Lord William Daft

As those of you who are in Society, or who try to ingratiate yourself with the Great and Good by devouring the Court pages in The Thunderer will know, the great Naturalist Sir Thumper Dung has produced an offspring.

He has managed to hide his disappointment at not producing a son and heir, by the comforting fact that he may form an advantageous alliance by marrying her off with a member of the English Aristocracy. He has always yearned to improve his rank from a humble baronet and take his seat in the Lords.

Let us hope that his planning for the betrothal takes up his few sober moments, as it may divert his addled mind from doing those preposterous impersonations of Appleborough.

 

 

As Mr Sherlock Holmes once pronounced “This is quite a three pipe problem.” Indeed I had to request the finest shag to solve the disappearance of Princess Ien last weekend.

We visited her at her country pile in the New Forest. Little Paulo was of course in attendance regaling us with tales of another investment opportunity. His last one involved Tulips being cultivated in a bubble somewhere near the South Sea. It seemed like a jolly good idea to me, so I invested the odd shilling or two.

We were sitting down for our aperitifs, or sharpeners as one likes to call them, when we realised our hostess was not present. To the uninitiated, this may not seem shocking. Perhaps she was perfecting the balance of her wig, or taking a stroll around her lawn, or ordering her servants to add a little more claret to the Coq au Vin.

Alas, her absence was much more serious. Princess Ien has never been known to miss aperitifs. Even when she has been confined to her sick bed all day complaining of headaches, she still musters the courage to journey to the drawing room for a glug of vin blanc. 

Not wishing to panic Little Paulo, I tried to keep him occupied with amusing anectodes about jolly japes at The Club. However, it was clear that his mind was elsewhere and so we alerted the servants to search high and low.

The maids searched the house, the gardeners, the game keepers and their hounds searched the estate but still no sign of the Lady. Then The Butler had an inspired idea and whispered in my ear that Little Paulo and I should perhaps search in the environs of the wine cellar. The fellow is a genius. Of course she was there. Looking somewhat dishevelled and uttering an incoherent stream of wisdom, she was having the time of her life.

It seems that at some stage during the day, she thought that it would be a good idea to taste the latest Burgundies. Well, one thing led to another and she was on her 4th bottle before she was found  with her tiara askew and her cosmetics smudged.