Here I am, enjoying the mid-February sunshine. It's lovely to take a tour of the countryside, isn't it? We stopped at a lovely picnic site and went looking for badgers... (a little bit like this)
The pedicure was absolutely wrecked. My gold lamé sandals were trashed by the mud, my French silk stockings snagged by brambles and my petticoat covered in thorns and burdocks. But we spotted five badgers! It is a traditional English past-time, celebrated by all on this sunny island! x
We see that you are suitably shod for hill walking!
We deplore those outdoor, country types who are clad in anoraks and hiking boots, backpacks strapped to them and compasses in hand who seem to litter every footpath across dales and hills in the English countryside.
But, darling Fanny, you have style. Stilettos and red lipstick are all a girl needs when taking a picnic at the side of the Royce, taking in the countryside view. Did you bring the poodle with you on this particular trip?!
I too loathe those 'serious walker' types as much as I loathe those 'serious cyclist' types who get in the way when my Royce is pottering down narrow country lanes. Juan always drives far too fast through those huge puddles that have formed at the side of the road, when passing such persons, just to show them who is boss and that the Queen's Highway is only for queens and not for their likes.
Mr P, my multi-coloured, rainbow-hued poodle did indeed come along for the ride. He enjoyed the outing as we munched cucumber sandwiches and drank copious amounts of stewed tea from a J. R. Hartley (he of the Yellow Pages ad) Memorial Thermos flask, lit a campfire and sang the sorts of songs we used to sing in the Brownies (Kum By Ya My Lord! Kum By Ya) and had a generally rambunctious time. Alas, there was no tent to retire too, but after we had toasted marshmallows we did go for a little jaunt in the woods where we found several gentlemen (one wearing leather) picking mushrooms and bird-spotting and touching each other in the most un-English of ways. One gentleman was tied to a tree. I will go no further in my description as it is only 11am, I'm on my first glass of scotch and dry ginger, and I am sure we all have delicate sensibilities at this hour and do not need to be regaled with what is undoubtedly the 'finer embroidery' of illicit woodland activities in the English shires, as glorified and celebrated by the singer George Michael and many Welsh MPs.
After all that walking, I hung my tired legs out of the car window and sun-bathed in the weak sunshine. Next time, I shall go after dark and try a spot of moon-bathing.
Well dear, I sure hope when you were out dogging you didn't muss up what looks like a beautiful pedicure.
ReplyDeleteThe pedicure was absolutely wrecked. My gold lamé sandals were trashed by the mud, my French silk stockings snagged by brambles and my petticoat covered in thorns and burdocks. But we spotted five badgers! It is a traditional English past-time, celebrated by all on this sunny island! x
DeleteDarling Fanny,
ReplyDeleteWe see that you are suitably shod for hill walking!
We deplore those outdoor, country types who are clad in anoraks and hiking boots, backpacks strapped to them and compasses in hand who seem to litter every footpath across dales and hills in the English countryside.
But, darling Fanny, you have style. Stilettos and red lipstick are all a girl needs when taking a picnic at the side of the Royce, taking in the countryside view. Did you bring the poodle with you on this particular trip?!
My darling Hattatts,
ReplyDeleteI too loathe those 'serious walker' types as much as I loathe those 'serious cyclist' types who get in the way when my Royce is pottering down narrow country lanes. Juan always drives far too fast through those huge puddles that have formed at the side of the road, when passing such persons, just to show them who is boss and that the Queen's Highway is only for queens and not for their likes.
Mr P, my multi-coloured, rainbow-hued poodle did indeed come along for the ride. He enjoyed the outing as we munched cucumber sandwiches and drank copious amounts of stewed tea from a J. R. Hartley (he of the Yellow Pages ad) Memorial Thermos flask, lit a campfire and sang the sorts of songs we used to sing in the Brownies (Kum By Ya My Lord! Kum By Ya) and had a generally rambunctious time. Alas, there was no tent to retire too, but after we had toasted marshmallows we did go for a little jaunt in the woods where we found several gentlemen (one wearing leather) picking mushrooms and bird-spotting and touching each other in the most un-English of ways. One gentleman was tied to a tree. I will go no further in my description as it is only 11am, I'm on my first glass of scotch and dry ginger, and I am sure we all have delicate sensibilities at this hour and do not need to be regaled with what is undoubtedly the 'finer embroidery' of illicit woodland activities in the English shires, as glorified and celebrated by the singer George Michael and many Welsh MPs.
After all that walking, I hung my tired legs out of the car window and sun-bathed in the weak sunshine. Next time, I shall go after dark and try a spot of moon-bathing.
Fanny x