Category Archives: The Hall

Donkey Strap

Apologies for ones recent enforced absence from the ether, last week, one turned ones attentions to ones servants, who must all be serviced, drained, manipulated and otherwise emptied to comply with these blasted EU regulations.

The Eastern European faction, comprising the upstairs maids and other random orifices, were tackled first, being so lascivious by nature they were easiest caught, reamed and flange tagged.

The downstairs deaf mutes were simply enumerated having long since been emasculated. For full compliance their pickled genitals were also photographed and catalogued.

Worst of all of course was Carshalton, who was to be fully drained in order to prevent testosterone poisoning of any random female he might “service” should he escape.

Since the veterinary Dyson was on the blink, he required manual unloading, a messy affair at the best of times. Nonetheless. Nanny gave a hand whilst the remainder of the staff ensured a swift and regular supply of the empty flagons.

One simply attended on the sidelines keeping count and wondering at the savage mystery of it all. 42 quarts this year, which should raise a tidy sum on the Artificial Insemination market.

To demonstrate ones thanks to Nanny for her help, one was especially gentle this year with the Toblerone butt plug, although one does find the noise it makes fascinating, contrasting as it does, with her libidinous falcetto, the vague internal humming of her electrical stimulus and the other assorted squelching sounds this occasion produces.

All documentation now complete one can rest in ones armchair with a large Armagnac and mango chutney and await one staff’s recovery and the resumption of “normal service”.

Vicar’s Fingers

Memoirs from the Hall:

I live here alone in what, when I was a girl, was used to be called the Hall. I suppose I am technically a dowager, though my son Rufus, the fourth earl, is not yet married. I love the country, it’s very peaceful here. I am surrounded by photographs of my past. On the piano I have a photograph of myself dancing with David, the Prince of Wales – later of course Edward the Eighth and subsequent Duke of Windsor. David was a very bad dancer, always trod on one’s toes, and I remember he once crushed the metatarsal bones in the foot of a girl-friend of mine – discreet lesbianism was fashionable at the time.

Here’s a photograph of Noel Coward – darling Noel as we always called him. He was a very witty man, you know – it’s a side of him not many people are aware of. I recall an occasion when I came onto the dance-floor of Mario’s in Greek Street wearing a very daring frock, a frock that revealed more of my decolletage than was then considered proper – now of course I dare say it would raise nothing more than an eyebrow – but at the time it was very wicked. I came onto the floor and darling Noel came up to me and said ‘Rosina’ – he always used to call me Rosina – it is my name, you must understand. ‘Rosina,’ he said in that voice of his, ‘Rosina, where did you find such an alluringly low-cut torso?’ This was Noel’s little way, you see.

 

Recent break in at the Hall

Be on your guard (even the poor folk) as a group of bounders tried to rob me in my own home whilst  Mrs Gally-Knight and I slept soundly in our beds.

Luckily, two of our servants who where walking the grounds heard a commotion and alerted the household, the buggers got away but not before we loosed the dogs.  Local hospitals have been alerted as there was a fair amount of blood near the West gate.

You’ll be pleased to know the servants were docked a weeks pay and  flogged for fraternizing.