As one sits in Litten's - the oak panelled bar in one's beloved Crusty Hall - sipping a rather pleasing gin, expertly poured by one's faithful houseboy Chu Me, one reflects on the travesty that 2020 has become. Who knew as we all recovered from our New Year's celebrations that, only a few months later, the world would be very different. All locked away in our homes and not having the ability to be with - and embrace - the ones we love.
The media has certainly relished in the reporting of the pandemic and one believes many will join one in acknowledging just how piss-poor that has been. Laura my-reports-should-come-with-a-Hans-Zimmer-score Kuenssberg asking the most inane questions after press conferences; the woman from Sky who resembles Edna from The Incredibles (and infinitely more snooty) terrifying small children and family pets with her webcam closeups and, of course, Robert Peston, whose questions take longer to ask than it takes to discover a vaccine. The sense of relief is palpable on their withered faces; the frenzy of Brexit dissipated and their lives looked bleak but thank goodness something new came along that they could gorge themselves on and spew out their scaremongering to the masses while scavenging the gutter for titbits, sensation and leaks. Here at Crusty Hall, all such reports and news broadcasts are switched off as soon as they came on and, one must say, life has been utterly delicious as a result.
Anyhoo ... one trusts all of one's poppets have kept themselves busy over the lockdown months. As a great person once said, "One should never be bored if one has intelligence and an imagination" and here at Crusty Hall we have always found something to do. Only yesterday one walked into the library to find Chu Me mountain climbing up a section of bookcase! Crotchet was sitting looking up with intrigue from a small, deep-buttoned pouffe, flicking his tail and chattering gleefully, as the crampons attached to Chu Me's flipflops clung to the shelving as he hammered his peg deep into Jane Eyre.
One is pleased to say one's trusty steed is still part of the household and one still likes nothing better than nipping out first thing, squeezing Dribble between one's thighs and shooting off over the grass. Often with one's pussy Crotchet springing along on his velvety paws behind.
One of the highlights of lockdown has been the entertainment that has been accessible. At the weekends Chu Me, Crotchet and I make our way to the ballroom. There, we switch on the disco lights and shake a tailfeather into the early hours to the musical wonders of Glen Horsborough, the outrageously talented Gok Wan and the exquisitely formed and thoroughly lickable Melvo Baptiste (one can feel one's undergarments begin to disintegrate just typing his name!).
One's friend Daphne Dewdrop often flouts restrictions and leaves her cottage in the village, not far from the Badger's Snatch to make her way to the residence. One can see her through the mighty window, out on the gravel drive, clutching her bottle of Diamond White and swaying to the pounding rhythms from the building within. Honestly, it could be minus twenty out there but in true North East style she'll still have only her short skirt and sequinned boob tube on and a look of semi-hammered contentment on her face until the music stops.
But one must say that the episodes of Lockdown TV brought to the pages of Facebook by one's beloved poppet Asa Elliott have been an absolute joy! Not only does he have a voice that feels like velvet mittens massaging y' earlobes but there is chat, video clips, a sense of community between those who tune in and, of course, updates on his gorgeous son. One recommends one and all to nip along for a shufty when one gets the chance. He also brings us his own Christmas CD!! It's available now and, naturally, one has one's copy already ... and it is glorious!
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