Now, Mrs Jackanapes discussion on the joys of stable life (let me be your stable boy, dear), reminded me of an incident at a upper class hotel in a quiet seaside town in Devon, which was frequented by myself recently.
It was at breakfast when civility reigned, and I was helping myself to scrambled eggs and bacon, when an apparition appeared upon the breakfast scene which I'm never likely to forget. the lady in question would appear to have been of Austrian descent, her demeanour being very austere and commanding. Upon first glance she appeared young, but looking closer, she had skin more akin to clingfilm forced over the features of her skull; the skin having been forced so tightly behind her ears by her accommodating cosmetic surgeon. But that was not the most alarming aspect of this lady.....
She was dressed in green hunter wellies, tight jodphurs and a gold lamé jacket. Now my dears, I have been known to wear gold lamé jackets, and jodphurs, but NEVER together and certainly not at the breakfast table.
Think of the children!
What I wanted to know was; had she ever undressed from the night before? had she dressed for breakfast like this? or had this been her night time attire? And for heavens sake what was the point in all that attire without a riding crop!
I had visions of her riding her unfortunate steed at full tilt down the final straight, gripping him mercilessly with her unforgiving thighs, and cracking him across his rump to force him on to the finishing line, whereupon he would crumple underneath her, a spent force, never to rise again.....poor bugger!
I have to say it is an fine art of high civility to eat scrambled eggs calmy and demurely whilst such rampant thoughts invade your mind....Oscar Wilde would have been proud of me.
The Ice Cream Girl
Every day is sundae...
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1 comment:
I'm concerned about you Blue.
How have your dreams been lately dear?
Being haunted by stretched, big thighed Austrians in the southwest?
Being plagued by visions of four-eyed fruitcakes with the Oxford English dictionary stuffed down their frocks or insomniacs wielding cans of pilchards with the complete works of Sylvia Plath tucked in their waistbands?
Talking of eccentrics
I think the well-hoisted Austrian lady may have been a wind-up merchant because no lady worth her salt would go to Devon before July. And no lady with an ounce of self-respect would team green and gold together before noon.
Having said that I'm guilty of wearing a hacking jacket with emerald green skirt and tan cowboy boots, but never on holiday and never in the company of a middle-aged egg eating gentlemen.
As for the horse riding, done that, got the bumps to prove it.
Drenched in sweat and tweeds I smacked the pony's arse whilst yelling orders in his ears and we belted orf through some sort of countryside. He was never the same gee gee again.
My riding instructor said I was a "natural in the saddle" He made my day.
Talking of all things leather and natural, you may be my stable boy dear.
Tally Ho!
Mrs Jackanapes
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