Basil's new apron

Hello, good evening and welcome back.

My maid-of-no-work, Basil, has incensed me even further by appearing at a charity function wearing her new white apron.

Here she is.  Doesn't she look the clown?   I have already written to my local MP to ask that they reinstate the 1845 Lunacy Act and County Asylums Act, permitting electroconvulsive therapy and lobotomy.  They can use my maid as a guinea pig!   Once you realise your maid's role is court jester, you accept it... with a caveat... and that caveat is to use a cat o'nine tails to discipline the wench.

A new maid

This is my new maid, the long-awaited replacement for Belladonna.  Her name is Basil.  No, that's not a typo, you heard me correctly: Basil.  Basil Wiggleswade.  She dresses like that all the time.

She speaks like a Cockney chimney-sweep.  I appointed her as cleaner and general dogsbody.  She hasn't got a clue, I think her brain has come unglued.  Yesterday, she tried to clean the toilet with the vacuum cleaner.

The bloody wench caused a mini-explosion.  I could throttle the woman, and it's only her first day.  When asked to do a simple task like make my morning cup of tea, she retorted that she didn't know how to.  Where did the agency get this woman from?  Mars?

 She's currently on her probation period and living in the luxury staff quarters, which is befitting of her role.

Basil's wages are 20 drachma a week, based on a 90 hour week.

A bling toilet

I've got 17 bathrooms here at Raffles, so I had one of these diamond-studded toilets installed in each bathroom.   When you flush, the thing plays Greensleeves at full volume.  Delightful! And, of course, it was necessary to buy some new toilet paper, too.  So I chose the following design, completely bespoke.  There's something so satisfying about my choice of design... and it doesn't feel scratchy on the bum like that horrid old tracing-paper stuff.

Unbleached, unpulped, soft-as-a-feather toilet tissue

with Belladonna the Maid's ugly face lovingly printed onto

every sheet.

Extra security

As you can see, I've had to get extra security to prevent Belladonna, my arsonist maid (also known as Belladonna Bitchhole) from re-entering the premises after her scandalous shenanigans onboard a train.   These men were handpicked by none other than moi.    Third from the Left is very good in bed (I cannot begin to describe the sexual gymnastics he forced me to perform)!   We've had to put up electric fencing.  The place looks more like Colditz than Playgirl Mansion.

Meanwhile, I last saw Belladonna living out on the village green, rummaging through the bins, eating chicken gizzards.  It is so heart-warming to know that she's found her place in life.

 

Belladonna looks a bit rough in this photograph. 

Arson aboard the 23.52 service to London

Down in the kitchens, I was just about to stuff a turkey with a Terry's Chocolate Orange when the news came on the television.   Normally I don't watch TV whilst cooking, but it does make a nice background noise.   I froze in horror at the images being shown on screen ... all on live television, screened to millions across the nation!    (*Turn your volume up*)

Just watch this news report: 
 

Who'd have thought it?  Belladonna, the fire-starter!  

I am outraged that the BBC News mistakenly put a photograph of an elderly woman wearing a Burqa to represent me.  My publicist would have sent them one of my glamour-modelling shots, but no they put up a picture of someone who is not even me.  No doubt done on purpose! They shall be hearing from my lawyer!

Belladonna Bitchhole has brought my household into unforgivable and serious disrepute.  I really must get rid of her now.   Apparently, she's been released on police bail.  I shall have to booby-trap the drive so she can't even get near the house...

Along came Belladonna, the Maid

It has been a while since I wrote here, dear Reader. 

The dregs of summer finally fizzled out like too much cheap champagne; the highlight of that time was the ejection from a fourth floor window of my hand-servant, Maude, for the offence of insubordination - she refused to clean my gold-plated bathroom suite with a toothbrush.  Some people say that unruly servants should be 'sacked' or 'fired'; I say that a firing squad is too good for them and to instead throw them out of the top window, naked if possible, as the final act of showing them who is boss.  

I couldn't really be bothered with all the malarkey involved in hiring new staff, interviewing etc, so I left the job to my trusty personal assistant with the instructions to employ someone suitable, someone who knows how to make a cup of tea and clean the bogs, someone who can make beds with their eyes closed, and pour a half-decent dry martini or Crème de Menthe Frappé whilst doing the hoovering.

Needless to say I was incandescent with rage to discover that this ... this woman turned up for work this morning.  Her name, apparently, is Belladonna Zlatogrivov, a hoarse-voiced Russian with a huge beehive of jet-black hair and thighs like tree-trunks.  She has a penchant for wearing spectacles with chains and gold lamé boob-tubes.   She carries a can of fly-spray in her red fake Barbarella handbag, no doubt not understanding enough English to know that it's not deodorant.  That would explain the peculiar smell whenever she thuds into the room.

Putting on my pink, crystal lorgnette reading glasses (if you don't know what a lorgnette is, it is a pair of spectacles with a handle, used to hold them in place, rather than fitting over the ears) I look a quick squint at the woman's C.V. or curriculum vitae.  This is what I found:

Disgusting.  Quite how my personal assistant had hired a woman who lists her hobbies as "eating Fray Bentos pies", "doing the shot-put" and having an "amazing collection of Anal Beads" is beyond me.  And as for that Polaroid shot, well!  Hardly showing her 'best' side is she!   My personal assistant clearly must have had an acute psychotic episode to have entertained employing this cirque du freak.  Now this abomination of a woman was in my household and a member of staff!

The only personal item she arrived with, other than her suitcase, was an orange 1970s Space Hopper; no doubt, her only friend.

Belladonna apparently means in Latin 'beautiful woman'.  The woman is already breaching the Trade Misdescriptions Act by using that name.  She has all the charm of a drain-pipe.  She belches in a very manly way.

How to get rid of her?   

"Send that bitch out on this morning's hunt" I barked, "I don't want her near my ormolu clock.  She's not a maid.  I don't even want her in the house.  Give her sleeping quarters in the stable-block where she belongs with sawdust as a bed".


Some hours later, I was advised by the hunt-master that all the hunting dogs (mostly spaniels) had run off (no doubt scared off by Belladonna's arrival) but that Belladonna had single-handedly brought down several pheasants, chased a fox out of its hole and cornered, fought with, and brought down a vicious, wild boar.  Maybe she has a use for me after all!