Today I was invited to an A-list birthday brunch.Yes, I know darlings, it’s not comparable to being invited to tea with someone like Camilla. Or even maybe the gloriously divine Duchess of Kent or whatever Sophie calls herself when she’s not a home, knitting socks for that hunky piece of meat she calls her man.
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But still, it’s polite society here and after rather a dry patch; it was an invitation none the less.
Let’s progress.I dressed to the nines. I forgot to organize a hair appointment, but hell I tried my best to put it all together in some kind of style.I opened the safe and inspected the heirlooms, but decided on cheap chic instead. God, what a shock to the society gals.
These teas are for the ladies alone. It’s meant to be a time of consolidation, comparisons and bonding.
I remembered the gift at least.Gifts are important, nothing cheap nor embarrassing.I bought a gift voucher. I know, how imaginative, how fabulous!! How amazingly thoughtful! Thank God I remembered to put Judy on the party list.
I arrived on time. Time is my weakness, I despise late, late is not chic, it’s a pain in the arse.I handed over my gift and kissed and kissed and kissed. Hallo darling, how are you? Marvelous. Hallo darling, how are you? Marvelous.The margaritas arrived. Now remember no breakfast and its well before 12.
I drank mine and became immediately totally pissed, as I am now. I can hardly type and if it wasn’t for my trusty spell check you would be seeing words like bort for bought and now for know.Ha ha life is certainly a lot more fun in this state of mind.
Standing there next to the exquisitely beautiful Betty I immediately felt a certain je ne ffice:smarttags" />sais quoix and I laughingly touched her derriere. Well, the expression of pure shock on her face was certainly a look to behold.My dear friend Ansu and I had the most deliciously naughty, silent laugh over our margaritas that I have had in a long, long time. It was sublime.
The best was that Betty, on her second drink, became rather animated and returned the favour. Ansu and I could hardly contain ourselves. All before noon. Life in the sticks, well it has its small compensations.
The lunch proceeded and became the usual droll affair.I had the misfortune to sit opposite Maria, who, on becoming rather smashed, spoke endlessly in a high, girlish voice about nothing in particular to no-one in particular, until she trapped me and described in explicit detail the ordeal of her liposuction. Right from the beginning no less, when she first met Hans and their long and fairly erratic conversation regarding her physical attributes.Luckily Alex wasn’t there to hear this amazingly graphic conversation her husband had. She would definitely have needed more than a drink to hold her tongue and silently recover.
I rolled home very late and the good doctor taking one rather disdainful look diagnosed
-You’re drunk.
Mmm, as well as being famous for his hands, he’s a fabulous diagnostician.
(16.4.05 17:37)
I hope it's not a song I regret tomorrow ... :-)
(17.4.05 03:14)
Oh darling, that sounds like you had the ratherest time. MmmWAH mmWAH. Nothing like a petitement soiree to make one feel couth and vital again, and banish those terrible dare-I-say plebeian feelings of being one of the humdrum great unwashed. Live one's life as one is naturally inclined, yes, mmm. Alas for my fallen status in society. Bathing in champagne became impractical when I became a student, and my high-society credibility hasn't recovered since. Camilla didn't even recognise me last week at the wedding, even though I was in the front row.
(17.4.05 06:23)
Daaarling. How miserable for you, how sad. You’ve totally ruined my headache, not to mention my Sunday. Darling, try to remember your decorum: Never complain, never explain. Don’t take it personally sweet darling man, but may I give you just the teeniest bit of advice. It’s all in the approach. Those who dare, win. I say, rather! *a very toothy, horsey grin*
(17.4.05 08:13)
'A List'? I'm lucky to get on 'A Shopping List'. Still, mustn't grumble as I couldn't even do Cheap Chic, due to the gilt falling from my gingerbread, seedy pearls and mock croc sling-backs. You survived to tell the tale, which is a plus, surely!
(17.4.05 08:58)
Hey, you're my type of girl, aaronette. Lend me those croc sling-backs and I'll borrow you (as we say here) my faux fur leopard skin mini. Let's hit the town together when I've suitably recovered, I bet we could have fun. I wanna change my image and be a chav! Any ideas? Oh and by the way. I promise not to put my hand up your skirt.
(17.4.05 10:57)
Thank goodness for that! Whalebone can give a nasty nip, and who knows just how far down the corset goes . . . I'm more into the faux pas mini myself, but anything goes in the gloom.
(17.4.05 12:39)
Darling. I think not! I don’t believe either of us are the type to hide our bushels under the gloom. No, this is how it shall be. We will both be all hair extensions, short skirts, push-up bras and plunging necklines. Our heels are Manolo Blahnik and 6 inches, no less. My usual hangout, The Ritz on Piccadilly will be our final destination. We will snort coke in the loo and quaff champers at the bar. And who will pay for all this? Why, we shall find a man of Middle Eastern extraction, whom we will cooingly call Daddy.
(17.4.05 12:51)
Being a chap, never have to suffer the vicious trammels of whalebone. My cravat can get pretty fiercely damned tight, though.I prefer to snort champers and quaff coke, to be honest. Prefer diet coke, though, less abominable on the old nostrils. OH. Coke. I see. No no, one saves that for brushing one's teeth in the morning. Or descaling the kettle. Or dabbing off biro. Little known fact: crack cocaine gets out 93% of all household stains from cotton or acrylic.
(17.4.05 13:11)
Mike, you sound like you know your detergents. When I'm hiring help I'll keep you in mind. ;-) Forgt the cravat though, my help wears the uniforms provided. What are your dimensions again? I'm fairly selective.
(17.4.05 14:51)
This is getting better by the minute! I love a man in uniform, and I hope that Mike's dimensions will be suitably adorned without him having to resort to whalebone!
(17.4.05 15:23)
The minute I met you I knew you were a women after my own heart. I too hope this boy is acceptable. I’m going to put him straight out on pool duty should he return. What a pity winter is arriving, never mind, I’ll throw in a sarong to go with that thong.
(17.4.05 15:38)
'With a Thong in my Heart' is hopefully playing, and with your kind gesture, he won't go far sarong!
(17.4.05 15:44)
Mmm - think perhaps I'll keep out of this one except to say that all this talk of whalebone reminds me of a certain book I'm reading.
(17.4.05 15:46)
Hope it's not 'Moby Dick' as I have yet to see a whale as a private Detective, wearing a corset, and singing a thong.
(17.4.05 15:49)
You are quick as a flash and witty too!
Now where is that imigrant boy in the thong. The hired help these days is bloody PITIFUL!!!I hope he remembers just who is holding the whale bone around here.
(17.4.05 16:16)
I just knew I should have kept out of this one. Silly me !
(17.4.05 16:23)
Flightbuff, you are always welcome. Now tell me again, what are your dimensions? The last pool boy absconded with the thong AND the sarong!!
(17.4.05 16:40)
Madam is now off to Simon’s den of iniquity for her usual Sunday night debauchery, which consists of snorting hay, rolling in the coke and throwing dice, not to mention cards and gambling. It has been a lot of fun, thanks! Flightbuff is my new blog boy. Please whip him around should he get above himself, the cane is there in the corner. Or rather report him to me, I’ll sort him.
(17.4.05 17:08)
I'll do my best, but I can't run too fast in the 6inch heels and the faux pas, faux fur mini. Enjoy the debauchery, and good luck with the gambling.
(17.4.05 19:24)
Damn! It looks like I missed the orgy...
(17.4.05 22:19)
Oh good lord. Where has everyone gone? And what is all that enthusiastic moaning and gasping coming from upstairs? Oh. *monocle falls out* Gosh. I'll leave a note, since they all seem, ah, indisposed, as it were. "My dimensions are epic. Not withstanding my enormous manliness in the requisite areas, I am huge. Brought up in India on a diet of raw ghee and suet puddings, at the age of ten I shifted to black pudding and port. Yet thanks to an active and vigorous lifestyle, I have kept myself in excellent health, and in uniform I look superb, if a little like an army tent with medals and braid pinned on the side. I am proud to say I last saw my feet in 1978. Yours lustfully, Michael (Major, retd.)." *tiptoes out, wincing at particular enthusiastic shrieking upstairs*
I left Flightbuff in attendance with Aaronette mincing around in 6 inch heels and a leopard skin mini, brandishing the cane and fluttering those eyelashes in Flightbuff’s direction
(Flightbuff it may well have been unwise to venture into the lioness’ den armed with nothing more than a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick. I hope you’ll understand, but the show must go on.)
What happened between the two is obviously something you know more about than us, but since there have been no complains from either of them, let the matter rest.
Now to You: Forget that novelette I suggested and start writing ‘How to increase one’s manhood in 20 days’. Watch it hit the best seller list, appear on Oprah, make a huge fortune and hone that British accent. In my opinion it won’t only be Camilla who suddenly notices how fabulous your dimensions are, but Aaronette and I will certainly be inviting you out to play. Now tell us please, what's your opinion on cheap women?
(18.4.05 13:51)
I have been reading your blog, your first entries. I like learning about other ways of life. You has taught me a lot. Thanks. Well, your blog is instructive and also funny.lol You and aaronette are two cute girls!!! Unluckily I don't know slangs, so it's difficult to joke too. But I have enjoyed your comments. Hugs, baby!!!
(18.4.05 14:03)
You like Camilla very much, don't you? I think you really love her.lol In Brazil, we have heard many jokes about the royal wedding. Well, Brazilians said that finally Prince Charles gained his CROWN. Only Brazilians are able to laugh at this joke.lolololol In Portuguese slang "Coroa" (crown) means a old woman. So Camilla is Prince Charles' crown. Hugs.
(18.4.05 14:40)
Lady_Drid thank you for your kind comments. Aaronette is certainly a cute girl, I'm just the coroa that tags along. I enjoy your blog too and maybe one day you can teach me the rhythm of the Samba. Yeah, take me to that carnaval. I think I may hit those Rio streets in my sequined bikini and shake it all to pieces in delirius abandonment. Hugs and kisses baby let's samba together!!!
(18.4.05 15:32)
Those wretched 6inch heels have done for me. Crippled I am, and the eyelashes got tangled up with Flighty's Moby Dick. Not a pretty sight. I think I should be wearing the Coroa as a coroa after all this excitement! I'll try to sew sequins on my three piece bathing suit (the middle bit is for the stomach) in time for the Samba-ing in Rio. I just hope that the fruit on the hat doesn't fall off, as being stunned by a pineapple is going to hurt a lot.
(18.4.05 18:01)
Aaronette, you are a brave woman. The minute Flighty walked in with the book I wondered who would resort to the title first. Well done, girl, the Coroa’s yours. I have some sad news though. The leopard skin mini has gone. While you were in flagrante delicto with a certain well-read gentleman, one of those awful army types who are always boasting about their manliness walked off IN the skirt. Thank God Flighty was wearing the 6 inch heels or he would have taken those too.
Yeah, the fruit worries me too, my heads so full of sequins, bums and bandits, I haven’t thought. Maybe Lady_Drid can help?
(18.4.05 19:02)
...and I thought it was all a dream. What have I done to deserve all this attention?
(18.4.05 19:27)
So that what's the army type was doing. The chap was rather, um, well-built, and kept on trying to distract Flighty and myself, and I couldn't think why. Flighty would keep saying, 'Amazing feat!'. I realise now he was admiring HIS feet in the 6inch heels! I had to slip out of the mini briefly as the fur was giving Flighty a nasty rash, and when I looked around, it had gone. It must have clashed with his militarily mottled legs. I have to admit things went downhill very quickly. Sigh. Still, it did beat doing the washing-up!
(18.4.05 20:06)
Aaronette darling. Forget that middle piece cozi thing, you are in fabulous form. Flighty what you have done is taken the good advice that I gave pool boy. ‘Those who dare, win.’ To be honest it’s Dellboy’s family motto, plagiarized straight off the family crest which hangs in the lounge right up there in Mandela Heights. In fact, it was him who sold me the Manolo Blahniks for 10 quid, reduced from 20 ‘cos the heels aren’t the same length, no wonder you were having trouble walking luv. As for the military type, well that’s pool boy’s ‘uncle’. When pool boy was told the work was in the colonies, he scuttled off in a xenophobic sweat. I do believe military man was trying to convince you both that three is an extremely auspicious number, but it seems as if you two weren’t biting, well not him anyhow. And no, mighty Flighty, this is no dream, this is real life. Should you come across a monocle in your undies, please return to owner.
(18.4.05 20:34)
Well I suppose that someone had to be the straight guy (or should that be 'the fall guy') in this surreal escapade.
(18.4.05 20:39)
Yes Flighty and you played it like a real trooper. Ever thought of the stage?
(18.4.05 21:21)
Now look heah, you gels... All this rumpy-pumpy is totally inappropriate, don't you know! I mean to say, old thing, Flighty in six inch heels? What? Bah, stuff and nonsense! What would Nanny say? Harumph. Now pull yourselves together, chaps. Remember you are British ... er ... aren't you? Squadron Leader Ronald Blithery-Crump DSO, MC and Bar.
(18.4.05 21:58)
Dare I say it - a real pleasure quagga. Being the shy retiring person that I am the answer is - no never.
(18.4.05 22:03)
I'd have thought that the first stage out of that episode would be favourite!
(18.4.05 23:56)
Blithery-Crump, old boy? You still have my shooting-stick, you bounder. And my Cribbage winnings! By the way, has any seen my monocle? I, er, lost it yesterday. Hurrumph. *cough* BAAAAAGH! Arumph. quagga, my scrumptuousness - what do I think of cheap women? Economical. No, I like my women energetic, broad-minded and in uniform, any uniform, even MacDonalds uniform will do. Starched collars particularly make my swonnicles revolve at high speed. And what do you think of filthily cheap men?
(19.4.05 17:57)
What would Nanny say, Tristan? Who do you think taught the boy!
(19.4.05 23:21)
(Incidentally, a 'swonnicle' is a kind of joke bow-tie. The kind that spins around.)
(20.4.05 12:25)
Mikeachim, old fruit: I adore filthily and find cheap rather attractive too. Good manners are something better left to the masses.
(23.4.05 02:54)
Hi quagga! I guess I'm unable to teach you to dance samba.lol My oldest daughter is the only girl who knows to do it. I think she will be happy to teach you, although her jealousy husband may be a bit grim. You should sambar in Bahia, not in Rio de Janeiro. Bahia is a safer place for tourists. Hugs.
(23.4.05 03:08)
aaronette, hi baby! Are you an old- fashioned girl? Hats adorned with fruits(pineapples) are out of fashion nowadays.lol That kind of fancy dresses is the favourite of all "Miss Brazil" You should "sambar" wearing your lovely biquini. I think you would be more attractive so that you would be the sexiest girl here. Hugs. PS Quagga and aaronette, I've just dedicated my new entry to you. Please4, see my blog. lol
(28.12.05 19:06)
Tor I think that your comment is crass and pointless. If you comment again please try not to be offensive.
(9.1.06 07:12)
Flighty don't worry about Mr Johnson, the poor little boy is only trying his best to be humorous. Tor, we would love to play with you but sadly you're just a little late. Next time.
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