Masterchef: The Professionals - Burhan, Baby Burhan

Often of an evening, one finds oneself alone in the residence. The household staff have scuttled back from whence they came and one's faithful houseboy, Chu Me is regularly up in his quarters watching his specialist nature DVDs.  From the sounds one can hear, he clearly enjoys mimicking the creatures he is watching, judging by the panting, groans and screams one can hear oscillating down the corridors.

In such circumstances, if one is not in the Holly Johnson Room running one's perfectly manicured digits over the ivories of the old Joanna, one reclines elegantly on the chaise, by the well-packed drawers of the bow-legged tallboy in the Dr Christian Room with one's eyes  glued to one's 42 incher. One says glued ... with the nonsense they have been putting on while Rona has been ravaging the world, the attention has only been slightly tacky at best.

One of the programmes that one has taken a fancy to, in our pandemic gripped world, is Master Chef: The Professionals. First of all, it's refreshing not to have John Turd accompanying Greg.  Previously, in his chef's challenges it always astounded me when he would cook something and say, "It's important that the ingredients can be tasted and identified. That's the secret of a great chef", as he looked smugly towards Wallace.

Greg would then sit, with eyes and mouth open wide, as Turd went about his culinary expertise; "Wow" ..."Phwoar!" ..."You know how to make my mouth water John ... apples and pears" (or some such fancy). Then, without fail, if he had cooked fish the contestants would say "Definitely chicken". Likewise, some piece of meat would be artistically arranged one a plate with vegetable fanciness and glossy droplets and it would be, "I can taste the cod... definitely cod".

One has a confession. One was never a great fan of Marcus Waring or Monica Galetti in the past, however one must say that one adores them both now. Monica is simply delicious and now that one has seen Marcus smile, the world seems in balance again and they certainly know their onions, do they not.

In this current series we've certainly had our fair share of hotties. One immediately thinks of the delicious Burhan. A stunningly gorgeous poppet who, with one pout to camera, has one's undergarments dissolving like the finest meringue upon a eager tongue. 

An array of skilled chefs are filling our screens as the competition unfolds and those less so. One, poor poppet attacked the Chef's challenge quite unexpectedly. One lost interest after a short time, so cannot recall his name but one's quite sure he had one. The challenge? Crepes Suzette. Experienced in making just such fayre on cruise ships, he proceeded to annihilate the dish with gusto  for our expert judges. Each crepe was more with an 'a' and without the last 'e' and one never new segments of oranges could be cremated in a pan in such a short space of time. Needless to say, in the next round,  Signature Dishes", when Sean I-can-give-a-nation-of-women-and-men-an orgasm-with-my-voiceovers Pertwee purred, "For his main, [whatever his name was], has served ..."

One looked up form one's Wordsearch, "... A can of beans, dear?"

To cut a long story short, it wasn't a great success. The traditional 12-long list of flavours in his dish ended up as two slabs of meat and a chunk of sweet potato, accompanied by a bit of green dust and a plate.  As you may have already guessed Monica already had his taxi booked as he went back to his workstation.

In critics corner most recently, the Marmite of critics Jay Rayner and his fellow critic Tracey MacLeod. Both clearly affected by the pandemic, in that they had no access to a hair brush prior to filming. That or they had stumbled across a hedge on the way in and were brutally dragged backwards through it. Sitting stuffing their faces with the product of our chefs, both, on the whole, surprisingly positive about all of the dishes, which , let's face it, makes a change from the usual scornful sarcasm oozing from their lips.

One of course shall continue to watch but, alas, without the knicker-crumbling deliciousness of Burhan, will it ever be the same?

The Pandemic at Crusty Hall - Asa Saves The Day

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!

If one thing is certain, the horrors of this pandemic have, in many instances, brought us closer together and, always remember, despite the best efforts of the media shit-shower to strike fear into your heart and tell you this is our future, things will get better and normality will be resumed. Then we can all be unleashed into the wild, stampede to our friends and family and hug and kiss them within an inch of their lives.

The Gusset Is Back! .... (maybe)

Life has been a little curious, has it not, throughout this Coronavirus malarkey? As one has been unable to meet one's dear friend, Fanny O'Dour for a stiff one down the Badger's Snatch, one was having a shufty through one's electronic device and saw that it was some time ago that one scribbled ramblings on one's blog! Good Lord! One feels that must change!

In the meantime, one trusts one's readers are safe and well? Stay tuned ...

Love, joy & laughter and happiness forever after,

Dame Crusty

Mmmwah mmmwah 

James Naughtie Sours Crusty's Eggs.

One was sitting in the Breakfast Room in one's beloved Crusty Hall this morning, enjoying a sumptuous selection of morning fayre prepared by Chef.

One's faithful houseboy, Chu Me, had been up early to pay a visit to his chicken coup at the side of the stables. His cock was standing proud as he collected a selection of the eggs the chickens had produced for the household overnight.

Munching on a delicious serving of Eggs Benedict, one drifted slightly as Radio 4’s Today programme droned on in the background.

Suddenly, one’s munching ceased in horror as one briefly caught a short extract of an interview being conducted by James Knockedknees. He was discussing some topic or other (the length of his questions often makes it impossible to remember what on earth he's talking about) but one nearly choked when the interviewee kept mentioning vaginal deliveries.

As Chu Me nibbled the end of a buttered up soldier, one swallowed one’s mouthful and turned to the radio simply saying, “If it’s all the same to you, dear, one would still prefer to have one’s mail delivered by hand!”

A Morning of Chaos at Crusty Hall

It promised to be a glorious day: Crusty Hall – indeed, the entire estate - was saturated with the rippling rays of Señor Sol’s glowing sunlight as one walked out onto the steps of the main entrance to take in the sumptuous summer air.

Inhaling deeply – with one’s bosom expanding as one did so – one had just reached the point of fullness – when one spluttered (elegantly, of course) when one noticed a young, half-naked, muscular gentleman to one's left. He was delivering some hay for one’s dear horse, Dribble, but one could do nothing other than stand open mouthed as he began emptying his load right by the side of the conservatory. This was quite outrageous!

It was not customary for those who provided a service to the estate to come up the front. One always insisted they use the back entrance to ensure they can complete their duties without being seen. After all, one never knows when one will have an unexpected visitor, does one?

“Morning!” Shouted the young man, grabbing one of his bales and giving it a yank to the floor.

Dumfounded, one turned into the house and shouted for one’s faithful houseboy; “CHU ME! Hurry, dear!”

Like a flip-flop gilded gazelle he sprang out from the inside of the house and landed at one’s side. “Chu Me, dear,” one continued, pointing at the bare chested workman,”this is quite unacceptable. Please tend to the matter at once!”

Efficient as ever, he took charge of the situation and within a few moments, he was successfully taking the hayman up the rear. Slowly, one began to relax and enjoy the morning once more. Until, that is, one looked down and saw Crotchet padding across the drive. He had clearly been rolling around the dewy foliage and his fur was dripping wet. Trying to act oblivious to it all, he came closer. Folding one’s arms one moved to block him, “Crotchet, dear, where do you think you are going in that state?”

He stopped to look up at his displeased mistress, “You are not entering our home like that, poppet. One will not tolerate a wet pussy rubbing against one’s antique fabrics! You shall stay in the grounds until you are dry, dear. Now … off you go!” He turned and headed off, his tail shaking upright like that of a rattlesnake, show ing his annoyance and – one believes - a small pump of disgust was expelled to emphasise his point.

One simply couldn’t believe it. The morning was becoming a disaster. One felt one was in the middle of a scene from 2012, only blessed by the fact that the situation was – frankly – more believable.

Anyhoo … Just as one was about to return indoors, one felt the vicar’s horn pierce one’s eardrum. Sure enough, turning on the heel of one’s Gucci slipper, one saw his head whizzing past the bush at the bottom of the drive. He was panting furiously as he tried to make the entire uphill journey without stopping for a breather. One called for a member of the household staff to bring a glass of water and we waited …and waited … and waited. Eventually, he pulled up outside the steps, his face a very peculiar colour, and the small urchin in one’s employ ran to his aid with the water.

“Good … morning …Dame Cru …Crusty!” The vicar said, trying to catch his breath. “I was passing … and thought I’d … thought I’d pop by.”

“Had you taken any longer, vicar, you would have been passing by. I was about to close the door!

“I know. I must apologise, I’m having terrible problems. I think my sprocket may have gone.”

“Nothing a good rest and a bag of ice wouldn’t cure, I’m sure. Now … a spot of tea?”

One sashayed into the house with the vicar close behind, his bicycle clips clanging as we went. We took tea in the Drawing Room where one is convinced he was trying to tell me something, but the chaos of the morning had put my mind on another track and one simply sat and looked past him the whole time.

From the window, one could see the hayman and Chu Me down by the stables. Dribble was just starting to come out while Chu Me was trying desperately to prove himself, by helping with the unloading. He was simply too small resulting in the hayman having to drop his own handful and grab Chu Me’s bale to do the humping himself, while Chu Me, precariously, sat on top. Finally, his job done, the hayman shot off leaving Chu Me to clean up the mess. One sighed with relief as one began to see order was being restored to the day.

One turned one’s attention back to the vicar, who was still rambling on. By this point, one had missed what he’d already said so thought it best not to waste the energy listening to the conclusion, so smiled delightfully and injected the odd “Oh!”, “I see!” and “Well, of course” in what seemed like appropriate moments.

After a further cup of tea and six milk chocolate digestives, the vicar gave his leave. As he mounted his bicycle at the steps he turned, “Oh! By the way, Marjorie said she may call by later for a chat about the school sports day.” A shiver went up one’s spine.

“Oh no! One fears one will be out poppet” One said.

“When?” The vicar asked.

“Whenever she calls, dear! No doubt I’ll see her in the village at some point.”

“Very well, Dame Crusty. Must dash! So much more pleasurable going down, isn’t it?.”

“Quite, dear!” One replied with a shocked look on one’s face.

And with that one waved him goodbye as he set off down the drive. One waited several minutes on the step. No more emergencies seemed to be rearing their heads, so one headed into the bar for a gin.

© Copyright DCG 2010

Crusty On The Piste.

The north east of England is the most gorgeous of places. Recently, however, its gorgeousness has been severely affected by a horrendous flutteration of heavy snow. To make matters worse, it has also had to endure temperatures as low as -10ºC!

It was Tuesday morning and one was at a loss as to what to do. Chu Me was clearly bored as one caught him in the Breakfast Room playing with something; something a faithful houseboy should not be caught playing with … his sausage.

Mr. Peppercorn, the village butcher, would not be at all pleased if he knew that, after kneading his meat to the point of total tenderisation, that his sausage would be played with in such a disrespectful manner.

“Chu Me!” One shouted, “Stop that at once!”

He continued eating but had a pathetic look on his face. He was bored. But what could we do? One certainly did not want to venture out onto the local roads ; they were pure ice; even the Range Rover would struggle.

Then it came to me! One had a little flurry at the front but had a good seven inches round the back.

“One has the most wonderful idea, poppet. Let’s go out on the piste!”

His eyes lit up and he clapped his little hands. There was a spring in his step as he skipped to the garages to locate our skis.

Dressed in a stunning aubergine ski-suit and armed with a planished, sliver hipflask of gin, we headed to Mount Gusset – at the rear of one’s estate - to take advantage of the fresh, virgin snow.

We spent five glorious hours swishing through the fluffy blanket of snowflakes to the bottom before having the button-tow take us back up to the top again.

Well … one says button-tow; it’s actually a rather burly member of the household staff with a pair of crampons and a rope, but the result if just as affective. One forgets her name but she certainly responds well to ‘Mush!’

Exhilarated and exhausted, we returned to Crusty Hall’s kitchen, where Chef had prepared a large glass of Torres Jaime I brandy to warm our cockles and a deliciously warming bowl of hot vegetable soup with some homemade crusty buns.

Though one is growing tired of the appalling Siberian weather we are being battered with, at least it brought a spell of exercise and fun. That said, one hopes all one’s poppets keep safe and warm during this arctic spell.

Swine Flu Gone - The Village is Safe!

The other morning, one was sashaying along the passageway from the conservatory to the library when the telephone rang; it was Ida Rash - one of the Rash triplets. Ida and her siblings Hedda and Ivor, run the village charity shop.

Normally, one would wait for Chu Me to answer the telephone but he had just had one of his specialist nature DVD's delivered and was inspecting it. I believe it was something to do with bears but really, I don't know where his DVDs come from but the spelling is atrocious; do you know, instead of Bears in the Park, they had actually printed Bareass in the Park??!! Still he loves his nature so as long as the documentary is value for money, all is well.

Anyhoo ... Ida Rash told me they had just taken a delivery of some odds and sods from a house clearance and that there was a rather gorgeous piece of Royal Worcester that may be of some interest to Crusty. As Chu Me was a little preoccupied, I decided I would take the Aston and have a quick blast into the village.

It was while I was driving out of Crusty Hall's gates that one bumped into Doctor Arthur Pedic and the village nurse, Angie Gramm. They really should have looked where they were going but, thankfully, other than a cracked helmet and a ripped stocking (Angie Gramm's and not Dr. Pedic's, of course) they appeared to be fine.

One lowered one's window, "Doctor, dear, there's no marks on the front of the car, are there?"

"No, Dame Crusty, You actually hit my leg rather than the bike itself."

"Good show!" I said, " What brings you up to one's home on this gloriously sun drenched day?"

"We were just coming to tell you that the Swine Flu scare seems to be over. We have no further reports of symptoms."

It was indeed marvellous news. One had quarantined Crusty Hall for the past week or so, ever since Angie Gramm had first mentioned the potential outbreak. One even had to put a member of the household staff in the stable block for a week after I saw her runny nose. She said it was hay fever but one thought a week locked up wouldn't hurt and may even toughen her up a bit.

As one sped off to investigate the Royal Worcester find, one got the impression Dr. Pedic and Angie Gramm were looking for a lift - now that their bicycles were slightly bent - but one could not have blood on the leather upholstery, could one? As chance would have it, they seemed quite happy hobbling down the lane as I glanced at them through my rear view mirror.

Health & Safety? No Thankyou, Dear!

It would appear, my little Crustettes, that Health and Safety representatives are not following their own strict guidelines!

I had a member of this ridiculous organisation around at Crusty Hall the other day. Chu Me was tending to some electrical business in one of the guestrooms and I was relaxing in the oak-panelled bar, just next to the ballroom and very near the main entrance.

Suddenly, one of knockers gave a hefty thud. I got up and sashayed to the front door to find a rather hideous little man, dressed in grey suit, shirt, tie and shoes standing before me.

“Hullo! I’m Grymm” He proclaimed merrily.

After I swallowed a mouthful of Gordons looking him up and down, I said, “Yes, dear, you are ... Very!”

He explained he was from Health and Safety and that he was here to conduct an inspection. I immediately suggested a walk around the grounds would be better than inviting the likes of him inside. Without any choice, he agreed.

A few seconds later, as we turned the corner onto the main terrace, I instantly grew tired of him and snapped my fingers twice. The hobbit turned and muttered, ”remembered something?”

“No, dear! I’m setting the dogs on you!”

Do you know, my darlings, for a short, ungainly creature he moved with remarkable swiftness but the one thing that proved what a fuss and nonsense this Health and Safety is, he didn’t even perform a risk assessment before he clambered frantically over the main gates. Outrageous!!

Colin Briggs & Mark Warr - Filling Crusty's Stockings

After breakfast on Christmas morning, Chu Me brought two sacks full of presents to my bedside. The sacks were filled to the brim of gifts from all the staff at Crusty Hall to their mistress.

I was shocked and surprised as Chu Me dragged them across the floor; more so because last year there were three! I could see some of the gifts were wrapped with silver paper, adequate enough for presentation to ones employer; others items, from the junior staff, were wrapped in pages from glossy magazines and tied up with shoelaces.

Oh God! It was going to be like a scene from Catherine Cookson's Rag Nymph (thankfully, the one and only time Jimmy Nail dragged up as bag lady Aggie Winkovski).

Still, I said nothing and thought that the staff have probably spent a little more of their wages on more lavish gifts, rather than presentation, hence the reduced number of sacks.

Crusty was wrong!

As I sat in my bed, opening parcel after parcel and hurling them, effortlessly, across the room into the large crackling fire, I began to feel no one understood Dame Crusty's needs at all.

Chu Me must have noticed me slipping into an abyss of misery. He gently placed his little hands on my own and asked me to lie back, close my eyes and relax; he wanted to show me something he thought I would love to have.

A tingle ran up my spine at the thought of what my faithful houseboy was going to reveal to me.

When I was instructed to do so, I opened my eyes slowly and there, upon my 28 incher, was my darling Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr!!

What manner of magic was this? It wasn't the right time of day!

Chu Me told me I could turn over if I wanted; he demonstrated, letting his little fingers push my buttons, and then ... Colin his-twinkle-makes-y'-tingle Briggs!!

My body quivered like Dame Birley Shassey's upper arms, as Chu Me explained that since having my box enhanced, he had taken the liberty of recording the news segments from breakfast TV; providing me with an on-demand facility to watch my favourite presenters where and when I wanted. He had even used a clever facility where the recordings could not be deleted accidentally.

He did apologise as he had accidentally recorded another presenter in error, but as he took me to the snippet I discovered it was little Richard Thomas; I forgave him immediately. Though, Richard will never replace my affections for my two little poppets, he is what the children of the street call ... buff ... and one can never have too much eye-candy around one.

I felt like embracing Chu Me to show my appreciation, but he's staff and one mustn't do that sort of thing - it's just not good breeding - so instead, I promised him another two chickens for his coop and a blanket for his cock and sent him away, instructing him to cancel all my public engagements for the next week so I could bathe in the glory of my presenter pin-ups.