To cheer Henny up we went shopping.

We thought Henny should have some more modern clothes as she keeps getting her hems muddy. Moony wanted a new handbag and between you and me she is a sucker for a label ( very naff my dears) . She was sniffing around some simply awful Leopard prints ones and those "Raddled" ones that every poor soul seems to think they must have. Dear Henny thought them all "'orrible" until we took her to evening bags .She does have good taste and chose a dear little beaded one just the right size for her.I knit my own .I am not foolish enough to be taken in by a label unless it has a brussels sprout on it. We then went to chose a dress for Henny but she wanted trousers .In fact taking her back to Strangely Sprouting was a fantastic idea as the good people of the local Pakistani community sell lovely Shalwar/Kameez. Henny was desperate for several and even Moony bought some bracelets. We had tea at the transport cafe then a bus home..oh my aching feet!

Things go horribly wrong at the fitness class at the Church Hall

Mrs Bagshott-Smythe runs a weekly health and fitness class at the church hall .We rarely go as Moony prefers a ciggy and a lay in an armchair and I prefer my bi-cycle.Mrs B is a terribly bossy woman but as poor Henny has curvature of the spine we must help. Harlot Harley always comes in the tightest lycra which explains why The President walks through at least ten times a session .It was so hard to persuade Henny into the communal changing room and the poor lass was terrified by Mrs B screaming "a corset ..we have no such thing here ,we are free spirits" . She then proceeded to pin her down and rip it off , Henny was bellowing " appelez un medecin" none of us is good at French except Harlot.She yelled "call a doctor, she's in agony" . Mrs B dragged her up and into the hall in her chemise and petticoats .Some soft classical music was put on and we were told to meditate Henny mumbled lots of religious stuff and Mrs B. got a whiff and stormed over . "We will have none of that superstitious nonsense here we believe in wood sprites thank-you".Luckily Henny didn't understand but asked me "are zey ze Puritans?" .I assured her that no they were Pagans and she burst into tears. Mrs B. started the movement element and noticing Henny's head turned to one side all the time roared over.Take her arms she ordered me and Moony as she dug a knee in her back and wrenched her head round to the front.The snapping noise scared us all Harlot rushed over ( she's a softie at heart) slapped Mrs B. and asKed Henny "Voulez vous une ambulance" .Henny had passed out again so Harlot and The President carried her to doctor D'eath .The President had back problems from carrying her but our wonderful doctor sorted them both out muttering about the damage done by "this new age non-sense" .

Dear little Henrietta knocked.....

at my door this afternoon .I had my pink face-pack on and was feeling a fool.So Mr. Tweedie rushed out the back. Henny ( don't come it with me with all those posh names I told her right from our first meeting) was crying and her curls had flopped into wet strands of sorrow. She then told me the horrific story of her visit to Stangely Sprouting the large town that is the capital of Veggieshire . She sensibly took her little phrase book and popped into the first shop she saw. None of us had the foresight to explain to her not to go into shops with no window display in back streets. She had announced "Je veux quelque chose en cuir " and pointed at the phrase in her book. "Ah right darling said the "uncoth oaf" and went out back only to come into the shop with an S&M outfit in black leather , a whip , hand-cuffs , a black plastic balaclava. Henrietta screamed "Executioner " and fainted .The worried owner found smelling salts and when she came round she felt her neck picked up her skirts and the poor darling ran all the way along the motorway back here. Moony arrived as she was weeping and explained what the outfits were for at which she fainted again and asked for the Priest.To give him his due Father O' rushed to us on his cycle all the way from Purple Sprouting.We had removed Henny's cross as it was stopping her breathe with the weight. Her pearls had snapped and Moony was scrabbling for them. I'd count them later if I was Henny. After much comforting all round Father strapped her to his cycle to take her to the nunnery for a short rest .We will pray for her and light a candle as requested but Moony thinks with my ancestry I should sacrifice some-one on a pyramid.

The scandalous past of our little village ....

Were you to pass through the great hall at Arbathnot-Nut towers your eye may be drawn to this fine photograph hanging before the staircase for this is a photograph with a shocking past my dears, a story that will rouge your cheeks faster than Moony on singles night at the Fullmoon and Lunatic

I am so tooched.

Madame La Cox as ..."ow you say?" zee amis tres bon . It is so niz of dear Cherry to writ aboot mon misfortuants. I av to tell er I zink Madame Niti zinks I ad tres husbandz .I do not mind ,mabee twould ave ben a grand sing .I would mabe ave saveddd ze one at zee last .Madame Nito as sinned me op for ze lessons Anglais at ze vullage all with that niz teacher Monsieur Tweedie ..it will elp . I was just passing by zee door ( madame Cox says "Got you there " to Olly oo is tittering aboot a Polizmens from France who is ze Englishmez ..what is zis fun?

Rehearsals for the Christmas play.

Despite the multitude of faiths and belief in our village it was unanimously decided by little Tommy's mother that as her baby was the cutest ever born we'd put on the nativity this year.The assembled villagers were mostly nodding off so no-one complained. The Vicar seemed pleased but his idea that we should modernise by dressing Mary as a Latin-American dancer did not go down well except with Moony who wanted the part. Little Tommy's mother made cakes all iced perfectly and swore that her little Cynthia had made the astonishing paper angel that hangs over the stage . That child screams when she sees glue so I doubt it .My Bramwell is making the costumes for the Kings. Even Harlot Harley was generous to concede the role of Mary to our new villager. We chose Mr Ahmed from the antique shop to be Joseph .I am going to be a shepherd as is Moony . Mr Dingbat will play the Innkeeper and Mrs Wobble the Innkeeper's wife.At our first rehearsal poor Mary found herself talking to Joseph's knees . We have now constructed a little remote control stagelet to move her on .Tommy's mother Helen insisted she'd given up a career as an interior decorator for her children so would design the sets. Her brief sketches are a little worrying as it would cost 25,000s just for the stable which looks like a tart's boudoir. The vicar did try to impress on her that a simple stable should not have wall-paper hand embossed by Jane Churchill. Tommy will be wearing Rachel Riley that seems a little out of keeping with the times ."Mary "screamed and raged in French when she saw the designs .Mr Ahmed had lived in Algeria so told us she called Helen a heretic and a mad-woman amongst other things. I never expected Mr. Misery to go onside with Henny but he called the whole thing a nest of Satan's vipers and stormed out tearing Helen's wallpaper as he went.The glueing is going quite well except for the ciggy burns Moony keeps making. Helen is now distraught that the shepherd's costumes don't all match ..frankly I have never seen spotted Shepherd's outfits but if she must. Her poor husband looked awful as he tried to persuade her not to sue Mr Misery as he lives in adject poverty ( well he loves it that way ..I gave him a cushion and he flung it at me) . Dear Luzbal turned up at the last minute in his hideous sports car and split his lovely red satin trousers laughing ,Moony went off to help him mend them. I went home with the most awful headache. As I passed Helen's house the light was on and they were eating fish and chips yet she swears she cooks cuisine for every meal ,rises before dawn to made breakfast bread ..ah well.

Henrietta shows us the triplets.

It got a little confusing when Henrietta showed us her husband ,well that's what we thought. It seems she married triplets which is scandalous even for Cutting Sprout .I asked her their names and she said "Charles" I said that surely they couldn't all be called that so she explained that she called one of them" Milord "and the other seemed to be "Im ". I pointed to the one in grey and said "Charles?" to which she replied "Oui" .Then to the one in red "ah Milord" she giggled so I guess the one who ( ahem) wears pearl-drop earrings is "Im". I should have liked to point out to Milord that red is not good with red hair and that asymmetrical hair is all very well on New Romantics. Moony is eaten up with envy , she did have 5,897 husbands but never three at once. I wonder which one got the chop maybe it will come out. Charles has obviously hurt his thumb poor man but that sling came in handy . I think he was probably a fashion designer but then Milord could so easily have been too. I wonder if Im was quite the ticket or maybe wearing her earrings is a joke . I'd like to ask which of the children had which father but having seen them I'm not placing any bets on the eldest I can tell you .I can't wait to hear more about her life as confusing as it must be.I asked a little about personalities which led us into territory I'd rather not go .One of them seemed to have a massive ego problem and thought God had given him powers like healing . One had a stutter( poor man ) and another was terribly shy ( you'd never guess in those outfits !

New girl in the village.

She did explain to us that she had been dead for some considerable time .Mooney chortled and assured her that is no barr to living in Cutting Sprout. I wanted to ask her what fool had painted her in yellow with her med. complxion and she said " Van Dyke" . Well we simply love him in "Diagnosis Murder" but probably his artistic skills are not the best.We are thinking of getting dear Rolf in . She is rather small so we found her our oldest cottage to live in .She is quite a wizz with the Madelaines for the W.I . Sadly she told us her father had been stabbed ,her husband be-headed and her youngest daughter poisoned .We think she should save her money on lottery tickets quite frankly. She has a rather thick accent too so is inclined to be mis-understood . Mr Misery saw her yesterday and started speaking in tongues or rather screaming in them .The word beginning with "W" that is not at all nice was flung at the poor child until Luzbal popped up and cuffed him hard on the nose.Poor darling said most English people re-act to her like that . Mooney assured her bigots get no pleasure here , we are all as weird as hell . As for faiths we have the lot . She might have to catch a bus to Purple Sprouting for the darling little Catholic Church there. Mooney and I bought her some pattens yesterday so she doesn't get her lovely dresses all filthy . she told us she used to be hopeless at housework but nearly 4 hundred years in Heaven teaches you all-sorts . I think she will a welcome bit of gaiety in the village. She put on a Masque at the Village hall last week but none of us had a clue what it was about . We could do with an artistic director for the theatre group she might do . 

Our Hayday

Here is a little picture I unearthed in the wine cellar amongst boxes of Moonys accumulated clutter and her more than substantial wine collection. A box of sweetest memories from our golden days, here we are at the village fete. -One's self in the white dress, I was considered rather the looker in my hats and gowns trimmed with little sprays of brussels sprouts. Once such a funny little story this, the vicar had only just arrived in town after the sad retirement of his predecessor, the reverend Buryman ( more about him later) and I had come down to the vicarage to introduce myself and he was just setting out for the church. Took one look at me and cycled into a hedge. I can only say he got over it. I remember constructing for that day the most enormous Brussels sprout and madeira cake. Ohh the judge sunk his teeth into it .... And I can remember his face as clear as a bell, he sort of shut his eyes and I know words escaped him in that moment . No one found themselves able to buy it and I know that they just couldnt be selfish enough to take it all for themselves. So what could a dear sweet charitable woman like myself do? Well overcome by the spirit of giving I cut that cake up wrapped each slice up and posted it through their doors late at night. The next day they were speechless. 

Moi!

Christmas shopping begins in earnest, poor Earnest

As I popped into Dingbat, Wobble and Fryers this morning I noticed Mrs Dingbat balanced precariously atop a stool, now this isn't so unusual as the poor dear is a bit touched, its' what she was doing that aroused my interest. Yes the time for Christmas shopping had arrived as she hung the Christmas puddings at a daring angle I picked up one of these delightful little pamphlets. I always buy biscuits but I can't quite see why anyone would want a camera filled with biscuites surly you'll get better quality pictures if you use film. But Moony rather fancies East and West ( it reminds her of her affair with a bedouin) and I'm spoilt for choice when it comes to little Bramwell  

That really is the last time I referee.....

This time I mean it, the little horrors at Cutting sprout girls school. Motto, Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum puto. Rough translation; Since I am human, nothing human can be alien to me. In this village it seems so apt sometimes but even though this is my old school (now I think of it I don't remember ever turning up) I still find Mr Misery completly alien to me as he storm through the scout jamboriee shouting " This is debauched, so debauched I can hardly speak!" and the tears roll down their little faces.
Now I should'nt have been the one being carried off the field by the W.I ladies first aid but the way the swing those rackets. As I recuperated later in hospital I turned my head ( with great pain) towards Moony (eating my grapes, no surprise) and asked if we had been like that as young girls. She sighed stubbed out her ciggy before matron saw it and her eyes clouded over with memories. After a few moments she shock her head and said dryly "You were'nt." and then a moment later "Your late husband liked sporting girls, Harlot Harley was a member of the hockey club ." Moony poor demented creature that she is seems to see some kind of similarity between my beloved Woger, as he introduced himself that fateful night in 1922, the moon was full the stars were out cest la vie, and Harlots hubby Roger. But of course she's wrong my poor dear I hope he has'nt run out of sandwiches, glad I packed extra always aware of how lengthy commutes are . Ahh wel next year its her turn to keep an eye on the little "Darlings"  

I told you we had a jackal ...

Ahh the joys of pet ownership. How much they bring to our lives! Constant and faithful companions. When Moony moved into my cottage after the mysterious disapperance of the late Mr Nito, "I'll be such a comfort to you dear and ohh you'll hardly know i'm here!" I have feeling she just wanted to live rent free and as for, "you'll hardly know I'm here!", Well I have noticed Moony dearest but of course I'm not bitter, now where was I ? Ahh yes, well anyway she brought with her (amongst other things ) her pet jackal called Bunny unbelivably. What a regal nuisance. If I had known... He upset my poor little kittys, sukie has never come down from the fridge and whilst they make do of the nice cosy hearth rug here you'll see he has to have his own little throne/table/ alter to the gods. And feeding him don't even get me started he's a sacred animal so fish from the Nile caught by the blind monks of the sacred temple of wooble monday,wednesday,friday. But eagles of the sacred palace of ImenPointlessdeity on Saturdays only and ritual lambs of Doodlbooper tuesday and thursday. Don't even ask about Sundays! Some pets are close friends some need stuffing  

How I wish she'd get used to using the bus....

Here you see Mrs Moony on a little dash to the shops' it always has to be so theatrical with her why can't she just get used to taking the bus like everybody else? I take the bus. Its a wonderful mode of transport but she for some reason has to be galloping off in her little chariot which does not hold nearly as much shopping and we watch from the bus windows as she whizzes by looking so out of date. And I fear for her what if one of the wheels came of ?  

We were flapping flappers....

After our dedicated service to the V.A.D Moony and I decided to live the wild life for a while. Times were changing, skirts were becoming daringly short and Moony was keen to get an Eton crop. Ohh how we danced the Charleston long into the early hours and then Moony would laugh so hard, every girl was trying to get the Egyptian look as the "Tomb of Tutankamun" had just been discovered, thankfully "dearest Howard" had smuggled her all the good stuff already. Ohh in our day we gave the Dolly Sisters a run for their money, I made a fantastic cocktail with brussels sprouts called the green sheep. Totally non alcoholic bless or Moony may have become desperately addicted.... She I think you will be unsurprised to know was wilder than me. Ohh the Vicar still says she is our home grown Josephine Baker. Not that I would know I never went to his very late parties and never a Saturday to Monday . I had standards to maintain around this time I met the late Mr Nito but I havent seen him since as he's very late getting back from the office. Some silly people say he must be dead and Moony once insituated that he had run of with "Harlot Harley" but they didnt know him like me. I expect hes just changeing trains, so absent minded! Au Revoir mon Cheries , your faithful correspondent Mrs J. Nito

Joyful momories......

Hard as it is to imagine my dears Moony and I were once bright young things Enjoying our years at Cutting Sprout Girls School And in the holidays of Scouting. Here we are with our troop, off to camp out in Sprouting woods. We were very popular and I recall winning many badges for my craft work as well as bandaging ( ohh how useful that was in the great war) and home making ( not to be cofused with home building ). There was one girl of course with whom I was not popular, there is always one to spoil it for everyone else and that girl was none other than "Harlot Harley" . Screaming until she got the best tent and dare I say it always of chatting up the boy scouts. Once... Well I had better not mention particulars but suffice it to say she was relieved of quite a few badges that day but went on to get an A+ in biology.

Ahh how this reminds me of my dear friend.....

I mean Moony of course,never far from the bottle dear thing, Thankfully unlike this poor thing I don't have to take of Moony's shoes and don't you think that after treking round all those shops for her apparently alcoholic husband she might need her shoes removed just as much as he does? I think we should tell her about the suffragette movement whose lovely china tea service I still have. How very wrong the so called "experts" on the Antiques Roadshow were, suggesting there were only two complete sets in the world when I know for a fact that Mrs Potts has one! But I digress and now I hear the kettle boil I must go my devoted readers Au Revoir for now...

As Autumn moves ever closer....

I'm sure that Moony will insist that we all gather round the fire place for a hearty game of Senet. Not the large building in Washington where our dear President worked before he came to us but Moonys favourite board game. The rules arn't what I would call clear, but dearest Moony loves it. I've gathered that we throw a pot of sticks in the air and then I don't know, but it influences our moves . She has about fifty sets for playing this game and its hard to find space for them in the cupboard under the stairs where they mingle with a nice game of "Brussels Sprouts"(who could ever have imagined that John Lewis would see my point of view!) Moony sadly is less keen on my board games but she is, I have decided to a certain extent a pleb. Still after a hot cocoa on a stormy winters night after the vicar has left having "entertained" us all evening with charades (ohh how we laugh at his "Tricky Dicky"!). I can feel the attraction to play just one more game before we retire to our snug little bedroom.

Carrots in the dark

No I think you'll find a torch and some bionoculars a little more useful. What do you suppose you'll see if you hold a carrot in front of you as you walk down the street. Nothing unless you are mad enough to have hollowed one out and transformed it into a torch, you'll be sorry when it goes off. The carrot is a useless vegetable the sprout is not. For a basket of sprouts on a dark night will not only help you see but provide a talking point in the air raid shelter! And think of all the games that can be played with brussels sprouts (marbles for instance).

Go through your Wardrobe....

I'm afraid we don't live in Narnia land so this is a little out of the realms of possibility, no? Much as one is often struck by the desire to hide in the wardrobe it seems a touch cowardly and impractical , what if the war never ends do they propose we live in there indefinately? Open a school in my mink coat and a local shop in my woollen stockings then shall I, we can keep all the stamps in my opera gloves and set up home in my nightie ?!

The local wildlife

Moony and I took a stroll in the countryside this weekend when I noticed there was something odd about the delightful sheep in farmer Brookfluff's field. I say odd to be honest they've never been like normal sheep. I ask you have you ever been to a farm where the sheep subscribe to the "Independent"( I think not somehow! )But I was puzzled by the new sheep he was pure gold wearing a crown with black dreadlocks. Not your run of the mill sheep ehh? I turned to Mooney and at once knew where this odd bleating little king came from. Yes dear reader as you may have realised from the picture enclosed above our new fleeced friend was once one of Neffie's pets. She sold him on to Farmer Brookfluff to cover some of her gambling debts (I have suggested that she see a hypnotist about her addictions as I hear they can work miracles but alas she will not take my advice). Well he seems to be settling in well placing himself as a king god and expecting worship and hand picked grass at all hours of the day and night. Still he may be ousted by a revoloution any day now. Your faithful voice from the village Mrs J.Nito God bless and pray for a glorious sprout harvest.

A bit mad Hatter but a best seller

Straw for the Summer days ,bound to get you noticed !

Hathor's Hats..

A little Astrakhan number for those Winter days .

Lumpy stockings.....

How very cheeky our dear Moony was when she saw the title of my post ! But no my dear I of course refer to the "unusual" Christmas window at Dingbat,Wobble & Fryers in the high street. Throughout December we the assembled villagers both marvelled and speculated at what the unsightly bulges were compossed of. Of course with Lord Arbathnot-Nut as yet not apprehended by the police and with the dissaperance of Lady Arbathnot-Nut never quite resolved we found our minds running to even wilder speculation. Here I am with my delightful friend from the W.I Mrs Potts , we have just identified an orange something that for a brief while became the talk of the village. Mr&Mrs Dingbat, Mr Wobble and Mr & Mrs Fryer kept tight lipped about the materials used until the 25th when they revealed to our surprise that they had used unwanted gifts from family and friends collected over the years. Never before have I seen so many mens undergarments. But when I said this to Moony she seemed very surprised and remarked that I never pulled my weight on the wards when we were in the V.A.D. Humm her opinion not mine ..... At least I knitted the poor boys some socks what did she do for morale I ask!? On that note I must depart, tomorrow is W.I day and my I have never had my title of Queen of Tarts bested....

Just telling Holly our life stories..

poor dear must be tired from all that sitting up watching "Tom Jones" last night ...I think a word with her mother ! 

Holly's expression when..

she told us what Luzbel had prepared for Mummy's visit..hum? 

O.M.G..

Mummy is coming...she's barking mad you know.Bossy just doesn't come into it ..any minute now the limo will pull up and the hat boxes will be unloaded . She thinks the Sun rises when she gets up you know.Thank-goodness Mummy/Daddy isn't coming too he's even madder. She'll be off to the Church setting up an altar to herself and upsetting the Vicar .Last time she visited the whole congregation had started crawling out backwards before her and she scared them all with tales of eternal damnation...ah yes well nothing changes does it? Better stock up on locusts and mead.

Popped into The President's Office

Terrible smell of glue and fish must be working on his little model. I did have a small peep in his drawers .

Daylight robbery !

and could I call the police ?NO me and Nito had to sneak out the back .We sneaked back with some old Mummy from a cave that night so no-one missed me . 

Holly loves a sheep...

She tells us she is very fond of a sheep called Dolores who is on a cruise ,sadly probably mixing with a lot of Hooray Henrys like this lot ...showing the Bolshevik in me . 

Mrs Cox popped round ..

and when she saw our pictures pointed to Barbie and said she was a "heroine" but got her mixed up with her friend Ethel. We know just how much a heroine the poor woman is . Anyhow we found out that the family name is Kennedy isn't that a co-incidence just like Mrs Cox's hero Bobby.

Barbie's husband's second wife...

on their wedding day ...no wonder that poor woman had no self-esteem he must have given this one so much attention . 

At first he took the coward's way out...

and told her from a distance . 

Barbie has started Bungie jumping...

maybe too big a personality change.