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April 07, 2008
Knights away.
The sun has brought the birds out this morning as the snow sidles off the roofs and ledges. I have been out with my birch broom and cleared a path to the gate, stopping only to heap a crystal pile of it on my Clematis grown from a seed plucked in the Dalai Lama's Tibetan garden, a longer walk than I am accustomed to. The W.I. are renowned for their tuesday trips.
I have a mind to venture up to the big house. Several of the Knights are away on a Crusade this week. Who knows what they'll bring back this time. The hankies, almonds and oranges were an immediate success but I'm not sure that algebra ever caught on. However, Mrs Minchin the cook may still be providing for the full table and there's a chance of a devilled kidney or two lurking beneath a silver salver, and maybe a random side of venison, scarcely touched, in the pantry. There are families here who can't remember the last time they had venison. Since a fancy young cook passed through and reminded folk that rabbit was just dandy, they've been flying off the shelves at the village store faster than you can say 'taste the difference'. Poachers can't keep up with the demand.
Trevor the slaughterer passed through last month. He's no more attractive now than when he used to pose in the nude for Miss Parvis' art class in the goat barn. I saw him at the bar in the Scaffolders' Arms. Sir Cum-Stantial had popped in for a sweet Sherry.
"Ah, what do you do, my man, pray?"he asked.
"I shoo's 'orses" replied Trevor, spitting into the sawdust.
"A farrier eh?"
"No", snapped Treveor, "I shoo's 'em".
Sir Cum-Stantial retired to the saloon bar with his schooner.
Posted by Martha at April 7, 2008 10:08 AM