The Manor is Sold

The lane into the village is really so very muddy Boy ends up well and truly splattered on our walk up to the Post Office to collect the morning's newspaper. I normally have 2 dailies, The Tellygraff and Midshire Daily Post. These are suplimented on Thursdays by the local weekly, Angelfield Post. The Post Office made a nice warm treat as it was a chilly march through the fog today. Mrs Blacker always has a jug of hot chocolate sat on top of the old stove, just the ticket to revive the numb extremities and today was no different, a drop of glorious gloppy chocolate with a dash of brandy to help widen the arteries.

We were all gathered around the little pot bellied stove, myself, Mrs Blacker and Mrs De la Pole, when Old Blaster comes roaring in blustering like an exploding grenade, hot air erupting from all available orifices, a sure sign of something of outstanding gossip-worthiness. I pulled up a chair for him to fall into whilst Mrs Blacker added an extra slug of brandy to his hot chocolate and Mrs De La Pole wafted an eau de cologne scented lace edge handkerchief. Once the situation had calmed a little bit and Old Blaster had got his breathing under control we all drew our rickety old chairs closer in order to hear, in intimate detail, what was causing Old Blaster to get so excited.

By now the shop was filling up with villagers, and we were all waiting.................... Old Blaster began, " Longshot manor has been sold" he blurted out, spraying spittle from the corners of his mouth. Well this was news to us, how on earth had it been kept so quiet, usually the village gossips, of which l am not one, can smell a rumour before it has actually happened. Old Blaster continued as we by now holding our breath and clasping the edge of our chairs, " It has been bought by a polo playing entrepreneur from up north somewhere. He has made millions in the fish and chip business". Silence. No one made a sound, you could hear the clock ticking slowly in the background... suddenly there was a sharp intake of breath followed by the sucking in on false teeth and then whoosh, everyone was talking at once like a flock of geese flying in formation. Who is it? He's from where? Ergh?

By now Old Blaster had risen to the occasion, a captive audience, a rare event nowadays indeed. The new owner had bought, sight unseen from the previous incumbent on meeting with her son in St Morritz a few weeks ago at an ice polo match. The new owner a Mr Oily-Clarke, apparently well known in the polo world having been featured in gossip columns escorting numerous super models and fathering many children, all of whom lived with him, and were part of, according the the Prattler, his entourage. Mr O-C, so we were informed by Old Blaster, who was settling comfortably into his role as storyteller, held himself in very high esteem, with a full PR Team churning out fabulous features about him and his family. Myself and the villagers were stunned.

What on earth was happening to our haven of piece and quiet amidst the turmoil of the outside world? As old Blaster came to the end of the 'known' facts, we sat there, Mrs Blacker brewed up a large pot of hot chocolate to which she added a good bottle of damson gin........

So much to catch up on

Morris-from-the-bottom-of-the-lane, was a kindly soul and did collect my newspapers the other day, but today l had to brave the weather plus the old fools, and walk down to the post office myself. Boy accompanied me, only being distracted by the odd rabbit or two in its last throws of life, dying miserably from myxomatosis. l have to say that this is why l always take with me on my hedgerow ramblings my father's good old heavyweight stick to end the poor animal's suffering, a good thwack saves the creature from an unpleasant death. There is such a thing as sporting chance and myxi removes that option.

It certainly seems that l have missed a great deal of comings and goings in the village since my accident. The drama group manged to cope without me, Mrs De La Pole kindly offered to do a tasteful dance with her pet python, which apparently is now past its best being of a great age , according to Mrs Smith-Dowson, a bit of a disappointment to her fans who can remember the dance being staged in the West End during the late 1940's. The manor's restoration is continuing at a fast rate of knots, Mrs Eastern informs me that the new owners are hoping to be 'in' in time for the Christmas holiday, certainly, the villagers lives have been interrupted by the constant whirl of helicopters that seem to be forever landing and taking off, Bertha, the Manor's former cook has heard that the new owners are looking to establish a polo club as their son is a keen player. Well that means more traffic, more paparazzi, it has been bad enough since l have returned home, the press keep knocking on my door asking for the exclusive rights to my encounter with poachers. Now that is daft, l was only protecting my own, so to speak, nothing wrong with shooting or hunting in the right circumstances and conditions but a definite No to snares, traps, arch lights and dogs.

Next month's village produce sale has been featured in a very upmarket magazine, The Pratler, my niece, Lettuce, who is office tea lady there, has informed me that a society photographer is coming to takes some snaps. I certainly have a good stock of preserves all ready to take and the evergreen foliage, protected from the birds under swaths of old net curtain, look in excellent condition. I wonder if l ought to make some potted rabbit as a little something for festive fayre, certainly the skins do make rather cosy slippers.

Potted Rabbit
1 jointed rabbit
2 oz butter
1 lump of sugar
1 onion
12 cloves
12 allspice
6 peppercorns
ground nutmeg to taste
8 oz butter
1 dessertspoon Worcestershire sauce

Soak the rabbit joints in salted water for two hours and dry well. Put them in a casserole with a tightly fitting lid and add 2 oz butter, sugar, the onion stuck with clioves, allspice, peppercorns & a good sprinnkling of nutmeg. Put the lid on and cook at 150@C or bottom of AGA for 3 hours. Cool and remove the meat from the bones. Put the meat through the mincer twice and mix with the juices form the casserole, most of the 8 oz butter and Worcestershire sauce. Put into small pots & cover with a little extra butter.

Serves 4 -6