Crusty was watching BBC Breakfast news this morning, waiting for the George Clooney of news, Colin his-twinkle-makes-y’tingle Briggs to update one on the regional stories
As I sat drinking a rather fragrant cup of tea in my magnificent four-poster bed, the studio presenters linked to the Blue Peter garden and to the delicious Carol Kirkwood for the weather forecast.
One doesn’t normally listen intently to the national forecast as it doesn’t have the same resonance to that of the summary from our own marvellous North East weather team and, in particular, from Tingle Briggs himself (When he fires a Nor’westerly across the bows one simply becomes a pleasurable pool of molten flesh on a layer of Egyptian cotton).
Anyhoo … as I sat looking out of the bedroom window pondering the day ahead, my ears pricked up and my attention was drawn back to my 28 incher.
“…so don’t forget the slip, slap, slop …” Carol advised.
How eerie it felt that someone so far away, in the land of television - surrounded by the noble majesty of the newly refurbished sunken garden - could know so much about the goings on at Crusty Hall; indeed, one did slip in the bathroom most mornings; one did slap a member of the household staff as one descended the great staircase and chef’s assistant did, indeed, serve slops for breakfast…..regularly! Uncanny!!
Ah, once again I seem to have misinterpreted things. My faithful houseboy, Chu Me, has advised me her slip, slap, slop referred to sun cream.
As I sat drinking a rather fragrant cup of tea in my magnificent four-poster bed, the studio presenters linked to the Blue Peter garden and to the delicious Carol Kirkwood for the weather forecast.
One doesn’t normally listen intently to the national forecast as it doesn’t have the same resonance to that of the summary from our own marvellous North East weather team and, in particular, from Tingle Briggs himself (When he fires a Nor’westerly across the bows one simply becomes a pleasurable pool of molten flesh on a layer of Egyptian cotton).
Anyhoo … as I sat looking out of the bedroom window pondering the day ahead, my ears pricked up and my attention was drawn back to my 28 incher.
“…so don’t forget the slip, slap, slop …” Carol advised.
How eerie it felt that someone so far away, in the land of television - surrounded by the noble majesty of the newly refurbished sunken garden - could know so much about the goings on at Crusty Hall; indeed, one did slip in the bathroom most mornings; one did slap a member of the household staff as one descended the great staircase and chef’s assistant did, indeed, serve slops for breakfast…..regularly! Uncanny!!
Ah, once again I seem to have misinterpreted things. My faithful houseboy, Chu Me, has advised me her slip, slap, slop referred to sun cream.
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