Monologue 12 June 2017
Apparently haymaking at Brookfield was so relaxed they could all stop and eat Scotch eggs and point at birds. Hooty couldn’t join them as her bees had swarmed. I think that might be a euphemism for “gone a bit potty”. They said ‘her bees have swarmed’ in the same way that people say “she’s a bit of a character” that means she wears her pants on her head and eats Tippex.
Lilian has started referring to Helen as a mole. Really? I think of her as more of a gerbil, personally. Mind you, as Lilian is currently washing in the horse trough and peeing in a bucket, she sounds remarkably sanguine. This is probably because she has managed to inveigle the horrifying Anthea into the role of Justin’s secretary. Yay! Give it five months and she’ll be boosting the wifi router under Justin’s desk just the way Lilian did.
We had a little mother son chat-ette with Freddie and Elizabeth. Between them they have a whole half a brain. I do not like exams because my brain hurts, said Freddie. I do not like them also but luckily it did not matter for me, said Elizabeth. To be honest it probably won’t matter for you either, Freddie Pargetter. Someone’ll probably push you off the roof with or without your GCSEs, just on personality alone.
If you’re tired and hungry, I’ll find you something to eat, said Elizabeth vaguely. I’m sure someone can tell me where the kitchen is if I ask nicely. And I’ll use that hot cupboardy thing that the staff use.
Justin and Matt who are shadier than a sunhat factory got together to talk about Latif, who also sounds like someone I wouldn’t invest in a bingo card with, let alone a Costa Rican race course. Latif is part of a company called Smelling Industries and run by Hugo Smelling. Matt described him as a head hauncho. He must have very powerful back legs. The fact he’s called Hugo and went to public school means he’s entirely, in Justin’s mind, legit and entirely, in the rest of our minds, a git.
Lynda couldn’t keep away from the Uffizi when she was in Italy. Probably all those sun dried tomatoes that did it.
Do I see a book group looming? I thought we had one before. Scriptwriters I do not believe for a second that Lynda has not read Middlemarch. Of course she has. But it comes as no surprise that Neil is reading the Girl on the Train and has only got as far as Crewe.
Krusty and Jill have made up. They went down to the orchard to have a potter around. I don’t know what they were doing but Jill said to Krusty that she wanted a bit more smoke and then they both sounded much more relaxed and happy. No wonder Jill makes so much cake.
Sausageboy is back. He shouldn’t be called that now. Compost Bin? He’s in a near constant state of ferment and bought back a load of bubbly mush from wherever the hell he’s been. But he turned into bubbly mush himself when he discovered that Justin is going to give them one meeeellion dollars for a field. He’d already ordered himself a 24 karat gold bucket before Tony got a word in and the word was , with characteristic tonyness, nooooo.
Rex and Anisha are playing silly bugger games which you should stop doing as soon as you reach puberty. If you’re not in fifth year then pack it in. Anyway Pip decided to troll up in her quad bike with the squeaky brakes and said hiii rex. You know tobeeeee….well I should have gone for you, actually, rexyyyyy. I do hope I haven’t made you late for a date with someone else oh I am a silly girl.
The exciting news is that Freddie has gone to the Isle of Wight! Hoorah! Anyway Elizabeth was worried sick as she couldn’t get hold of Freddie on his mobile. He is saving his battery, said Lily. That’s what you do at a festival. I didn’t need to save my battery, said Elizabeth crossly. I had Roy.
Amber was due to share Freddie’s tent but her grandmother had a stroke. Which is more than Johnnie is going to get. Freddie seemed to get as excited about sleeping under canvas as his mother gets. Although his total inability to get the tent pole into the hole makes me think Johnnie will probably be safe, although I hope Johnnie zips himself into his sleeping right up to the neck or it could be Freddie throwing stones at his window in a few months’ time. Aren’t stones brilliant?
The End!
