Thursday, 18 July 2013

I strode into the snobs* like...

a galleon under full sail.
Lady Docker on speed with dentures
firmly affixed with triple Steradent**.
The apparition stood with white gloved**
hands holding on to high topped counter
looking for all the world like Mrs Chad.

The man looked up from his work,
spitting tacks out of his mouth at a
rate of knots a machine gun would have been proud.

Touching his forelock and wiping his hands
down his leather apron he tottered to
his side of the divide.

'Look here my good fellow,
I'm the 'lady' who gets her butler (Ted)
to come with Turkish slippers in the first stage
of rigour mortis and Russell and Bromley
boots, that the London Museum would give their eye
teeth to acquire!'

'Are yes! 
he said reaching for the 
sandals bought in K.L.
300 years ago.

'On this occasion as I was in town, I decided
to grace you with my presence and to personally thank you for
your efforts!'

Oh how I tried not to beam, for fear of cracking
the industrial-strength foundation and rouge. 
The sandals were as if I'd bought them

Folding money changed hands.

I swept out of the shop mightily pleased.
So pleased in fact, on my return I instructed the butler
 on his next trip to town, to go back, and press a five pound note
into the snob's calloused hands.

My much loved Bertie shoes...
now a garden feature

A flavour of my Thursday.

*   Old word for a cobbler.
**  Usual fibs!


  1. There is little compare with the pleasure obtained from the services of a good artisan.

    I am a tad worried though at your avowed propensity for paying at all, for paying immediately and for paying in cash. Damn it, m'lady, if you start a trend then we shall be royally b'gered fiscally speaking. Cease and desist. Advise the man to forward a bill, should he think that his services warrant actual payment. Wait until the bill has gone yellow and crispy before you pay it...

    1. Living in the Nineties in Westerham, just a mile from Chartwell, that is exactly what Winston used to do. Simon, like you was born with a Viners finest silver plated spoon in his chops; only difference was, his first car was a Bentley, unlike yours which I'm pretty certain was a Jowett? Simon Montgomery always used to defend WC saying 'Why should the great man have to pay?' Naturally I was speechless, thinking of all the poor tradesmen, trying to earn an honest crust.

      By the time we got together Simon didn't have a bean, he was down on his uppers. I suppose I could have sent him to the cobblers and picked up the bill.


  2. Actually I was just gazing at your new header - I wonder where you can get bile beans these days? I am in urgent need of a lovely figure as the 5:2 diet is taking it's time.

    1. Bile beans aren't they like senna pods?

      5:2 diet? Is that the 'It's 5 to 2pm... time to EAT diet?


  3. I'm very impressed that they still fit! I can't squeeze my feet into the beautiful shoes that I bought 300 years ago in Paris, when I was but 16.
    My granny had a stash of Bile Beans which she kept with her tin of liquorice Nigroids (for clarity of voice) but she was nowhere near sylph-like.

    1. Of course they don't still fit, they're now even more wizen, this photo was taken a couple of years ago.

      They were bought in Madrid and boy did I love those shoes. I wore them 'til they cried for mercy, pretty much how I wear all my clothes.