clambered over the Kent peg tile roof I got to thinking...
'Is it really necessary LL to re-point the chimney?'
All you planned was to ask friends in for coffee after a delightful luncheon at Chapel Down.
Being a bit of a slut (only in the housework department you understand) I always feel the need to not only dust, but hoover as well.
Most times here nothing much moves, well occasionally I may be knocked over by tumbleweed blowing around the oak room; the make up of this, is mainly dog hair and fluff.
Don't get me wrong, I love my home, I really do. Trouble is, when I know folk are calling in, I love the stage setting of homemaking, not the polishing bit. I artistically arrange books (shortlisted Booker prize contenders naturally), light candles, bung copies of Mills and Boon's bodice-rippers, old Sporting Life back numbers and dog-eared Daily Males under the sofa.
On which I then Mae West recline, always within reach of a glass of bubbles.
Which neatly (or not so?) gets me to the main part of this post.
Hands up in the past I've been a frightful snob, and I ought to say here that my toppest pet hate is SNOBBERY, so I feel I am really exposing myself to ridicule.
Why? Because until very recently I've always loathed English wines, not any more I don't.
Chapel Down in Tenterden make the most wonderful wine. The food is lovely, the staff are superb, my sparkling wine came with the handsome waiter saying " glass of a thousand bubbles for you"