Dame Clare takes over the ROBBLOG today. Things are a Jingling at the Palais for Christmas!
Well,
My Dears “bells are a tinkling” and “carols are a singing” as the night of
nights, that “day of days” approaches. I must say that everyone at the Palais
Royale is brimming with good cheer-even Doris my Tea Maid. Alas, that wasn’t
the case a few days ago. You see Doris was serving an absolutely charming
Christmas Tea to my best friend Hedda and a circle of our closest “cronnies”.
There was Meg Danson. Eighty-if she’s a day and still cramming religion down
the throats of the very young every Sabbath Morning at Sunday School. Oh, she a
lovely thing and loves to follow up her afternoon tea with a hot toddy. After a
selection of “toddy’s”one wonders how Meg swallows it all when she becomes
“holier than thou”. Bi-Polar I suppose.
Agnes Fagola is another in our
friendly tea circle. Oh, My Dears, what a filthy mind that “old dolly” has on
herself and a wonderful drinking arm too. She is legendary in these parts! Why
my Head Pool Boy Roger absolutely “trembles” and little goose pimples appear on
a red swath of skin across his broad chest, hidden only by a thick patch of
chestnut brown fur, when Agnes speaks in “double entenres” and runs a
trembling, gin splashed, middle finger across his shoulder blades. Oh, Dears,
Roger is quite the good sport about it and he usually gets a “beefy bonus” from
Agnes each Christmas because Roger gives her swimming lessons and has done so
for these past six years. My Dears, it would appear Aggie is a slow learner and
a fast sinker!
Anyway,
Darlings, as Doris was serving our Christmas Tea, a silver tray tipped onto the
Persian rug-quite unexpectantly, sending a pair of my loveliest Christmas China
cups crashing to the ground. Doris took a huge sobbing fit and blubbered
something to the effect-
“Oh,
Mawdammmm, I yam soooo “sari”. I should be whipped with a wet nozzle. I am not
swarthy!”
Hedda
and I both giggle, knowing she full-well meant to say “noodle” and “worthy” but
with Doris sometimes the Queen’s English seems a little more Acadian.
“Oh,
Dame Clare, what if Chippendale’s has re-tried that pattern?”-she sobbed over
the cucumber and tuna salad sandwiches.
As
I quickly motioned for Hedda to remove the soon to be soggy sandwich
fare-covered side plates with the daisy chain of gold-tinted Poinsettias’s to
safety, I turned my Royal attention to Doris’ sighs and sobs.
“
No, don’t worry about a silly little cup, my Dear!”- I exclaimed with a wink
not unlike Saint Nick’s-
“
For I’ll shall call upon Chippendale’s tomorrow morning- fully realizing Doris
meant Harrod’s in Knightsbridge. The Knightsbridge in London-over the pond My
Dears!
Dear
Doris does get confused at times. However, she is a Dear. The fun continues
when every year we join with Doris in the re-telling of the Bethlehem saga. She
even believes the King’s name in the Nativity Story that sends the Family-wholy
together, scrambling for their lives into Egypt, is King Chippendale. We all
have a holiday hee-haw about that every year when Doris repeats the entire
“Wholy Storey” at the staff Christmas bash in the south Dining Room.
When
someone tries to correct Doris’ faux-paux, quietly explaining it is “Herr-rod”
we all start to snicker and turn to smile at my Pool Boy Roger who by this time
is turning thirty shades of pinky-red.
This
year at the staff soiree, it was even more fun when we had to explain our bit
of Holiday Kibitzing to Roger’s hubbie Xavier. When Xavier realized it was just
more Holiday hi-jinks at the expense of Roger and his Speedos, well he
laughed so hard he darn near split a
gusset. Hedda and I have heard that “manly” branch referred to by many names
but “hair-rod” was just about the funniest. How Jolly that Soiree was this
year. I am very lucky that my Roger has such a good and temperate sense of
humour. We do so love to “pull” his Santa bag now and then- don’t we?
So
the Christmas Tea was a total success and my Darling Chauffeur Rudy had to
whisk Aggie home and see that she was firmly planted into her Chippendale- bed
I mean, My Dears. My, but it took Rudy several hours to do so. Hmmm. He is such
a perfectionist.
My,
it’s getting a little cool in the sitting room where I merrily clang on these
keys. I must ask Harry to lay a fire. Harry the Palais Handyman is out in the
workshop waxing the runners on the sled in hopes of a White Christmas.
Yes,
that’s the ticket, a warm fire, a soothing cup of Jackie Dee and a quick call
to Juan de Cortelles de Primo Gaunchy Robustoso, my Darling Masseuse and I
shall be “merry” all over.
Tah,
for now my Dear. Happy Holidays. Oh Dears, do remember the Food Bank-won’t you.
