A Quiz Night and a Luncheon before Leaving London

Friday 8th December 2017

The Home Start Quiz at Wani Town Hall. I’m there every year. Arabella de Gardendoor, who usually accompanies, was double-booked and nobody else would come with: couldn’t face it. Laura Malcolm suddenly knew nothing, Moira McMatron also.  Not even the blandishment of a chilli con carni supper on paper plates (with bikked pootatoo wrapped in foil ), cooked by busy charity ladies in their homes, would entice. Served in the opulent Deco surroundings of Wani Town Hall – the Civic Suite. Only Beamish O’Halloran of The Mail was willing. We were sat at a table with alarming career women in their 30s. Where were their men? Not in existence perhaps. They appeared generally appalled. Not even Beamish with his roguish Irish ways, his twinkle and exciting talk of what got lost in a celebrity lady’s embonpoint and how the skirts of another whirled up in a breeze, and all the roguish Irish men with their pints were leering… nothing could cheer them up. As for Mabel, Moira McMatron’s pug, soon sadly to expire (but we didn’t know that then), and how she was on a witness protection programme having witnessed a raid on a betting shop and then, would you believe it, she walks slap-bang into a hold-up with bicycles on a council estate – the career women couldn’t have been more at sea.

But we did quite well in the quiz, despite me not knowing anything. I wore the Zara Military jacket with frogging. Rather wasted, I felt. The career women didn’t really have outfits.

Laura Malcolm gave a luncheon on the Saturday for the Usks who were up for one of their peculiar concerts at the Royal Festival Hall. I don’t think the Laird had any especially startling new facts. Little did we know as we lunched that Mabel’s final days were in progress. Kelm and Ivy formed a sudden unexpected youth contingent at the table. Moira McMatron somehow knew a lot about their friends, such as who is consuming porn online and thinking of giving it up. Neither Kelm nor Ivy batted an eyelid. I slipped up by making a big fuss of Kelm and ignoring Ivy who is a girl (or young woman). Kelm and I spent a lot of time looking at Peru on Google Maps while he assessed my levels of casual and unconscious racism. Kelm has got a romantic involvement in Peru which is becoming popular for such things. A lady, of course.

The next day I left London and spent the night at the Castle Hotel, Taunton, en route for estate work in the Far West. Taunton: very quiet. I see it was short-listed for ‘City of Culture’. I’m not surprised. So it wasn’t until the Monday evening that I gained the Gay Mother’s. She was engaged in devising a blond menu – the last of the Herefordshire apples. The second night we had brill in a cream and vermouth sauce with breadcrumbs and celeriac sticks sautéed. It was totally blond – and superb. We visited the tip (but still so many empty boxes being kept back as useful for starting a bonfire), the hairdresser and the dentist over the days as well as having the agent to tea and walking down to the market garden to try and lure the builder away from there and up to the Gay Mother’s: no success. ‘What about this Guy Faulkes programme on TV?’ the Gay Mother said. ‘Did you watch it?’ I said. ‘Certainly not. They pinched the story of Margaret Clitheroe. But she wasn’t pressed to death in public. I looked up on several websites.’ Another day she said she’d watched ‘Young Trump’ on TV. ‘What was he like?’ I said. ‘Not up to much.’

Pictures from Prague in Fact: I did Take Graphs of the Gay Mother's Blond Food but Looks Rather Horrid: This is a Mirror Cake Served at Anthony Mottram's 60th Birthday Tea

Pictures from Prague in Fact: I did Take Graphs of the Gay Mother’s Blond Food but Looks Rather Horrid: This is a Mirror Cake Served at Anthony Mottram’s 60th Birthday Tea

I Went Round Prague All day with this Label Attached: No Maid to Help me

I Went Round Prague All day with this Label Attached: No Maid to Help me


Posted Monday, December 11, 2017 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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