You find me in a flustered state today, my dear friend. I am incandescent with rage. Well, no, not incandescent to be honest…perhaps slightly irked would be more apt. The television machine has been infected with a proliferation of football. I had had a fairly satisfactory morning and had just arranged my spindlesome limbs on the chaise longue, clutching a post lunch glass of sherry in my languid paw to accompany ‘Antiques with Arthur’ with, when to my horror I saw that it had been replaced with an episode of the World Cup football game. I must admit to you that I am not that well acquainted with the peculiarities of football and I find it all slightly baffling, I am a country hound after all. I always rather fancied myself at Lacrosse to be honest. Nelson once tried to unravel the mysteries of the offside rule but we gave up after a few bad tempered moments, as it became apparent that I was not in the least bit interested, we hastily returned to our game of combative air hockey. Incidentally, using an air hockey table is not very helpful as a tool in this sort of demonstration as anything you put on it tends to be inconveniently puffed away by the little air vents. *Top tip.
The Tiny Terror is also not a fan of football, preferring to gaze hypnotically at a field of chunksome men hurtling about clutching elongated balls, ears safely taped back, sporting a look of grim, determination and purpose. Apparently they were more…well the word she eventually vocalised was ‘vigorous’. She sighed and went for a medicinal rest in a darkened room to recover from the excesses of her imagination.
Anyway, the reason that I was so distressed at missing the episode of ‘Antiques with Arthur’ was that Lady Hester was due to make her national debut today, trailing her collection of random shiny implements behind her. The only thing that connected these disparate objects were that they had the potential to cause either great harm, or, to aid recovery from some medical incident. Most of these had been collected from antique shops or extracted from specialist shops for a reasonable sum, on her travels. It was a real labour of love as being a Daschund she found it perilous to carry anything that was longer than the length of her legs, which were obviously very short. The Tiny terror has the same problem being 4 foot 10 inches tall. You should see her trying to pilot my lanky frame about when attached to a lead (me, not her) it’s a sight to behold.
Back to Lady H. Nelson has discussed with me her collection of implements before, simultaneously troubled and intrigued with them. Apparently there had been a moment of confused inadequacy for him when he continuously failed to take his own blood pressure properly (it kept falling off) until Lady H explained the correct procedure to do so. Relieved, he scuttled off, flushed with embarrassment and relief, while Hester wiped a tear of joyful mirth from the corner of her damp, shining eye.
Lady H’s collection of curious objects features an antique tongue depressor, an artificial heart pump, ear trumpet and a brass nostril enlarger for that steadfast ‘League of Gentlemen’ look. She decided that for this antique outing she would take her leather case full of glass eyes to wave in front of Arthur, historically ironic in an episode that was filmed in Hastings. Incidentally, there is a sorry specimen not too far away from me (still ensconced in the darkened room of ‘wistful’ thoughts, as it happens) that would give anything for a set of glass eyes. Hector has searched high and low for them to try and win the prize for the strangest and most treasured gift ever, to no avail sadly. Bravely though, he continues his mission, like a mysterious, journeying knight from long ago.
Anyway, due to the vexatious football tournament, this particular episode of Antiques with Arthur had been postponed. This was a great shame as there was a wild rumour circulating deepest, darkest Winchester, that on the day of filming, there had been an incident involving a nearby overexcited clergyman wielding an unexpectedly rare and priceless silver collecting plate. His windmilling arms of rapture ended up clipping the side of Lady H’s table, causing it to be upended, and firing the leather case up in to orbit. Hastings has never been privy to the sight of – well I am not sure what the collective noun for glass eyes are…perhaps ‘exaltation of eyes’, being catapulted through the air. One landed rather roguishly in a glass of wine that was being held at the end of a scrawny liver spotted arm, bedecked with turquoise chiffon. The arm was attached to a distinguished looking lady, with a hopeful look in her eye, hugging an undiscovered potential ‘Rembrant’ to her quivering bosom. A now very bedraggled looking Arthur was seen to not make eye contact with her and shuffle away to the refreshment tent. The unexpected unleashing of the glass eyeballs generated shrieks that could be heard as far away as Eastbourne. By this time thankfully, the camera had cut away from the debacle but the alternating sounds of glass eyes either boinging off the soft lawn or shattering on concrete could only be matched by the wail from Lady H as her prized possessions ricocheted around the grounds.
This sight I would have to wait for. For the time being I suppose I would have to turn my attention back to the football. Oh look, there is some shiny tanned chap called Ronaldo…he appears to be rolling around on the ground doing a back shimmy like any good hound would be proud of.