discovered the reason for the non-functioning of the floodlights and was cursing Turtle for not being around to address the problem, although he had a dreadful uneasy feeling about Turtle’s role in all this.</p> <p>Taking advantage of the uproar, Jolyon had sought out Helena Ruby whom he saw in magnificent moonlit silhouette standing to the edge of the top step beside a pillar, for he was eager to continue with their liaison. He sidled up to her and she jumped slightly as he slipped his arm through hers, but did not hesitate to follow him as he suggested. It felt as though all her internal organs were fluttering. Everybody’s attention was focused on the scene of the crime and they slipped back into the hall and dived into the cloakroom, being the nearest bolt-hole (with a bolt). Jolyon leant against the secured door and pulled Helena Ruby to him, and kissed her passionately. There was something about her that he simply could not resist. Helena Ruby felt light-headed yet on fire inside, and slid her arms around Jolyon inside his jacket and then, overcome with a fierce desire which had started coursing through her veins, was fumbling for the fastening of his trousers. Jolyon’s braces momentarily foiled her efforts so she slid her hand inside his zip and was not disappointed. Within the limited space among the gold-plated accessories and between passionate bouts of grappling, they managed to remove each other’s clothes and there, in the downstairs cloakroom of Hake Hall, made love against the door, Jolyon’s buttocks slapping against the carved wood and Helena Ruby standing on tip toe.</p> <p>Isobel, as might be imagined, was in a terrible state of nervous agitation and her voice rose almost to squeaking pitch as she tried to make sense of what was going on. She would never be able to hold another party after this. Having returned indoors, not knowing what to say to her guests, she glanced up the stairs and saw India descending and demanded to know where she’d been, and did she know what was going on outside?<br> “Oh dear, no, sorry Mum, I’ve been laying down in my room, I got a terrible headache” (she clasped her palm to her forehead better to illustrate her malaise) , “I don’t think my piercing is healing as fast as it should... So what’s happening?”<br> “Oh it’s just awful...” Isobel’s voice began to falter as tears sprang to her eyes. “Some mindless thugs have vandalised the cars outside, it’s .... I ... oh this is dreadful ...” and Isobel sat on the bottom stair and started to cry. India sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulders.<br> “Oh mum, that’s awful, don’t cry, but why..... I mean, who...?” Isobel looked up at India with smudged black, bloodshot eyes. She dabbed her nose with a napkin she was still holding.<br> “Your father says it’s an anti-hunt lot . Oh but why would they pick on us? What have we ever done?” India began to feel decidedly uncomfortable, but was soon distracted as Roger Whittingly-Beargarden came blundering in through the front door, hairpiece slightly askew, very red in the face, demanding that somebody call the bloody police immediately. Isobel started to cry again. Nigel followed behind and suggested they go to his study, where he would call the police as requested. He suggested to Isobel that she go upstairs and ‘freshen up’. India felt she should go with her, hoping to get the opportunity to check her room, and left the men to it. She should have guessed that the police would become involved and just prayed that the girls had already put the incriminating sack in the bins. </p> <p>Meanwhile breathless and blissful, Helena Ruby and Jolyon clung together, Helena Ruby listening to Jolyon’s now steady heartbeat with her head resting against his chest. Jolyon whispered, “I think we need to formulate some sort of exit strategy my dear, don’t you?” Helena wanted to stay there like that forever but could see it was not a practical proposition.<br> “Clothes first my dear?” Helena Ruby had not really been aware of her nakedness until Jolyon prised her away from him and she suddenly became terribly self conscious, and was aware of a distressing amount of wobbling as she scrabbled around on the floor seeking out her bra and knickers. Her mood plummeted from euphoria to self-loathing and Jolyon, sensing her distress, placed a warm, reassuring hand gently on her back as she leant down to pick up her blouse and whispered, “You are a lovely woman you know, you have nothing to be ashamed of my dear.” Tears sprang up in Helena Ruby’s eyes. She felt so foolish. When she stood up, Jolyon kissed her gently and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.<br> “Enough of that my dear, couldn’t help me with my braces could you?” They smiled at each other, Helena Ruby not daring to trust her emotions, just as a bit of a commotion erupted in the hall upon the arrival of the police.<br> “Oh dear, this is going to take some careful manoeuvring,” observed Jolyon. Helena Ruby smoothed her hair as best she could in front of the mirror, splashed her face with cold water while Jolyon stood behind her with his arms around her waist, then patted it dry with a towel. She would go out first and Jolyon would exit five minutes or so later. One last kiss, and Helena Ruby Tremble took a very deep breath and effected her egress from the cloakroom, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but not really trusting her legs to convey her in a straight line. However they did, so she made straight for the kitchen as she couldn’t think where else to go, in fact she couldn’t string together one coherent thought. Helena Ruby was not aware of it, but her eyes were sparkling. All she wanted was to go back to Jolyon but knew for the present that she could not, and it was agony for her to know that he was so near.</p> <p><em>Who would have thought it, Helena Ruby Tremble? Tables seem to be turning at last</em>.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/mayhem_erupts_all_around~3192362/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>writingfictionhumourhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/mayhem_erupts_all_around~3192362/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/ron_s_spectacular_finale~3192349/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/ron_s_spectacular_finale~3192349/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:22:20 +0200 <p><em>Oh dear Isobel, the party seems to be over</em>...</p> <p>Two young policeman pulled up in the drive and were barely out of the car before Roger Whittingly-Beargarden confronted them.<br> “I was expecting someone a bit more experienced than this, what’s happened to Inspector Struthers?” he barked.<br> “Inspector Struthers was retired on health grounds, sir.”<br> “He was bloody alright at our last lodge meeting.”<br> “That’s as may be sir, however he is no longer in uniform. Now did anybody see or hear anything?....” With that, the police constable took out his notepad while surveying the scene before him. He was not at liberty to divulge the reason for Inspector Struthers’ demise, however it would be true to say that he had rather forfeited his pension rights and was facing enforced retirement in penury after a spell behind bars.<br> The realisation dawned upon Nigel that this was the self-same constable with whom he had had the encounter in his Jensen.<br> “Hello again sir, this is a bit of a mess isn’t it?” Nigel overcame the desire to congratulate him on his observance of the bloody obvious as he had not actually got round to taxing his car yet. In the background guests could be heard on their mobile ‘phones furiously trying to arrange for taxis, or pleading with unwilling offspring, some because their method of transport had been well and truly disabled, and some being over the limit and recognising the folly of attempting to drive in the presence of police officers. They all faced a long wait.</p> <p>Inside Hake Hall Cook sauntered into the kitchen from the large sitting room where, in the sudden absence of guests, he had taken the opportunity to sit down in comfort and sip a crisp, refreshing chilled Entre Deux Mers. He just had a feeling that the girls knew something about what was going on; they had been missing for a very long time, and he had caught sight of them coming downstairs in a hurry earlier, but it was not for him to become embroiled and he had very little sympathy for the wronged parties anyway. The kitchen was at least clear now, so they had done their job as far as he was concerned. Perpetua and Lucy had gone to bring through more dishes from the dining room but were currently steadying their nerves with a stiff vodka and tonic in the morning room.<br> “Oh, shit,” exclaimed Lucy “we’ve left the bloody bag upstairs and now the police are here. What if they search the place?”<br> “Aaah, yes, oh blimey, we’ll have to get it out down the back somehow,” replied Perpetua, putting her damp glass down on a hideous marquetry-topped table depicting a hunting scene. The stag at bay would henceforth have a white halo. “They’d only search the place if someone had been murdered or something wouldn’t they?”<br> “Don’t know, but you know what it’s like around here...”<br> Lucy trailed off as Helena Ruby came in and said, “Come on girls, what are you two up to? There’s still a lot to clear from the dining room and could one of you go round collecting glasses, oh, and don’t forget the conservatory.”<br> “Sorry, er, yes, we were just taking a break...” said Lucy as evenly as she could, hoping that none of their recent conversation had been overheard. Helena Ruby would not have cared, she was borne along in a euphoric bubble through which everything was rendered wonderful. She did not care about the dessert trodden into the rug, nor the red wine stains on the drapes. It appeared somebody had mistaken the magazine rack for a bin and that would need a thorough cleaning out, but she didn’t care. She did feel a momentary twinge of sympathy for the bear which, in addition to its missing teeth and ear, had had a cocktail stick complete with olive pushed into its posterior, but she just laughed and went back to the kitchen with several plates full of remains. It was necessary for her to occupy herself and focus.<br> “Not a very auspicious end to the evening wouldn’t you say Mrs T?” said Cook, grinning broadly as he registered her sparkling eyes and clearly altered demeanour, despite her best efforts to appear ‘normal’. Cook was an astute observer of human behaviour and, bearing in mind she did have a daisy in her hair earlier, had a pretty shrewd idea of how Helena Ruby Tremble’s evening may have developed. Who would have thought it?<br> “Er no, bit of a mess. Where was Ron ‘though? Stupid man was meant to be looking after the parking. Mr & Mrs L-K will be furious.” The very mention of Ron made her heart sink, with good reason.</p> <p>Even in his inebriate state, Ron had repaired hastily to the scene upon hearing the car alarm, for it had been his responsibility to oversee guests’ cars, but after being harangued at length for his inattention by Isobel and Nigel, he stalked off to the garages in black humour and plotted his revenge. After a while, fired up with more alcohol, towering indignation and Turtle’s encouragement, wearing the SS officer’s cap, Ron got into Isobel’s BMW, for he had the keys, and after some wrenching and swearing, having managed to engage the automatic gearbox in forward mode, uncertainly drove the thing at alarming speed, lurching past the squawking throng, spraying gravel on the police officers taking notes, was unable to operate the brake and glanced off the rear of the patrol car pulled up on the drive, then careered round the side of the house across the velvet lawn, over the terrace and thence into the swimming pool. It began to dawn upon Ron just what a reckless manoeuvre this had been as he watched the artificially blue pool water rise across the car windows. He really wasn’t feeling very well.</p> <p><em>With good reason, Mr Tremble, with good reason. </em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/ron_s_spectacular_finale~3192349/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourwritingfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/ron_s_spectacular_finale~3192349/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_makes_her_move~3192332/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_makes_her_move~3192332/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:19:44 +0200 <p><em>What a night! While Isobel and Nigel pick up the pieces the following morning, we pay a brief visit to Hake Lodge</em></p> <p>Helena Ruby Tremble hastily pressed the contents of her wardrobe into two careworn carry-alls, one with a faulty zip, then went into the bathroom to remove her few toiletries. She had written, after four attempts, an explanatory note to Ron regarding her departure:</p> <p><em>‘I think you’ll agree that our life together is not happy. I don’t know what you expect out of it, but I would like some happiness before I’m too old to care and I miss the girls so much, I can’t describe it. I don’t know what makes you happy, we don’t communicate, I don’t know what you really feel but I have come to the stage where I need to make something of the life I have left.<br> I am so sorry for messing things up for you, but like I said, I have some life left and I want to live it. Maybe this is what you want, I really don’t know.</p> <p>H’</em></p> <p>Ron would find this on the kitchen table upon his return from hospital, having been questioned by the local constabulary before his release. The timing was appalling, but Helena Ruby had made up her mind.</p> <p>Isobel and Nigel sat disconsolately at the kitchen table of Hake Hall breathing into their steaming coffee, not sure whether they felt worse because of the previous night’s over-indulgence or the effrontery of some narrow-minded anti-hunt campaigners who had successfully landed them in a fairly unpleasant situation. Roger Whittingly-Beargarden had left the previous evening’s proceedings in bellicose mood threatening legal action and worse besides. Isobel was hurt beyond words by the fickleness of some of their guests and their readiness to take sides, but then she always had been naive, and Nigel was furious with Turtle for having left them in such a manner and was also mildly unsettled by his hitherto undisclosed German connections. It was probably possible to reinstate the BMW, but that was the least of their concerns currently, although it could prove a major additional headache for Ron as Nigel was all ready in no uncertain terms to ask him to leave.<br> “He can’t be trusted, and I’ve never particularly liked the man,” seethed Nigel. “I hold him personally responsible for this bloody mess. If he’d been doing his job instead of getting pissed....”<br> “But Mrs T is invaluable darling, we can’t let her go.”<br> “Gross dereliction of duty, that man is a bloody menace - can’t think what the woman sees in him.”</p> <p>The front door bell clanged sonorously before they had the opportunity to pursue the conversation further and Isobel rose from her chair carefully and walked gingerly to the hall. She didn’t even check her appearance in the mirror on this occasion. Several recovery trucks were pulled up on the drive and there was no mistaking a distinct smirk on the face of the overalled man standing at the door.<br> “Hallo love, we’ve been asked to come and remove the, er, damage. Blimey, this is going to cost someone’s insurance. Party get out of hand did it?” The smirk had now developed into a full-blown grin as he took off his baseball cap and scratched his shaven head with oily fingers.<br> “It was particularly nasty, criminal vandalism,” snapped Isobel.<br> “Whatever, we’ll take this lot off your drive.” With that, he turned and went down the steps and yelled to his colleagues, “OK guys, let’s shift this lot of shit!” Isobel watched in dismay as several of the trucks manoeuvred on the lawn and snapped her shrubs, then saw a police car pull up and was particularly wounded to see ill-disguised amusement on the part of the constable during his brief exchange with one of the truck drivers. The constable who had been in attendance only the night before assumed a rather more sober visage as he came once more up the steps and Isobel viewed him through narrowed eyes.<br> “Found the culprits yet?” she said with no small amount of sarcasm.<br> “Er, no madam, I actually wanted to talk to you about Ronald Francis Tremble whom I believe is in your employ.”<br> “Not for much longer if Nigel has his way,” said Isobel glumly. “I suppose you’d better come through, my husband’s in the kitchen.”<br> “Oh, it’s you again,” said Nigel as he looked up to see Constable Berwick being shown into the kitchen by Isobel.<br> “Yes sir, it’s just the way our shifts work, nothing personal.”<br> “Oh good, I was beginning to wonder whether you’d been personally assigned.”<br> Constable Berwick chose to ignore the tone of Nigel’s remark and asked him whether he intended to pursue any charges against Ronald Francis for the criminal damage occasioned by his drive to the swimming pool.<br> “There’s probably no point, he’ll only get five minutes’ community service, the man’s an idiot and I doubt he’s got the money to pay any fine. He’s not going to have a job for much longer unless of course I haven’t issued him with sufficient written warnings or offered him counselling,” retorted Nigel bitterly.<br> “Won’t be pressing charges,” Constable Berwick mouthed as he duly entered it in his notebook. Looking up, he continued “- and do you have any reason to believe that Mr Tremble may in any way have been connected with the criminal activity which took place last night?”<br> “What, other than driving my wife’s bloody car into my swimming pool?”<br> “Darling, please,” interjected Isobel. “The constable is only doing his job.”<br> “Er, as I said, the man’s an idiot, I think he must have a drink problem and he’s very soon going to have an unemployment problem too. No, in answer to your question, I don’t think he has the wit to organise anything like that and I have in the past loaned him out to the Leek-over-Partridge hunt and he never objected. Still, that game’s all over now too isn’t it?” Constable Berwick declined to opine, for his colleagues were currently investigating Mr Whittingly-Beargarden and his own particular style of countryside pursuits.</p> <p>India waited upstairs until she saw the police car leave then came down and<br> sauntered in to the kitchen and on seeing her parents said, “Hi Mum and Dad, how are you feeling this morning? Pretty awful I suppose. What a night!”<br> “Bloody awful, sweet of you to ask,” sighed Nigel.<br> “I, ah, was thinking of going back to uni later today if you don’t mind. It’s just that one of my mates can pick me up,” said India as she attempted to extract a cup of coffee from the state-of-the-art multi-function stainless steel coffee maker. “Er how do you just get an ordinary coffee out of this - don’t s’pose you’ve got any fair trade stuff have you Mum?”<br> “No darling, here let me help you, and can’t you stay a bit longer, we’ve hardly seen you?”<br> “Look Mum, I’d only get in your way and all my friends are at uni. Hey, all this will blow over. Blimey, Grandma Olberspitz survived far worse than this, come on, you know you can manage.”<br> “Yes, but she had ..... oh never mind,” finished Isobel, knowing that she was not going to persuade her only daughter to stay any longer. Nigel, who had wandered outside to do some thinking and only to discover the swimming pool virtually empty, came storming in through the back door.<br> “OK, that bloody man has done it, he’s not getting any more employment within a twenty mile radius of this place, within this bloody county,” he fumed.<br> “Oh darling, what’s wrong now?” asked Isobel, not really wanting to know.<br> “His underwater stunt in your car is what’s bloody wrong now.”<br> “Don’t yell darling, calm down.”<br> “I feel like bloody yelling and I can’t calm down. He’s wrecked the sodding swimming pool. Maybe I will press charges, or maybe I’ll just commit murder instead - far more satisfying. And what the bloody hell are all those bloody tyre marks on the front lawn? Looks like the bloody Somme.” Isobel started to cry. She hated it when Nigel became angry and felt in no state to cope with anything much this morning. Nigel stalked off to his study, slamming the kitchen door behind him.<br> “Oh don’t cry Mum, you know what he’s like when he gets wound up. Here, let me get you some more coffee, or wouldn’t you like tea instead?”</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_makes_her_move~3192332/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourwritingfictionhttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_makes_her_move~3192332/#commentshttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_moves_to_the_bullrushes~3192320/tag:hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk,2007-10-25:/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_moves_to_the_bullrushes~3192320/Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:17:27 +0200 <p><em>For once I think Isobel would prefer to have been in Helena Ruby Tremble's shoes, so back to the Lodge.</em>..</p> <p>Having put her luggage, the dog, the dog’s bed and one or two favourite bits of ornamentation in the car, Helena Ruby Tremble had been most anxious to effect a swift exit that morning prior to Ron’s return. She had wondered whether she should have accompanied him to hospital, but he had been so inebriate, he probably wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have appreciated it anyway, and she couldn’t put off her escape any longer. She knew she would have to encounter him some time, but that was a bridge to be crossed at another time.</p> <p>Just as she had shut the back door of the Lodge and dropped the keys in her pocket as she always did, Helena Ruby Tremble froze as she heard the sound of a car pulling up to the front of the house and her heart started pounding. Why did life contrive to arrange things so? If only she had left her mother’s vase and that cookery book, she would be away by now. She edged her way towards the front, commando-style keeping close against the wall, and was greeted with the sight of Ronald Francis Tremble being returned to the Lodge in a police car. To compound matters, Denholm started barking from within the safe confines of Helena Ruby’s car, and for the first time in her life, Helena Ruby would happily have strangled him.<br> “Oh bloody hell, no,” cursed Helena Ruby under her breath.<br> “We will be talking to Mr and Mrs Lamington-Krill,” she overheard the policewoman say to Ron, “and you may be hearing further if they wish to press charges. Good morning Mr Tremble.”<br> “Yeah,” was his only response, then he turned to Helena Ruby’s car and yelled viciously, “Shut up you stupid little bugger.” Helena was transfixed with panic, relieved slightly when Ron let himself in through the front door, this time shouting, “Anybody bloody home? I’ve had a dreadful night. Where are you?” The police car seemed to take forever to manoeuvre out of the drive, the policewoman glancing at the still excited occupant of Helena Ruby’s car as she finally exited.<br> “Oh just go, please,” she whispered, desperate to get to her car and away. Ron would find the note any second now and she couldn’t be there. As soon as the police car was out of sight, Helena Ruby made a run for her car, but jabbed her knee painfully on a bracket protruding from the corner of the wall. She gasped then hobbled at speed, blood running down her leg. The pain was beginning to balloon and she felt slightly sick as with sweating and trembling hand she opened the door and with an involuntary cry of pain, got in to the driver’s seat.<br> “Denholm shut UP,” she said through gritted teeth as she started the ignition. It was difficult to concentrate on driving, but adrenaline was coursing through her veins by now and gripping the steering wheel fiercely, she took off at speed, heading for the promise of a new beginning at The Bullrushes. Had she been inclined to look in her rear view mirror, she would have caught sight of Ron standing open-mouthed in the front door with her note in his hand.<br> The momentous nature of her exit began to dawn on Helena Ruby Tremble and tears started to prick her eyes. She had to pull in to a bus-stop as her vision began to blur, then broke down in great sobs, rocking in her seat and clutching her now excruciatingly painful knee while Denholm attempted to lick his mistress better.<br> “Oh Denholm, what am I doing?” she wailed as her tears plopped on his head. She pulled a tissue from her pocket, took a very deep breath, blew her nose, and looked in dismay at her blotchy visage in the mirror.<br> “Helena Ruby stop being so stupid,” she said sternly to her reflection, “just look at the state of you.” She dabbed her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair, sat Denzil firmly back on the passenger seat and bent down to look at her knee. At least it had stopped bleeding, but it was still throbbing with pain and looked quite swollen.<br> “I hope Cook has some frozen peas,” she said to Denholm, whose tail was wagging furiously.</p> <p>Helena Ruby arrived at number fourteen, The Bullrushes and was rather hesitant about getting out of the car; she felt awkward.<br> “You must promise to behave,” she said to the dog who was now agitating to get out of the car, sensing they had reached their destination. She pushed open the door and got gingerly out of her seat, taking the weight on her undamaged leg and then straightening her back. She was moving like a geriatric patient.<br> “What have you been doing?” came Cook’s familiar voice from behind her.<br> “Oh, er, hello, oh this is so silly of me, but I’ve bashed my knee and I think I need to clean it up. It was during my getaway, you might say,” she added, smiling for the first time as she turned to face Cook.<br> “Well let’s get you in and have a look at it. Welcome to my modest home!” Denholm was not entirely sure about getting out of the car now, but Helena Ruby picked him up and said, “Can I introduce you to Denholm, I’ve told him he’s got to behave. I’m sorry, this is awful of me, but I’ve only ever known you as Cook, and please, call me Helena.” Cook’s laugh boomed out as he clasped Helena Ruby’s hand and said, “You can call me Denzil , for that is my name!” At the sound of laughter, the dog was now relaxing somewhat, and was very glad to be away from the sight, scent and feel of Ron’s antipathy, for his recent statement in the bedroom had not gone unacknowledged. He started wagging his tail vigorously.</p> <p><em>- Interesting times ahead, for dogs and all -</em></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_moves_to_the_bullrushes~3192320/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>humourfictionwritinghttp://hake-on-spinach.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/helena_ruby_moves_to_the_bullrushes~3192320/#comments