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.