A Christmas Butler brings Mary her coffee

Our Christmas Butler brings Mary her coffee
Originally uploaded by quinn.anya

I see someone else is having trouble with their butler too. I don't feel so alone anymore.  I wonder if he has been associating with Smithers.
Yours most frustratingly
Lady O.

Oh dear it's that time of year again

Goodmorning to all people of breeding who may be reading my little posts as I believe they are called.
I hope you are all well organised for the festive season and have butlers who do know how to recognise a Christmas tree when they see one. Honestly I left Smithers with the task of finding me a decent tree for the dining room, but when I returned home from my Sherry tasting afternoon I found half a Gum tree stuck in my best Ming vase with a few polystyrene garden gnomes hanging from its branches. I'm afraid at that point I really did become most angry. I don't like it when I begin to sound like those philistines one meets in the Antipodes who yell obscenities from their vehicles when one has done absolutely nothing to deserve such abuse. But I was furious with Smithers.  You would think the silly man had never seen a Christmas tree before. I ripped the bowl of fruit off his head and threw it across the room.  Smithers cowered behind the statue of David. I am certain he had never seen me so mad. I ordered him to remove this monstrosity immediately and replace it with a proper tree. He tried to get it out of the ming vase but it was firmly stuck. So before he had the chance to take an axe to the vase, I got him to put the hideous thing in the back of the rolls and I drove myself to the local hardware store and paid the owner a small fortune to delicately cut the tree out of the vase.  You do understand that delicate is not a word that means anything to Smithers. I now have a vase with a tree trunk inside it but at least I still have my priceless antique.
Well I do hope that your festive season goes a tad more smoothly than mine.
Yours ever frustratingly,
Lady O.

My best quill pen

Hello again dears.  Yes it has been a while since yours truly has been in touch.  The truth is my incompetent butler managed to suck my best quill pen up the barrel of the vacuum cleaner when he was attempting to rid my Edwardian desk of dust. As you can imagine I was almost at my wits end. I said to him 'Smithers why on earth do you think I paid for your trip to London so you could bring me back a duster made of the best English goose feathers, if you are going to leave it gathering dust itself in the pantry?' But I realized my logic would be wasted on a man who spends all his weekly wage adding to his garden gnome collection, without the slightest consideration for his requirement to pay the rent.
And can you imagine my frustration to find him emptying the contents of the hoover onto my best Persian rug and scattering a pile of dust all over the morning room as he searched for the quill pen.
I told him to just forget it.  What kind of a state did he think my best quill pen was going to be in after spending its time in a Hoover bag. I simply informed him I would go to Sotherbys at the first possible opportunity and bid for another one.
They're not a dime a dozen you know so it's taken a while but I now have a new pen and I am making absolutely certain that this one will be butler proof.
Yours ever faithfully
Lady O.

A break from the show offs

Well my dears, no doubt you have been glued to the internet every minute of the day wondering when on earth you were going to hear from me again. And if not,  I would jolly well like to know why not!
The reason for the lack of any communication from yours truly was because I woke up one morning with the horrid stench of burnt pheasant once again refusing to leave the air of my tiny mansion. It was all too much to have to put up with such an incompetent butler, and I decided to throw caution to the wind and get on an aeroplane. It was time for a change of scenery and I decided that Melbourne might be a suitable change from hedonistic Sydney.
I have to say I had a wonderful few days enjoying pleasant conversation with the locals without a single mention of surfing, or who had clobbered who in the Rugby.  I was certainly glad I took my little lace fan with me as it was a tad hot. The only problem I had with the place was how many times I was asked if I liked living in Sydney.  The locals do seem rather insecure.  I didn't have the heart to tell them that if it wasn't for my hair brained eco-hippy of a husband, I would be happily gathering bluebells in the garden of our modest little castle back in England. And I wouldn't spare a thought for this dusty brown culture-less land.  But it was a refreshing change to meet people who actually prefer to throw a dinner party with a small group of close friends, instead of drinking themselves stupid with a bunch of associates,  in some ridiculously oversized vessel on Sydney harbour.
A very enjoyable stay.
Yours Lady O.

A Ghastly Discovery

Hello my dears. I made a most horrifying discovery this morning when I was searching for a quill pen to write to one of my close associates in England. I lifted the lid on my Louis the 14th antique desk, only to discover that it was positively covered in dust. If it had been on my butler's day off I could accept there might be a light coating. But the wretched fellow had only just finished cleaning my living room and had gone for the day.  The place should have been sparkling clean as it always had been the past.

Unfortunately my butler has recently begun to socialise with another butler who works for one of those fake aristocrats with a horrid Australian accent.

She's not a lady of breeding such as myself.  But someone who simply inherited a few yachts and the odd mansion or two on Sydney harbour. Which seems to have given her the idea that she can mix with the likes of me, and that her butler can fraternize with my butler.  I ask you.  The arrogance of the woman.  Now every spare moment that Smithers has,  he is comparing notes about whether I treat him fairly or not. 

 

Since they have been hanging out together, Smithers has queried his hours, asked me for a raise, argued the point about how best to clean the statue of David, and left early. And it doesn't end there.  Yesterday he was about to make me a pot of tea with a tea bag!  I had no idea where he would find such a thing.  I only have proper tea leaves in the house.

Yours at her wits end,

Lady O.

Relishing in my freedom

A jolly good morning to you all. Well I have to say that not only is it a good morning, but it's going to be a rather good couple of days. The reason I am feeling so delighted is that Percival has gone off on one of his whale spotting trips, and I will be free for 48 marvelous hours, of his pestering me to join the Green Party. You have no idea how tiresome it is to be enjoying one's egg and bacon, and a nice read of the Times newspaper, when my pleasure is spoilt by his endless dribble about global warming and the melting of the ice caps.

I've said to him 'Percy for heavens sake, will you just leave the ice caps to get on with their melting and stop interfering in their progress.' I try to point out to him that his upsetting the digestion of my egg and bacon won't do a bally thing to make the polar bears any happier. But he just goes into a horrible sulky rant, about how rude and ignorant I am, and how I don't care about the planet.  I mean I ask you. Here I am doing my best to educate the world on how to drink proper cups of tea for the sake of our glorious planet.  The other day I simply told Percy that our butler was treading on thin ice the way he had been behaving of late, and this prompted Percy to begin talking about the antarctic and polar bears. He is obsessed with Green issues.  I just wish he would do something useful with this life, like help out with the annual sherry tasting competition.

Yours Lady O.

The Grass IS Greener on the Other Side

Hello my dears,
I woke up this morning to find Percival polishing his balls in the kitchen. And for the sake of any philistines who may be reading this, I am referring to his bowling balls.
He has unfortunately given up croquet and joined the local bowls club. I do find it amusing when he announces he is off to the bowling green. Naturally I have to point out to him that the proper description of this would be the bowling brown. They don't know what green is in this country. I do miss the lush emerald green of England.  I have posted a little snap I took of our small back garden. This was my view from the west wing of our tiny castle in England.  What a delightful carpet of green it was too.  Such a delight to gaze upon as one ate one's boiled egg and hot buttered toast under the shade of a giant oak tree. It just isn't the same sitting under a Eucalypt with blow flies determined to land mid egg and those silly kookaburras laughing loudly at their own jokes all the time. At least the red breasted robin has the sense to chirp quietly.
Yours most wistfully,
Lady O.

Tea by the seaside

Good morning.  I had a lovely day today that was relatively free of philistines.  They must have all been shouting at each other in some seedy pub, or busy giving rude signals from their cars when they were in the wrong and not the poor innocent other motorist.
Anyway, I had a lovely relaxing day by the seaside with a dear lady from England who is visiting this country. I am not too sure why she chose to come here but I am glad she did because for once I was able to have a decent conversation with someone who knows how to speak properly.
We had a lovely picnic.  She brought the roast pheasant and I provided the wedgewood tea cups for our tea. The only downside to the day was when she asked me how my butler was doing. I told her of my troubles with him and she advised me to go over Percival's head and get rid of the man.
I think she is right. What do you think?
Yours Lady O.

RED DUST EVERYWHERE

Hello dear ones.
My friend Lady Betsy wants me to go on a little trip with her to the centre of Australia.  And I said 'But dear, why on earth would we want to travel all that way just to stare at a bunch of red rocks and get dust in our hair?'  But she has been pressuring me to go.  I am not sure what to do as recently I had a ghastly time with that horrid red dust storm that descended on my morning room in a most ferocious manner. It's taken the butler weeks to get the dust out out of my antique tea collection and priceless Ming vase.  Then again trying to force the nozzel of a vacuum cleaner down the narrow neck of the vase was the kind of impractical way he goes about things. He could have just put it under the tap and cleaned it out that way. I tried to tell him but he won't listen.
Anyway I digress. Lady Betsy is determined to head to the heart of the Antipodes with or without me and I fear that without me, she may end up in a spot of bother.
She sent me a little photo of where she wants to stay. I do hope they have hotels there. I'm certainly not going to end up in some common bungalow or even worse - a tent.
I hope you all have a lovely day and don't run into too many philistines.
Yours Lady O.

An Ocean Voyage

Good morning dear ladies, and gentle men (if there are any),
I awoke this morning and realized that it has been over a year since I took an ocean voyage. That's a long time for a lady of breeding to be on dry land.  The only thing is that I only go on a liner if it is on its maiden voyage. The problem is that the Queen Victoria has already been on her maiden voyage and naturally yours truly enjoyed that little trip across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans very much. I spoke to the Captain most firmly before we departed about making sure that the tea was made properly.  The dear man obliged and followed my instructions and we had a most pleasant voyage. Fortunately most of the passengers were around my age so I was able to sleep at night with the knowledge that no funny business was going on in the cabins.  Well if it was at least I didn't have to hear it.
So I am going to check the morning paper today to see if by any chance a new ocean liner may be getting ready for a maiden voyage. Otherwise of course I will have to think of another form of escape.
Yours Lady O.

One good thing

My dears, I would like to say that there is one good thing about being stuck here in the Antipodes and that is to wake up to the intoxicating fragrance of a pink lily.  They seem to thrive here. Unlike yours truly. And they fill my morning room with a most delightful fragrance.
The only thing is, my butler has taken to wearing them on his head.  If you look at the little photo I sent you of him you will see what I mean.
I really think the poor man needs some medical intervention.
I must look into that.
Yours truly
Lady O.

My new hat

Good morning to you all. I thought you might like to see my lovely new hat that I purchased at a department store recently.  I am getting ready for the Melbourne Cup.  Not that it can compare to Ascot you understand. The race track is not even a proper shade of green, and you get all kinds of silly girls wearing hardly any clothing and bowls of fruit that they call hats, on their heads.  So I thought being a lady of such fine stature, I should set an example. Not that I am likely to make any impression on the crude bunch of philistines that live here. 

I am hoping that Liz may come out for a visit. It's been a while since we've shared a glass of fine Sherry and some egg mayonnaise sandwiches. But it is hard for her to leave her kingdom and the corgies would miss her terribly.

Well I hope you all have a spiffing day.
Yours Lady O.

Where have all the good butlers gone?

Good morning to you all.  Well to be honest with you, I am seriously wondering if it is a good morning. Despite my constant reminders, that the shopping list was by the Ming Vase near my front door, my hopeless butler went off without the list. So I went to the pantry this morning and there was not a kipper in sight. And I was so looking forward to enjoying them for breakfast with some hot buttered toast and some little grilled tomatoes.  I had especially asked the butler not to forget the kippers, and I would have thought several reminders, plus a note by the door would prompt the silly man to remember them. I really don't know what I pay him for.  It is certainly not for his excellent memory.
But it didn't stop there.  He forgot to replace the silver polish for my stirling silver cutlery, and he left the hoover unemptied.  I ask you.  Does he really think I am going to get my best Laura Ashley dress covered in a cloud of dust emptying the hoover? And then he left with the keys to the Rolls in his pocket so I am stuck in my mansion until he returns tomorrow. He doesn't have anything sensible like a telephone and there is no way I am going to venture outside without my vehicle.
Yours despairingly,
Lady O

Not even roadworthy

Hello dears,
Well can you imagine my shock to arrive home to this absolutely horrid vehicle parked outside in the street.  Not even in the garage. But outside for all the neighbours to see.  I have no idea why Percival would purchase such a clapped out old vehicle.  It's not even roadworthy. He seems to be hell-bent on being seen to be one of those hippies or greenies. He never goes out in the Rolls anymore.  He says it is way too pretentious.  I am really wondering how much longer we can stay together.  If any of my friends were to see this pile of old junk parked outside our house I would be shunned by everyone. Not that I have many friends in this arid land. But those that I do have appreciate that the vehicle one drives says a lot about a person.  So what does this old wooden cart say about my husband?  I have done my best to point this out to him but the silly man won't listen.  He has even accused me of being a snob?
He seems to have lost all sense of reality.
Yours most frustrated.
Lady O.

Whatever happened to Lady B?

Hello dear friends,
My dear friend Lady Betsy Hamilton-Fish has disappeared off the face of this fine planet and I am most worried about her. We have a lot in common.  We both live in large culture-less land masses that begin with the letter A.  We are both ladies of breeding. And we both know how to make a proper cup of tea.  Well Lady Betsy is still struggling to find a kettle that doesn't take 3 months to boil but what can you expect when you come from a place that wouldn't recognise a tea leaf if it jumped off a little bush and said 'hello, I'm a tea leaf!'  I mean they all drink coffee so need I say more!
Anyway Lady Betsy knew of my most recent articles and would normally be jumping at the opportunity for a little light relief from the drudgery of her daily existence trying to fit in with the locals.  But despite my promptings all I have received from her is something saying dddd?  What could this possibly mean?
Is someone holding her to ransom for her nineteenth century tea set? Has she succumbed to drinking coffee and has lost the ability to speak properly? I am concerned that the stress of living in a place where you cannot buy a decent bottle of sherry,  may have caused her to become fixated on the letter d?
Yours most dreadfully worried,
Lady O.

A Decent Tweed

Hello my dears,
I am really most frustrated. I woke up yesterday and realized that all my lovely Marks and Spencer Tweeds were beginning to show signs of needing replacement. But where does one go for a decent tweed skirt here? I really became most poorly as it dawned on me that I would have to buy a ticket to London in order to rescue my wardrobe from a fate I cannot even begin to imagine.
So before actually buying the ticket I thought I would give the department stores one last try to see if they had anything resembling a suitable garment for a lady of my stature.
My day did not go well. One young sales assistant who approached me to see if I needed any help in one of the stores, was dressed as if she was heading off to a seedy nightclub. Her eyes had so much black stuff around them she looked like she had been hit with a polo stick, and she was chewing gum. Something I just cannot stand for. I told her to get rid of it immediately. Then when I asked her where the tweeds might be, she looked at me with her mouth gaping open, as if I had said something in Icelandic.
I realized it was pointless looking for a decent tweed in such a place and I decided to drown my sorrows with a nice cup of tea at my favourite tea shop in the city.
Thankfully there is one place where they know how to make tea properly.
Yours ever faithfully,
Lady O.

Spiffing Morning Tea

Good morning.
I had the most delightful day yesterday and I wanted to share it with you. My reason for wanting to share it with you is that it has been a rare experience for me to be able to say 'delightful' since I arrived in this dry brown land, devoid of anything resembling culture. As you no doubt already know if you have been reading my little articles, that I am not a fan of the Antipodeos and I am only here because my husband Percival dragged me here by my feather boa. He is in love with the place. I have no idea why, but then again he is a rather odd man. Anyway I digress.

Yesterday I was invited by a lady of breeding (hard to find here) to her charming little mansion on Sydney harbour. Well not ON the harbour, you understand. On the edge of it. I did point out to her that with global warming and the rising sea levels, she may soon need to buy herself some snorkling equipment as her lovely home may soon be under water. I've attached a photo here of the harbour glimpse from her living room window.

She prepared the most exquisite lunch and the cucumber sandwiches were made correctly using white bread and cut into tiny little quarters. She even offered me a glass of sherry on my arrival and complimented me on my new hat. And once I had got over the Australian drawl, I found her to be a most agreeable companion.

It was such a relief to be able to meet someone who understood my need to associate with people of breeding. We had a lovely time discussing everything that was wrong with Australia, and everything that was right with England. Then I caught a water taxi home to my tiny Sydney mansion to discover the Butler had managed to cook the venison without burning it.

A truly delightful day in a hot brown land.

No hat or gloves

Hello dear followers (if there are any). My husband Percival insisted on taking me to see one of those foreign films the other day at one of those dark and musty art cinemas. It's the kind of place the lefties go to, and I would normally not be seen dead in one of those places. I am certain we should have dusted ourselves with flea powder before venturing inside, but Percy is not the most practical of men. I spent most of the two hours shifting around in my seat in the hope that any six legged creature would not consider me a tasty morsel.
But my biggest shock was that not a single woman there was wearing a hat or gloves.
Some of them were even wearing blue jeans and t-shirts. I was horrified at the slovenly way people dress these days.

Nobody came out to offer us tea and biscuits before the show and I thought that was very poor. If I had known that I would be spending at least two hours without a cup of tea, I would have brewed some in a thermos. To make matters worse, Percival spotted a woman he knew from the Green party and insisted she join us. I cannot understand how a woman in her sixties can think that long drab grey hair is attractive, especially when it is hangly limply over a very dirty looking kaftan. I was so embarrassed and spent most of the evening terrified that someone I knew from the Croquet club would spot me sitting next to this old hippie and I might not be invited to any more functions.

Well I must go and make sure the butler is not setting fire to the kitchen.
Yours ever faithfully
Lady O.

BURNT THE PHEASANT

It really is most difficult to find a decent butler these days. I mean you would think a butler would know how to cook a pheasant properly. I went out yesterday to give some of my old Jaegar knits to the local charity, and I returned to the ghastly smell of significantly burnt pheasant.
Meanwhile my butler was polishing his balls in the garage. I am referring to his croquet balls.
The silly man had no idea that my little harbour view cottage was minutes away from being set on fire. Honestly. And I had guests that evening.
We all had to go out for a meal which meant I had to rub shoulders with the locals. And I never enjoy doing that. These antipodean restaurants are so noisy. I simply cannot understand why people have to shout all the time. I mean do they think we are all deaf?
Then to make matters worse, there was no pheasant, or even venison on the menu. The waiter didn't even know what venison was. I wondered what kind of a stone he had been living under all his life. So we had to settle for a common chicken dish. Well that was my day. I hope yours was better.
Yours ever faithfully,
Lady Ophelia Austen-Featherbrew

Heaven help me

Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined I would end up living in the Antipodeas. I left behind my modest little castle in England, my croquet and bridge companions, and my little Jack Rustle dog, all to follow my senseless husband to a land full of a crude bunch of philistines who drink their tea out of plaastic cups! Even worse, polystyrene. I am not even sure that I have spelt that properly, the word has so little association with my life.

Unfortunately my husband Percival is in love with the place and is making my life hell as everyday he comes up with a new plan that justifies why we need to stay here for yet another year. I cannot begin to tell you the kinds of ghastly things I have had to put up with. Living in a bungalow has been quite an adjustment after our lovely little home in England. I haven't had a decent glass of sherry since I arrived and nobody knows how to speak the Queen's English properly.

To make matters worse, Percival has become horribly involved with the Greenies. At times I have even resorted to pretending I had divorced him, in case my friends back in England were to spot him on television on that Greenpeace boat. I was frightfully embarrassed at the way he was yelling at those poor Japanese whalers, who were doing their best to rid the oceans of those over-sized creatures once and for all.

Anyway I must away now. I have some cucumber sandwiches to make.
I will be in touch again soon.
Yours ever faithfully
Lady Ophelia Austen-Featherbrew