Easter in Cutting Sprout.

Easter Sunday

"They'll let anyone drive these days!" I looked up from my copy of the local paper as Moony shouted this odd early morning greeting. Ohh dear I thought as she stalked into the breakfast room her dressing gown flapping dangerously near to one of the little Easter candles I'd lit so I quickly blew it out. "Look at that! " She announced in disgust as she placed the post in front of me. On top of the pile was a jaunty Easter card (I have enclosed a picture below) of a happy little bunny driving a giant Easter egg in his car. "It isn't even safe." She remarked as she cracked open her egg. "How can he even reach the pedals!" Ohh dear I think Moony may have lost a few more marbles in the night as i tried to point out the cards humorous message all she could do was look mystified... "I don't see that It's funny Nito dear, he' clearly a danger to himself and others." I gave up and presented her with her Easter egg specially iced with hieroglyphic Easter egg hunters . I return she gave me a chocolate pyramid, not quite entering into the spirit of the occasion but never mind it's the thought that counts.

I was delighted to see that my little angel Bramwell had sent me an Easter card as well, he has such pretty delicate taste and what a lovely yet surprising present for Mrs Bunny. (See Below) After Moony had finished the terribly slow process of eating her breakfast I left her seated in front of a special songs of worship broadcast, she never knows the tunes alas, and popped over to see what Henny and Charlie were doing. I found Henny sitting on a upturned bucket in a straw hat holding a score board whilst her grandchildren ran around the garden shrieking with excitement and riffling in Charlie's ohh so carefully planted bushes and flower beds. "Hollo Mrs Nitooo We is hoving an Easther ogg hont what is for finding the oggs." I'm still puzzled as to where people expect their eggs to have gone? Still the children were having very good fun so I said nothing far off in the distance I could see Charlie and Oliver trying to organise an egg and spoon race. This is another Easter mistake, you can race cars because they have engines but it is impossible to race either eggs or spoons as they don't have engines but does anyone listen to me?

I sat with Henny for a little while but then had to dash home as I noticed there was smoke coming from my kitchen windows or as dear Henny put it "Does vous nosees your winows is on firrr only zee is smocking."

I rushed in to find Moony had been trying to make hot cross buns. They were burnt but she was half successful, as she was very hot and more than a little cross.

Thankfully by Monday we were all to stuffed on chocolate to try anything adventurous... especially not baking. One thing I shall draw a veil over, the reverend Pine-Coffins sermon, least said soon as mended.

Ahh thats better!!!

Ahh hello dears here I am! Moony treated me to breakfast in bed this morning, did I say breakfast ? Ohh must be a Freudian slip, nothing Moony makes could be called a treat. No matter it was edible. As you can see she threw in the papers as an after thought (sad that she threw them with such determination at the scrambled egg but I brushed it of) I noticed that tomorrow is Halloween, umm must get Moony to sit in her deckchair on the lawn. She has to pay her way and she really is a cheap decoration, not that we get many trick or treaters. I don't know why, I make all the sweets and biscuits myself. But if it's Halloween tomorrow then its time to review the catalogues that I get through my door each day for those little surprise gifts. For Charlie and Henny I usually pick a gift from the past times catalogue, I find their Carolinian Christmas gifts particularly suitable though I confess that I never knew they had record racks in those days.... Maybe a Stilton spoon, or I think Charlie could look rather lovely in the Stuart brocade dressing-gown easy wash so that's a plus with Christmas dinner! The British museum sell Egyptian re-pos that have a smaller price tag than the originals but look nice on Moony's dressing-table. Where do I get Bramwells presents from? Well my dear up until now I've kept that a closely guarded secret (I didn't want to spoil the poor wee mites Christmas for him) When he was very young I used to be very influenced by what he had "written to Santa for..." such as patchwork pieces and crochet yarn, in recent years though I've been buying them from a lovely boutique in Purple Sprouting. They stock all sorts of pretty things, Lovely shepherdess lamps, musical boxes, 50's style box handbags. He adores them and I just love phoning them up, we can chat for hours. Marina their secretary is such a sweet girl as are Louis and Alphonse who came all the way from Switzerland they yodel so well that I suggested that they replace their shop bell with a tape of it. They went one better and turned the shop front into a cheerful little chalet, yodelling and all. Even the assistants are dressed as milk maids. Ohh one can be so very impressed on a visit there.
So as I crunched my toast (shocking I almost lost a tooth) and spooned in my tea (much to thick to drink) I flicked through their catalogue. Now be frank, tell me do you think that Bramwell would prefer a revolving Christmas tree lamp that projects Santa and his sleigh onto the walls and ceiling in lifelike fashion. Or would he prefer the complete Babycham bar set? I don't know, it does include glasses, deer shaped ice bucket and cocktail shaker and those weird plastic sticks that you stir cocktails with.
I shall muse upon that for a little while, after all more pressing, tomorrow I must tootle down to the W.I. Where we shall be discussing such large and unwieldy questions as what shall we do for the harvest festival, mayors fair and Christmas panto? Ohh what with this tea and all these questions I might just snuggle down and have a little longer in bed.... Do not tell Moony... But what with the weather... One does feel so awfully snug and drowsy in bed. Good Night my dears..... YYYY aaaa WWW Nnnn............

Wassailing

Well my dears apart from Wednesday being a bit of a low point in poor Charlie’s calendar –he spent the whole day mopping around the pub wearing a roll neck jumper and burst into tears when Doris the barmaid told one of the locals “you’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on!!!” – We’ve been having a rather lovely time here. Moony and I went on a tinsy cruise down the Nile since Christmas, we got back on the 15th of January to find a little card pushed through the door which announced in shiny red letters.

Moony licked her lips and looked enthusiastic. I could not believe that I had forgotten our annual Wassail, Mrs Bagshott-Smyth and her women’s group will never forgive me. It’s one of their pet concerns and they prepare seriously to welcome the spirit of the harvest into our orchards. I usually enjoy this quaint village tradition provided that in driving the evil spirits out of my house none of my priceless figurines suffers (you know who you are “the duke of Brunswick” and I think that’s a ludicrous title for such a little monster.) Moony was looking even more excitable but I explained to her that unless she collected up the saucepans this year I simply wouldn’t be taking her, not after the last time. When I caught her eating the toast that Ida Batwing and dear little Mary had left as an offering to the apple trees, I can scarcely describe the embarrassment I felt! I must say I felt a little naughty at having come back the day before and in such a state, I had sand in everything! But I doubt you wish to know about that. I popped across to Charlie and Henny’s house just as soon as I thought that the coast might be clear, Charlie opened the door in his little “I’ve been executed and all they gave me was this crummy apron!” umm Apron. He was in very high spirits, covered in pastry and smelt suspiciously of cider. He giggled as he explained that he’d been baking, yes my dears and I expect that he’d found it necessary to sample the contents of his famous wassail pasties (they may taste innocent my dear but they are the devil in disguise). Henny was perched by the radio laughing at some comedy or other; I think it might have been called the Goons or the Gones or something. When I came in she giggled and wiggled her legs as she turned of the dial “Ohh Mrs Nutto Ze has ziz radio progam an ze does… Umm how you zay ‘is fallon in ze vater!’ an ann and Bud and Min!!!! Is zooo vunny ! Like you and moses Moony!!! Vous like it Chillie non???” Charlie pulled a chair out for me and nodded. “Ochh Aye very like the lassies ehh!” I have no idea what they meant bless them but Henny quickly noted my newly acquired tan. “Ohh Mrs Nutto Vous has gone all like a man on zee telly… Ohh wat ze call ze tan.” I was awfully flattered of course, I'd spent quite a while out on the deck playing coits to get that darker green... I had to confess to them that I had quite forgotten about our little merry making amongst the trees and as a result I wouldn't have much to contribute to the general food and drink side of things. "Ohhh but vous must as some off our lambs wooool what Chilli pot in zee what is it called solar downstairs... Umm non Cellar..! But are ze non zee zame zing?" Frankly I wasn't at all sure that Henny had the right end of the stick or in fact any sort of clue at all. "No no Henny" I said "I dont think that wool will make any sort of substitute for a nice punch even if it is merino." Ohh my how they laughed, poor Charlie fell of his armchair laughing and didn't seem to be able to regain his composure. It turns out that what they intended me to give my guests was a spicy, bubbly, cider drink to which you just add heat. I left them with a lighter heart and a considerably lighter step after Charlie gave me a practical demonstration. I took the long way home so I could get the paper and spied Ida and Mary by the duck pond, they were dusting down Idas considerable collection of wassailing cups. They invited me to join them but I sweetly declined. Frankly Ida has explained her collection to me before and I don't belive that I've spent an odder afternoon in anyone's company. Moony was attempting to scour the cellar for any old cordials, fruit wines and preserves that we might have laid up last year, she had found a few bottles but many of them seemed suspiciously half full and Moony smelt of sloe's and damson. Still as they told me so often at my school "it's the effort that counts Juanita." or in this case it was Moonys effort that counted. We tried to get a good nights sleep but one can hear Moony's snoring so awfully through our rather thin little walls. I should say that I was up and about at a delightful hour the same can not be said for poor dear Moony. When Charlie came over with the car however she was mercifully up and dressed, so interestingly was Henny. I might add that its not interesting that Henny was dressed but what she was wearing. A dress that captured the essence of christmas tradition, or a walking Christmas tree I couldn't decide. The villagers were setting off from the town hall as usual, although the Mayor can't really come due to his health problems. Harlot stays behind to keep him "company".
The going door to door only had one little hitch we were all outside it turned out so of course there was no one to let us in. Sadly we only realised the problem after the third house we tried when Mrs Cuthbert remembered that that was her house and she'd have to go back in to let us in. And we had thought that all our neighbours had suddenly become rather impolite. Ohh well as long as we remembered to let ourselves in we were alright. Thankfully Moony and I had taken the precaution to take all our ornaments down to the basement or I shudder to think what might have happened.... We entered into the spirit of the thing banging our pots and pans (le Creuset excepted) and shouting our heads off. On the way up to Farmer Ramsbodie's farm to bless his lovely orchard, we met up with Mrs Bagshott-Smyth who had managed to array herself in an awful lot of what appeared to be plaster-of-Paris apples some terribly familiar looking curtains. I think I saw Mrs Arbathnot-Nut donate them to the charity shop only last month, not of course that I said anything she can be terrible sensitive. But as she will always tell you she is sensitive to so much more than the rest of us, i'm not so sure about that. She does not know that we find her performance art deeply boring, in fact I noticed that several people turned back muttering "Remember that Winter thing? Never again!" Ahh well I'm a girl who will just hang on in there as our G.I's like to say. We got up to the apple Orchard and discovered Farmer Ramsbodies and his mysteriously fluffy wife sitting on a set of deckchairs with what I might call the worlds largest barrel of Cider. Moony kept very close to it even talking about Mrs Ramsbodies knitting so as to be close to it (that dear lady never runs out of yarns but I've never seen her in the yarn shop how odd?). The rest of us got to work, singing the songs our grandparents taught us, sadly my grangdma only taught me to sing "Iwish I'd looked after my teeth". So I am always at a disadvantage.

A Merry Christmas my dear, as we pull our crackers and sip our Mulled wine were all thinking of you. So I thought that I'd include this Photo of Cutting Sprout at Christmas. I'll be back once the Christmas mayhem subdues itself to tell you how we got on this year but for now I think we may have carolers at the so toddle pip.... Ding Dong verily the sky is riven with angels singing......Glooooria

somewhere over the rainbow....

Feeling full of the spirit of Christmas this week Moony and I decided that our rather unusual family deserved a little treat before it all became a little bit too hectic round at our charming little abode. So it seemed heaven sent when I spotted an advertisement for a screening of "The Wizard of Oz" at Cutting Sprouts' very lovely little cinema, The Cutting Empire. I rang at once and had a lovely little chat with Miss Robins who works at the ticket office. She and I went to school together and what lovely anecdotes we have to share, about the old days and local gossip of course..... Anyway this particular film has always been one of my little Bramwell's Favourite films (I remember when we first took him to see it, he carried around that little toy dog for days), I was sure too that we could easily take along Neff and Arknatun, maybe even Henny and Charlie? I'm not sure why I was quite so optimistic, I really can't imagine what I must have been thinking. Taking Neff out is always a nightmare as you might be able to imagine. My that woman can complain, "It was never like this when I was Queen of Egypt", "I'll have you know young man that I am a Goddess!". Ohhh well I had every hope in the world that it would all go well, and so bright and early on Saturday morning I warmed up the car, locked Bunny in the basement (its for the best and it saves the sofa cushions) and propped Moony on the backseat in as merry a Christmas posture as possible under the circumstances (i.e she was asleep). At least Bramwell was happy to see me, dressed in a fetching blue gingham suit he had made himself. But when we got to Neff, ohh my I was in for a struggle, admittedly she was sitting on a deckchair on the lawn with her handbag next to the topiary version of herself. But her face was foul (well fouler than usual) and she was still wearing her fluffy pink marabou slippers. She got up with a martyred air and flung open the back seat door. She got in with a groan and announced rather harshly "I've seen it, it's a dreadful film." I saw Bramwells eyes narrow and decide that now was the time for us all to enjoy a little Christmas singalong, I burst into a round of "Jingle Bells" and everyone but Neff joined in. Even darling Moony, though she was rather out of tune as a result of all the gin she likes to imbibe. But Neff just sat there, looking out of the window with that awful superior air, so we thought we had better go and get Moonys darling father. He and Neff separated, Ark as he likes to be called is just as mad as his charming lady wife, but he likes a spot of gardening and we all adore him. He was the one she looked to when she wanted a topiary garden of her. We found him in his kitchen whipping up a batch of his own popcorn (he is awfully strange like that). In the fridge was enough homemade confectionery to see us all the way through the film. Neff snorted with derision and muttered "Hummm He never was any use unless you wanted a

plate of pancakes......" We decided to take no notice of her. After all we usually do. Hen and Charles were waiting outside the cinema. Which was a relief and Henny helped me to drag Moony out of the car and into the lobby where she engaged a cardboard cut out of Cary Grant in a heated discussion about how to make the perfect Martini. Keeping her busy for long enough for me to buy the popcorn and get our tickets clipped. We settled down in our seats to endure Mrs Barncombe's organ playing until the adverts when she descended halfway through her own version of "There will be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover" looking not a little flustered and annoyed. We sat through Pearl and Deans offerings (what a dull couple they must be) and then as the rating flared up I felt something fluffy and odd land on my lap. I almost screamed but just in time I looked down and realised that it was little Muffy. Now dogs are not allowed in the cinema but I know she's always been a bit of a film buff so we often sneak her in (also she adores popcorn). I carry a little headscarf and some sunglasses to disguise her with (when she wears them she looks just like Grace Kelly). Pretty quickly into the film Neff began to snore and Bramwell gave her that little look of his. It must have worried Moony as she stuffed a pair of old tights from her handbag (I do not know why she carries some of the things she does) into Neffs mouth... The snoring stopped but I hoped that no one would look to closely at our little gathering. The film was a sucsess for an outing of ours which is a surprise. Bramwell was crying when we got up to leave you know. Hes so sensitive.... Poor Lamb

How to fill the villagers stockings.......

Moony and I mulled over our Christmas present options this weekend outside CuttingSprouts lovely little bistro (a rather charming and chic little place with what dear Moony calls "Such darling waiters!!!"), looking at this picture I'm even less convinced than I was at the time that Mrs Moony was drinking coffee. If she was then why might I ask did she need a soda siphon? Anyway my dears I scribbled and Moony suggested. Now I dare say that she has her reasons for suggesting some of these things but I don't even dare to type their names, why might I ask would the vicar need to keep that particular part of his anatomy so warm? I had to dismiss so many of her ideas, but in the end we got down to a perfect list. And the vicar will be getting socks, you'll be glad to know (genuinely black none of this very dark blue they fob you of with). And once I'd downed my third cup of coffee Moony tipped the waiter heavily "Never try to drink water backwards, better to light a candle than curse the darkness, if you want to peel a boiled egg dip it in cold water" we left, leaving the waiter edified but looking just a wee bit mystified. We popped into Dingbat, Wobble and Fryers emporium where the gaily decorated Christmas tables are set out (its the staff their getting these days). In the window a large papier-mache Santa clause with untrustworthy eyes stared deep into the souls of a throng of elves who were skipping in the fake snow with their gaudy as a tarts boudoir Christmas gifts. A sight to warm the cockles of your heart, provided that your completely unhinged. We made our way to a hastily constructed department called "Gift Ideas" Humm, once you've got one games compendium haven't you rather got them all? We asked one of the assistants for help with Bramwells gift, he seemed to know him rather well, apparently they both frequent the "Ruby Slippers" not a pub I can say I've ever been too but it all sounds very Gay when Brammy describes it to me.... He pointed us right to the perfect gift. All beads and sequins half price and swore that even if they met again he wouldn't tell. Moony sulked which is strange when shes around a handsome young man she usually flirts horrendously when I asked her about this she sniffed and muttered "Not much point old girl, coals to Newcastle and the like" I wonder what she meant. I decided to cheer her up by finding her a little something....

Cutting Sprout in autumn.

As you know from reading this my correspondence with you, we at Cutting Sprout have been preparing for our harvest festival. Always a cause of great celebration in this little corner of the world where on the fringes of Cutting Sprout as I have doubtless told you before sweet little farms abound. I of course look forward to the Brussels sprout harvest, Moony woke me up only last weekend to ask me when the Gin bottle harvest is. Bless the poor lass I didn't know how to explain it to her so I told her to nip down to the kitchen and make herself some Gin and Cornflakes whilst I got a few more winks of sleep. But once she was gone I lay there and had a little think, what might people with a less discerning pallet than myself might bring along for the Vicars lovely harvest table all decorations for the church being provided by the lovely Mrs Pine-Coffin. I'm afraid they were rather messed with by some other pretentious and bossy villagers whose names I will not divulge here....But don't they think they're the cats pyjamas? I contributed a little wreath of Brussels sprouts and cornflowers. That I suspect caused ohh...Just a little pang of jealousy in the aforementioned villager ( oh okay a certain Mrs Barnstorm and her cronies).... Well as the nights got darker we brushed of our nice warm outfits (unless of course our name was Bagshott-Smyth, more from her later) and little village children went around singing "All things bright and beautiful" and "We plough the fields and scatter" until Moony remarked that they shouldn't encourage illegal land ploughing. I asked her how the little poppets might be doing this (I was at the time sowing an ear of corn suit for one of the local nursery class so that he could pop up on stage and deliver his line "I 'v grown"). Well she said "If they were ploughing those fields legally then they wouldn't have to scatter would they?" Again I didn't feel qualified to explain so I sent her across the road for "a cup of something or other" Her eyes lit up and she scurried across the road with a tumbler. I breathed a sigh of relief and got back to my sewing machine which stuck on automatic had put an unusual pattern into a tomato costume and I had to unpick some of the worst bits. I'll say its one of those things where something gets scorched into it by the greenhouse. Moony didn't come back for a while, she'd been very much enjoying Henny and Charlie's drinks cupboard. I really hadn't meant a cup of whisky but that is what she brought back. Never Mind. We pottered along to the service on Sunday, me with a basket of garden produce and Moony with a tin of Jolly Green Giant sweetcorn which she insisted was harvest produce, just as she had the year before with a pack of sage and onion flavoured gravy. I try to say as little as possible on these occasions. It was charming, and my costumes turned out to be "rather sweet in a surreal way" as the vicar put it. And only a little misshapen. When we left the church we found little notes attached to the trees leading us to the woods, we looked at each other intrigued and then as one we followed the arrows.

Guess what we found yes Mrs Bagshott-Smyth and her women's group, a lot of very alcoholic punch and some wooden toad stools large enough to sit on. The punch helped I must say to enable us to better interpret Mrs Bagshott-Smyths "Dance of the Autumn sprites welcoming the Winter". I must say that they were graceful, bizarre and in the spirit of cutting sprout totally un-put off by the start of an early frost. But I snuck of home before anyone could ask my opinion. Call me a diplomat my dears, Henny did when she caught up with me. The two of us made our way home via every conker in the woods (Henny cant help herself picking them up and her pockets were bulging.) We talked about our families as we walked and we hummed and I imagine that the unknowing observer might have mistaken us for darling Pooh and Piglet.

The W.I and the Harvest Festival

Hello my dears, I have just slipped out of the kitchen where things have been popping, bubbling and squeaking. I can hear something exploding out of its saucepan as I write this little note but I don’t dare look. Ahh dear Moony has just gone off to battle it back in… “Have Courage dear, use the broom if need be, remember it’s only a suet pudding….Its done what?! Hang on there dear I’ll be with you in a moment, I’m sorry dear reader I must just go and help poor Moony extricate herself to think she only went in their for a cup of tea…….”

Well dears I’m back, goodness me! The reason for all this baking and I know you’ve all been wondering is the upcoming W.I and very important this... The Harvest Festival. We all love a good knee’s up at Cutting Sprout, even the vicars been rather excited. As for Mrs Bagshott-Smyth she’s been putting together a little show to represent the oneness of all seasons and the primal feelings of the harvest, whatever that may mean. One sees her and her friends trudging off to the woods in the most inappropriate garb for the season, little chiffon fairy dresses and Crepe paper crowns. I tell you dears it’s rather a sight, last night as I was passing her house on my way back from the town hall meeting I took a little peak through the windows and saw them constructing a rather large set of papier mache vegetables. Mrs Bagshott-Smyth was painting a rather oddly coloured carrot. I stopped looking and hurried on, further down the road I passed Ida and Mary’s cottage come faith healing practice. They were sitting on the lawn with a pot of herbal tea debating whether if we are all dead as some people think there can be messages from the other side and if there are which other side they might be coming from. Mary was putting the finishing touches to a corn dolly that looked rather as if it wanted finishing off. It had a few little friends who sat whimsically around the teapot not looking all that out of place on Ida’s tea table. They invited me to sit with them which I did, Moony was out at the Full Moon and Lunatic and Brammy had popped into town to see a play, Blithe Spirit as it happens. Ida poured me cup of tea from herbs that she had grown herself. I could tell, it tasted weak and a little strange but it was very relaxing I have to confess. Mary asked me vaguely if I had made anything for the Harvest festival and then informed me that the harvest moon was very conducive to messages from the other side, which ever one it turned out to be. I suddenly remembered that apart from some jam and cordial I had laid down in July I really hadn’t made anything special. I assured the girls that I would be back to see if they could contact Woger, they looked at each other very oddly. I’m sure that Mary was biting her lip rather hard, I wonder why? I excused myself and made a quick run down to the village stores, returning laden with the makings of the pies, puddings and conserves with which I planned to impress the W.I. Well that was the plan at the time but as you will have noticed since then my baking all seems to have gotten a little haywire. Still I should imagine it’s still going to be twice the pudding that Harlot Harley will have mustered up.
(I am including this picture of one of my little successes. Pickled Sprouts! You'll never belive how many iv'e managed to make and I dare say that they'll go down a treat!)

I can hear Moony wrestling the strange thing into a tin now……. “Well dear if you cant find one big enough wrap it in greaseproof paper and pop it in the larder….Ohh it wont fit, well wrap it up anyhow dear….You think you can get it into the cellar well be careful those stairs haven’t been looked at in a fair few years.... Ohh dear right ladies and gentlmen I really must go now. Toddle Pip!!"

Pub Quiz night

Friday night is pub quiz night at the "Full Moon and Lunatic" and Moony and I always turn out. One day we hope to return with the prize Money, but until then its just a cracking good way to spend a Friday Evening. Our team the W.I ladies are fairly good and we take it all very seriously, Bramwell designed us a team uniform; its a fetching outfit consisting of fluffy purple jumper, pleated green skirt and little beret. Henny has also taken to bringing cheerleaders pom poms with her and really whipping up team spirit with her routines. We drive them all down and Mrs Pine-Coffin makes the sandwiches. Tonight as I fastened on my hat Mrs Bagshott-Smyth came banging in still dressed in one of her less than fetching pairs of footless tights and drooping leg warmers with some bits of twig hanging from her ponytail. After a few over theatrical stretching exercises which she calls the "Oshhhha ahh" and I call the "Ohh is that my back going" she produced from behind her back something that looked like a badly stuffed pair of tights fighting with a Guy Fawkes doll whilst he burst into merry flames atop the bonfire. "I have designed... A new MASCOT for our team. It was inspired by a ..." She paused, pulled herself up to her full height, stuck out her chest and fixed her eyes on something in the middle distance. "A Woodsprite!". Moony snorted loudly and got the hoover out as the creature was shedding glitter and leaves all over the carpet. I put on my glasses to look at it and was even more horrified. No one would get in the car with it so it had to be strapped to the roof and a shower of debris followed us to the pub. We passed Mr Dingbat walking his dog and as his eyes were drawn to the roof rack I saw a silent scream escape his lips. I knew how he felt. A crowd gathered to watch as we tried to wrestle it down and Mrs Bagshott-Smyth looked daggers at Henny as one of its arm type things came away in her hand, but we rammed it back on with some of Nells chewing gum and it held better than the rest of the thing. The pub landlord insisted that we leave it in the beer garden as he didn't want it putting of customers. He supposed that in the twilight and with a beer in its hand it might pass as one of his more eccentric regulars and not draw suspicion. We had a wonderful time, and much to our surprise and my pride at the end of the evening Bramwell as captain of his team ( The Ruby Slippers) lifted the cup and the prize money and brought us all one last round.
Late that night as Moony and I listened to the local news in bed, on our transistor radio the announcer suddenly became very serious. "Reports just in that the Beast from the Moors was spotted having a leisurely Beer outside "The Full Moon and Lunatic" Some reports even suggest that a pack of crisps were involved. All a far cry from its sheep snatching antics....! Ohh dear We'd better not say anything.

Cutting Sprout christmas post.

Ernie B. Del-ivered (post man)
I am afraid that my note hear is by way of sorry apology for it seems that on the night of the 27th december I was intrusted to deliver this christmas letter from your dear correspondent Mrs Nito. However I somehow found myself in the FullMoon & Lunatic (our local pub) and in the thrall of the charming Mrs Moony. I neglected to deliver this christmas salutation but all is corrected now I hope.


Mrs Nito
21 Nutting lane
Cutting Sprout
Veggieshire.
Hello my dears'
One and all, like our dear king you will find I make my annual Christmas address unlike the king I however can not command the powers of wireless and television to address, alas. Instead now I seat myself here at my desk on this charming Boxing day, Moony has nipped out and when I took a look at her receding figure outlined so clearly against the snow she seemed to be heading in the general direction of the "Public house", so we won't be seeing her for a while and the last of the turkey has been worked into a charming recipe of my own I call it "Sprout merrily with meat" and I'm sure that mad I mean merry monarch Henry 8th wound have darn well approved wholeheartedly. Although I do not know how Moony came by a Turkey on the american army base I did not know that they travelled with native wildlife (maybe they get homesick), maybe it had had escaped from a local farm as all our neighbours had to make do with a nasty mixture of goose and goat in jelly.
I will not say that this past Christmas day was in any way, shape or form a disaster and I think you will have noticed that I am that type of resourceful lady who can seize victory from the teeth of disaster faster than you can say "sprout thank you at a dinner party". The evening of christmas eve was as ever spent at the Cutting Sprout village players nativity. It is fortunate that the local paper does not run reviews as more than one amature thespians dreams of fame would almost certainly have been shattered. Between you and I, I had no idea that Mary had any musical numbers but dear Henny seems to think there were and we must humour her (she has had such a hard life poor dear, but I am sorry to say that it seems that whichever of her husbands she brought with her fell asleep and had to be prodded by myself or rather by my umbrella.) Then we had the bliss of sherry and cocktails at the vicars and all felt rather wild with our gin slings(in Moonys case slung all over the place). Charles had to be dragged home after he began to sing Danny Boy, weep loudly and declare his un-dying love for the Vicars wife who went quite pale and began to wack him with her mothers silver tea tray more damage to him than the tray.I think DR De-ath had to be sent for but never fear paracetamol a good nights sleep sorted him out. Moony and I finally left after Lord Arbathnot suggested we play Cluedo, well we're on to you my dear! The next Morning I awoke to find a misshapen stocking at the end of my bed and a misshapen Moony at the end of it but once she'd woken up she showed me what I'd got for christmas. Well my dears I must say I was rather touched by Moonys thoughtful little gift. Some tickets for a lovely ariel tour of Belgiums Brussels sprout growing fields, a big improvement on last years gift ( big bright red wool socks full of minature Teachers whiskey bottles -all empty-). I was not impressed at the time and this year I dropped some really heavy hints about how Woger always gave me something very "now" and very special. Like a washing Machine and chocolates (pity I didn't remembered to take them out before I put on the washing, at first I thought the results were rather poor with this new technology). I gave her something I thought she could really use membership of the AA I don't think she really got the right end of the stick, when I gave it to her she remarked. "Ohh how lovely I'll never have to worry about the car breaking down again!" At the time I wondered I this might be one of her drinking "triggers" and made sympathetic noises'. I recieved such a lovely gift from my little Bramwell, why I almost cried, delicate emerald silk beaded gloves. The dear little mite! Moony unwrapped the six liter bottle of Brandy Henny left for her and staggered to her armchair to enjoy the kind of Christmas she lives for, whilst I slipped into the kitchen to prepare the turkey and more in importantly the Brussels Sprouts (Christmas is special for me, everyone has to eat Sprouts WHETHER THEY WANT TO OR NOT!) The screech of brakes roused me from my merry stuffing and horror of horrors when I looked up and beheld Neff heading for the door, Chauffer and dogs in tow. Moony took one look and went to hide in the cupboard under the stairs, I of course was left to let her and her entourage in. Perfum and ciggarette smoke hung in the air like a lead weight,Bunny (Moonys jackle actually passed out and spent several minutes twitching on the floor). Neff discovered Moony when she went to put her coat away and Moony quickly lied that she just loved reading the meter. Of course Neff didn't belive a word of it, I saw her face! She took over our spare bedroom and in a few brief minutes it was transformed into a sun temple and her records' were being played a little to loud, her poodles running a little to wild -with my carpet slippers-. Moony had dissapeared with the Chauffer and Neff was soaking in the tub when Bramwell turned up carrying dear sweet muffy, his sky terrier who showed her nasty side laying into the poodle with gusto in spite of her frilly hand made gingham Dorothy dress (I may have cheered at this point but I had every justification). I think Bramwell was a little shocked by this sudden savagery but he collected himself to whip out his meringues, from the car boot. If only Harlot Harley could have seen them, light as air unlike hers which are dare I say a little heavy and rock like. He was such a help to me laying out the table with little green napkins he'd folded to resemble Christmas trees' and I for one love the colour green. We were all a little surprised when MiLord and Henny blew in, MiLord was wearing huge dark glasses and complained about his head when he heard Neff's music but after while he and she seemed to be getting on really well something to do with juggling the pressures of being a monarch and a God. We were just pleased that Neff was kept occupied, she loves the attention of a nice young man.
Post to be continued.

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....