In an effort to educate the nominally literate and inform those with sufficient humility to understand their own lack of comprehension, Esme offers the correct definition of misunderstood words…

Misappropriate 

1. (proper noun – pronunciation note: Miss Appropriate) Rap name of shoplifter and popular singer born Mavis Appleyard. Example: Misappropriate stalked the red carpet dressed from head to toe in pink leather.
2. (verb – pronunciation note: ms appropriate) The act of turning a ladette into a lady. Example: the honourable Pauline’s marriage prospects have been much improved by a crash misappropriation and the removal of a multiplicity of facial piercings.

If you have any words whose meaning escapes you, Esme Crockford is always happy to share her lexicographical knowledge and penetrating insight into the English language.

The road ahead seems long, but with you by my side
I will not feel the miles, I’ll take them in my stride.

And if the path grows steep, I’ll not the low-road seek,
But strengthened by your arm, I will scale the peak.

When night falls into dark and all about is cold,
Your words will keep me warm, your presence make me bold.

And then at journey’s end, whenever that might be
I’ll settle down to sleep and know that you’re with me.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Ponies and Progeny or the graceless art of equine management as envisaged by the pen of Jane Jago and inspired by the genius of Norman Thelwell (1923-2004)

Today we consider what should happen with your pony if you are unwell…

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Benjo was an alley cat who lived in Devil’s Lane
He was the biggest alley cat and quite a frigging pain
The children loved to pet him when they came home from school
But Benjo was just letting them, ‘cos Benjo was no fool.

Benjo was the father of every kitten in the ‘hood
It’s not so much that he was bad, it’s more he was too good
At rooting in the rubbish and hunting out each rat
So all night long there was a din, none slept as he got fat.

And when the people rose each morn with bags below their eyes
They’d see Benjo relaxing having won his nightly prize
And though the grown-ups muttered than the damn cat had to go
The children wouldn’t hear of it for all so loved Benjo.

So no one dared remove the dreaded Benjo from his lair
He’d claws as sharp as scimitars if an adult did appear
And though he made a misery of every sleepless night
Benjo was the biggest cat and never lost a fight.

Until one night the neighbourhood was plunged into such quiet
That all who woke, for once refreshed, the mystery enquired
For Devil’s Lane was catless and no one for sure could say
Where Benjo had vanished to upon that fateful day.

Benjo was an alley cat who lived in Devil’s Lane
Until he left the rats behind and ne’re went there again
Now he is a purry cat on pillows stuffed with foam
For Benjo was a clever cat who found himself a home.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Join Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson as they investigate the strange affair of the Dartymuir Dog…

Once away from the smoky orange lights of the station, the beauty of a cloudless night sky could be appreciated. The moon painted the landscape blue and silver and Bearson leaned back to better enjoy the glory of the stars. It was chilly and he pulled his Ulster closer about his throat.
“It’s a fine night for stargazing,” he said.
“It is indeed, my friend. And I fancy Sirius shines brightly on our endeavours.”
Homes chuckled at his own joke and Yore interjected sourly.
“We aren’t out here to stargaze.”
Homes barely spared him a glance. “We might as well be,” he explained with barely concealed impatience, “as there is little we can profitably do until we reach the place where the old gentleman was attacked. And even then we can only test a theory.”
Your subsided into a foetid sulk, while Bearson composed himself to while away the tedium of the ride by lifting his face to the cold beauty of the heavens.
It must have been the better part of an hour later when he was recalled to his surroundings by the gig being drawn to a halt. They were in the bottom of a deep defile where the moonlight hardly reached.
Their driver was speaking in her low, rather beautiful voice. “This was the place where Lord Sleepytown was found. He was lying at the side of the road, like a pile of discarded sacks.”
Homes jumped down and was almost at once lost to view. Bearson knew he would be sniffing the ground with his trufflish snout – a proceeding the good doctor found disturbing enough to be relieved not to have to see it.
Of a sudden, Homes sneezed loudly, thrice.
“I say, Bearson, give a chap a hand will you?”
Bearson leaned out of the vehicle and hauled his small friend aboard. As the great detective’s feet touched the carriage floor, Bearson looked at his face.
“Homes,” he hissed, “your snout is all over mud.”
Homes grinned and rubbed the grubby sleeve of his greatcoat across his nose. He took something from his pocket and blew into it. Bearson was aware that some sound had been made because the hair on his fat tummy bristled briefly, though his ears registered nothing.
After a moment of two his ears just caught a peculiar ululating sound on the stiff night breeze.
Homes looked truly smug.
“Drive on, if you please, ma’am.”
Their driver shook the reins, and the horse set this considerable strength to the task of pulling the gig back up onto the ridge that carried the main road – if one was to be so charitable as to call it that – across the expanse of the muir.
On the skyline, Bearson could see lights twinkling and he prodded Homes in the belly.
“Would that be our destination, old chap?”
“Aye. It would. And we can hope for an hour or two of rest before we have to be out here again.”

Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson will continue their investigation into The Affair of the Dartymuir Dog next week…

Jane Jago

Prunella teaches you how to cook like a toff!

These used to happen only once a year – but now the yummy mummies are at the helm there seems to be one every bloody week. In support of this or that worthy cause, and, no doubt, well-attended by those with nothing better to do. However, one digresses.
Should you be foolish enough to be bamboozled into providing ‘something for the cake stall’ I have the following advice.
If you just want to get it over with choose any one of an almost infinite number of tray bakes for which you will find recipes on the darknet and bake it in a disposable tray. Voila.
However. Should you wish for cult status in your community there is a way. Chelsea Buns.
Spiced bread buns loaded with fruit and drizzled with white icing. The catnip of the cake world.
However there is a price to pay. A four in the morning start. But if you are willing…

At four in the morning.

Into the bowl of your trusty stand mixer place the following.
2kg strong plain flour
8oz caster sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons mixed spice
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
250g very soft butter

Mix gently while the kettle boils. In a large jug put half a litre of cold milk add half a litre of water just off the boil (this equals tepid) add four sachets of dried yeast. Pour the lot into the dry ingredients mixing slowly. This should make a fairly sticky dough. If it’s too dry add some more milk.
Crank the Kitchenaid up to number three and leave it to knead the dough for ten minutes. Then switch it off and crawl back to bed. Not forgetting to set your alarm for six.
When you crawl downstairs knock back the dough and divide into thirds.
Melt 250g of butter
Mix 1 teaspoon of ground ginger and one of ground cinnamon into about 150g of brown sugar
Open a bag of good quality sultanas (500g)
Roll a third of the dough into a rectangle approximately 18in x 9in
Spread a third of the melted butter across the surface. Sprinkle a third of the ginger/cinnamon sugar and a couple of large handfuls of sultanas.
Roll up from the long side. Cut into about 1.25in slices.
Lay the resulting spirals flat on a baking tray leaving about an inch all the way round (baking paper is much easier than greasing the bugger).
Repeat with other two bits of dough.
Cover with a clean old sheet.
Go back to bed.
Set alarm for 8
Buns will have doubled in size. Crank oven up to 220C (which will stink to high heaven if the oven isn’t clean – make note to self to have Mrs Thing clean oven when she comes in on Wednesday).
Bake buns.
They will take about 15 minutes (the way to tell is to pick one at random and eat it).
When buns are cool, make up a bowl of simple water icing (icing sugar sieved and cold water) drizzle over buns and top each with half a glacé cherry.
Done.

Alternatively. Find an independent bakery and order four dozen buns.

And that’s your lot on how to cook like a toff!

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

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Jane Jago

In an effort to educate the nominally literate and inform those with sufficient humility to understand their own lack of comprehension, Esme offers the correct definition of misunderstood words…

Antagonise

1. (noun – pronunciation note: aunt agonies) Female relative whose whole life is spent bewailing the discomfort caused by an unspecified (and unrecognised by the medical profession) complaint.
Example: inviting Aunt Mabel to any family gathering was a calculated risk, given that she could be relied on to bring a large gift but her being an antagonise could cast a pall of gloom over the jolliest of occasions.

2. (verb – pronunciation note: anti gonnies) The action of displaying misandry by kicking men in the gonads whilst wearing hobnailed boots.
Example: Sarah had nothing but contempt for Cousin Edgar, though the rest of us winced as she antagonised him with both feet.

If you have any words whose meaning escapes you, Esme Crockford is always happy to share her lexicographical knowledge and penetrating insight into the English language.

10
So did you get that project done, the one miss said was due?
I’ve finished mine on time and started something new.
You coming to Merry’s party? You have to be there so
I can tell my parents and then they will let me go.

20
So how’s the job coming along and did you get that raise,
The one you wanted for so long? Yeah, Uni’s a real daze.
I met someone the other day, we went out for a drink.
Did you get off with what’s their name? That one you liked, I think.

30
So how’s the house hunt going now your second’s on the way?
I saw you out in Supermart just the other day.
I was with my partner, we’ll marry in July,
No, I think we might still rent, not sure I want to buy.

40
I hear you son’s done well at school, my daughter starts this year,
We had to move to get her in, the local one was drear!
Well, yes it cost a bit to move but well worth it I’m sure,
You heard that Merry lost that job? Must be feeling poor.

50
Mine never phone from college, I’m glad that yours still do.
Oh, the divorce? What can I say? These things happen too.
Life as a single-parent is not so bad as some
You know what being homeless made poor Merry become.

60
No, I’m never lonely, don’t mind the empty nest.
The way I think, it’s peace and quiet, get a good night’s rest.
You saw Merry on the news? It was such a shame,
I’m sure they got the details wrong and misplaced the blame.

70
The grand-children came by last night, they are such fun.
But I’m worn out when they’ve gone home, always on the run.
You have yours living with you now? That must be a bind,
So very tiring at your age, as I am sure you find.

80
I’m sorry for your loss and now we both are on our own,
The grandchildren are all grown up and moving out alone.
You know that you are getting old when your kids reach middle age.
Still, time to have a cup of tea and turn another page.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Ponies and Progeny or the graceless art of equine management as envisaged by the pen of Jane Jago and inspired by the genius of Norman Thelwell (1923-2004)

Today we consider the importance of developing the right skills…

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