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January 07, 2009
Manifested by the star.
The Christmas trappings are folded under the stairs. Totty Dribbett and I were due to clean the Church to brighten our Epiphanies and what a chore it was chipping away at the candle wax that has accumulated during the festive season. The frosty wind was making moan as we hurried home up Hangmans Rise through the whispering non sustainable larches. I pushed open the Parsonage gate and there was our dear Rector at his study desk, a warm coal in the hearth. He took the church key and offered us muffins and a well stood brew. We were full of good hope for the coming year and counted ourselves much blessed to abide in Bracombe.
Mrs Minchin had arranged a New Year's Eve party, and we met in the Fuddling Tent. There were eight of the Knights, Drab Pam and the Grim Reaper, (they're usually together),Mr Kipling, who always brings something pastry related, and Jack Spratt. The latter is not much fun at parties it has to be said. Oh, I nearly forgot Dick the mole catcher. He has been sleeping in the stables since Lady Wellbender evicted him from his hovel. He finds the stables quite agreable. I believe the horses are less enthusiastic. Aunt Betsy and Dick Thresher were the last to arrive, they'd been waylaid by the Ancient Mariner.He's stopping more than 'one in three' these days.
Mrs Spittle lugged a couple of crates of her last pressings. You have to hand it to the woman, she always gives 110% and I suspect the apple wassail is 110% proof too. The evening started with some musical canapes then we played the game of writing down our New Year resolutions and drawing them blindfold guessing to whom they belonged.Who would have thought that Sir Plus de Requirement intends to write more poetry this year! I was surprised. Sir Prisingly Gullible vows to lead another Crusade to Palestine. Someone has told him that it is quiet there and that folk will welcome him with open arms. I have my doubts.
Posted by Martha at January 7, 2009 06:23 PM