Sunday, 14 August 2011

Rained In With Jordan.

The weather outside was horrendous! Mother Nature certainly appeared to have a lot of angst that she wished to rid herself of. The heavy, swollen liquidity of her tears plummeted from the heavens and exploded violently upon the grounds here at Crusty Hall. One stood with a Baccarat tumbler of gin at the Study window watching this heavy curtain of water fall upon the day’s production and random droplets ricocheting from the lush green foliage of gardener’s borders.

From behind, one could hear the slapping sound given off by the flip-flops of one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me. As he came up one’s rear, one sighed and said, “One fears today is not a day to venture outside, dear.”

One had no appetite to go into the Library; by the time one had searched through the immense catalogue of books on the shelves, it would be quite possible that the day would be over. What could one do with the day? One placed the glistening crystal tumbler on the corner of one’s desk.

“Chu Me, dear, ask one of the household staff to come in, would you?”

Within a few minutes a small, slender girl entered, grabbed the sides of her skirt and curtsied, “Ma’am.”

“Ah! You there … run down to the village would you, and nip into the newsagent and bring one back some interesting reading. One is becoming extremely bored.”

The young creature looked towards the rain battered windows then back to her mistress with sad puppy-esque eyes. “Run along, dear!” One shooed with the back of one’s hand.

Following her to the front door she extended her, almost skeletal, arm towards the umbrella stand. One let out a shriek. “Good Lord! Those umbrellas are antiques, dear! You mustn’t touch them. Honestly, you shall be quite safe. Your uniform is made of synthetic fabrics so you shall be adequately protected against the rain. Now, hurry along.” Chu Me opened the great oak door and we watched her – her hand held out in front of her to shield her face from the rain – run down the saturated drive.

An hour later, one was sashaying from Litten’s – the oak-panelled bar at Crusty Hall – towards the little Dame’s room. Someone lifted one of one’s knockers and whacked it against the door. Opening it, one saw what looked like a drowned rat with the made-up face of Alice Cooper standing in front of one, shivering and clutching a sealed plastic bag. It was the member of household staff that had ran one’s errand. She handed the bag to one, to the almost Salsa-esque sound of her chattering teeth (and one must confess one felt a little shake of one’s tail-feather at the hypnotic rhythm). Then, completely unexpectedly and quite outrageously, the creature made a move to put her foot over the threshold! With the protection of the plastic bag, one propelled her back with a mighty push to her chest. One looked at her sitting there looking up at one, “Not this way, dear!” One said, closing the door, “you’ll play havoc with the parquet flooring.”

Anyhoo … One made one’s way to the Doctor Christian Room and fingered through the selection of magazines in the bag. One of the glossies that the girl had brought back was the recent edition of Closer. Reclining back on one’s chaise, one was immediately drawn – for some inexplicable reason – to the never ending, self-promoted troubles of Katie Jordan Price. It would seem that she is having a few problems with her latest beau, Leandro Penna. (Oh Lord! Here we go again!)

She has apparently told friends she feels “empty and lost”, which is quite coincidental because one has long since thought the same; one has always considered her vacuous … and … as for the point of her … one could never find it.

The report by Amy Swales, tells us she is suffering mood swings and is constantly arguing with poor Leandro about his behaviour in public and what he wears (He’s of Latin extraction, dear, he could be wearing cowbells and a smile and he’d still be stunning …whereas, if you were wearing cowbells you'd be ….well …quite at home, one fancies). The man is a successful model. One is quite sure he is highly knowledgeable about style and fashion. That is worlds apart from Katie Jordan Price who – though she may be referred to as a ‘model’ – would not have absorbed the same expertise from kneeling in a skimpy pair of pants, arching her back and thrusting forth her mammoth hooters.

The relationship situation has been made all the worse – Amy reveals - because our morsel of Argentine tottyness’ English has been improving and he’s now beginning to understand what the unnaturally blonde abomination is saying. Now … one would always urge any person one meets to learn a second language but one is saddened that one never met Leandro prior to his meeting the gutter-press goddess to whisper, “Stick with what you know, dear!” (and after all, who doesn’t adore the Spanish tongue?)

It may well be (as if one even cared) that her moodiness is being caused by the liquid diet she is on. She’s off to Marbella for a holiday and wants to lose some weight. (Holidaymakers, if you’re reading this, you still have time to pack and run ... now!). As an aside, one remmbers when one enjoyed a liquid diet some years ago. When one told the local Slimming World rep that one had lost just over a stone on it in a week, she mocked and demanded, “ What proof do you have?”

“38.5% ,dear, unless Fanny’s got an imported bottle in behind the bar.” One told her, while slapping her across the dish for her rudeness.

Having reflected upon this article, it would seem that the ceaseless stories and updates of this over-exposed eyesore are to continue. There will be a well publicised split, then when some other poor victim is drawn into the Katie Jordan Price Circus, we will be deluged with the stories of her heart-to-hearts with, not only Peter you-can-scrub-y’-washing-on-my-6-pack André, and Alex I’ll-fight-you-but-don’t-ladder-me-tights Reid but now the smoulderingly sexy deliciousness of Leandro too.

Will it ever end?! Alas, one fears not!

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