Chu Me's DIY Dislodges Crusty's Drawers.

Recently, one was sat at one's desk in the private office, positioned near the large window.

One had taken a short break and was looking out across the grounds and contemplating the joys of ones life and admiring the breathtaking beauty of the flora and fauna that surrounds Crusty Hall .

Out of the corner of one's eye, one saw a Baccarat tumbler descending towards the corner of the desk. It was Chu Me with a replenishment of gin.

“Thank you, dear.” One said, placing one’s beautifully manicured hand around it, “What is that in your hand, dear?”

He lifted up a copy of a magazine and pointed to an advert on one of its pages. It was an advert for James Tudor. This great British company design and manufacture the most gorgeous briefs to comfortably hold the man-biscuit and jam donuts, while offering a sexually charged style to our men folk. Chu Me’s eye had been drawn to their latest offering; the magnetic brief. (How wonderful, one thought).

The price, however, had put him off (he's very careful you know) so he decided he was going to make his own. One was not convinced it was to be a success. Nevertheless, one took a sip of ones medicinal liquid and acknowledged his potential resourcefulness with a loving wink. He smiled and headed off out of the office and to the small box room in the east wing, where he had his workshop.

Next day, one was pondering a problem from a trouble poppet in Staffordshire. She had emailed to say she had recently had her nipple pierced and it had turned septic: 'What should I do?" she pleaded.

In response, one had just typed, 'Apologise immediately, dear! You've just put one off one's fondant fancy!", when Chu Me walked in. He walked to one's side and placed a refill on the corner of the desk, as per usual.

“Thank you, Chu Me.”

As he walked towards the door one’s heart began pounding at the most horrendous noise that filled the room: Then silence: Then the noise again. This time from one's peripheral vision, one saw the filing cabinet moving - like an non-aerodynamic Darlek – out from it's nesting place at the side of the desk.

Startled, one spun around in one’s Captain’s chair. Chu Me was stood, as if frozen, in a half-step motion pointing toward the door.

Curiosity tenderly cupped one's imagination. One lifted one's fountain pen upward and tapped it against ones lips to analyse the situation. Within seconds there was a tug at one's hand and the pen shot across the room, landed on Chu Me’s right buttock, stayed there for a fraction of a second before rolling round to the front and clamping to his crotch.

Still frozen in his half-step position, his face - now red with embarrassment – turned slowly toward his mistress.

“Wh …..what on earth is going on, dear? You’re dragging one’s drawers off and leaving the most unsightly gash on display at the back.”

It was then that he explained he had constructed his magnetic briefs in his workshop and had decided to wear them this very day.

"Poppet, this will not do. One's oak flooring will not survive the day and one can't have office furniture roaming around the residence."

The look of disappointment was too much to bear. There was only one thing for it. One immediately went on line and purchased 5 pairs of James Tudor quality undergarments for one's faithful houseboy. He jumped up and down, clapping his hands and his face lit up like a paparazzi flash bulb.

In true great British style, the goods arrived the very next day by courier. Each finely crafted item stored in its own cotton, drawstring pouch. The most delicious under-crackers one had ever seen.

One urges all one's poppets to invest in at least a pair. Your downstairs areas will feel as though they are wrapped in the feathers of an angel's wing.