What a bizarre and feudal work life One has endured over the passing of many a moon…
That’s me, that is, Dear Reader, see above…
From the care of Lady M in the castle, the administering of Pifco massages to the chatelaine of the Bung of Doom to the general assisting of One’s current charges.
Lady M, still under the impression that she had a houseful of servants, One being one, would require a cup of tea delivered to her in bed. Not any old Matalan cup, no Siree, a bone china cup, thin as paper, with the sugar bowl and milk jug on a lace cloth covered tray.
One would stand dutifully at the foot of the bed whilst the tea was slurped and await One’s instruction.
Upon heaving her out of bed One would assist the Victorian Lace Nightie clad Aristocrat to the cavernous bathroom, avoiding the trail of Maltesers that would be liberally sprinkling out from under the night attire.
‘Is that you Diana?’ she would ask every day as One biffed into her boudoir. One would have dearly loved to have been able to feign being the fine boned Diana that Lady M so wished to see, but, as you know Dear Reader, One is a flolloping great Farm Girl of a biffer.
Any road up, Lady M was a breeze compared to the Chatelaine of the Bung of Doom, who took to appearing from the bathroom starkers opining ‘well we’re all girls together aren’t we.’
One shuddered upon entering the sitting room of an evening to find the Pifco Massager (circa 1952) on prominent display with the Chatelaine poised and ready for some full ‘hands on’ from One.
But yesterday has to one of the most unusual tasks. One’s ears were on the point of bleeding from the ear-drum shattering noise that met One upon entering One’s place of work and One spent most of the day charging about with a pocket full of Cheesy Wotsits attempting to nourish a very, very small noisy person.