Lady Dongle’s Privvy

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Lady Dongle travels forty-five miles in her carriage, to and fro, each day to her place of employment and oftentimes finds it is a tedious and troublesome duty.

It is difficult, therefore, to conceive of her exulting joy and felicity upon hearing the school social club mistress, Miss Leesa, declare that the Staff Christmas ball was to be held on the very mountain where Lady Dongle resides.

In truth, even more prodigious tidings informed Lady Dongle the assembly was to take place within the walls of a public lodging not more than half a mile away from Winterfowl.

Oh, what triumphant happiness Lady Dongle had expressed on hearing this delightful communication.

In the long history of Lady Dongle’s social engagements, particular friends had often accused her of always contriving to ensure any future party of guests must travel to her very own convenient abode and that she would never tolerate any objection to this request.

This was an injurious accusation, indeed…. insinuating that Lady Dongle was an idle, selfish creature and inconsiderate and senseless towards the wants and desires of others.

‘Why should it always be her guests forced to play the martyr and suddenly distinguish themselves compelled to obtain a carriage at the conclusion of every evening reception when there was not a carriage to be had?’ the resentful guests often exclaimed.

‘Why should Lady Dongle be allowed to wander off to her bed chamber whenever the fancy took her?’

‘Why should she possess all the comforts of being accommodated in her own home on every festive occasion?’

However, Lady Dongle managed to ignore all of these protestations, and more times than not, she was enabled (through much shrewd conniving) to host whatever appointment was presently circulating, at her own agreeable dwelling where she was most content to stay.

Only one complication had arisen from the pleasurable circumstance of the Christmas party taking place within her own estate and this was that Lady Dongle had dispatched an invitation to two of her favourite colleagues enquiring that they might desire to spend the night at Winterfowl with her, instead of travelling all the way down the mountain after the merriment of the day had concluded.

The architecture of this affliction, the point of embarrassment, the detail which plagued Lady Dongle so painfully, was the dreadful and deplorable state of her guest privvy.

After many years of abuse from the earlier tenants, Lady Dongle’s privvy was; although clean and unobjectionable enough to reassure even the greatest of valetudinarians, grown stained beyond redemption and it was impossible to reinstate it to an unpolluted representation no matter how much bleach she applied.

What would her guests believe of her cleanliness? It was a grievance most repugnant that she should be deemed slovenly and unfastidious by her esteemed colleagues.

There was only one thing for it.

Lady Dongle immediately travelled with Lord Dongle to the nearest Bunnings and purchased a brand new privvy which delightfully expressed itself in all the colours of the rainbow.

Now Lady Dongle would be enabled to take perfect delight in every part of the Christmas party with not a moment of humbling mortification.

Lady Dongle’s Review of “It”

Pennywise
Pennywise the Dancing Circus Tumbler

Lord and Lady Dongle enjoy observing the moving films in their quiet times of life and lately took in the pleasure of gratifying their desire of the Gothic Film House by watching an unpolished and heathen film titled, “It”.

Lady Dongle grows anxious in films of a similar nature and was apprehensive and perturbed when Sir Dongle made a beginning of it with the remote control.

However, she was considerably vexed to discover that excepting for one formidable and tragic moment at the outset when a clown bit off a small child’s arm, there was little or nothing to agitate the senses in the entire thing.

In truth, Lady Dongle could not perceive aught to horrify any person of a superior mind and was quite of the opinion it was quite a silly film on the whole.

The principal actors were children with wretched countenances and even more wretched acting skills and the antagonist of the story owned the features of a foolish circus tumbler who could not succeed in, even minutely, raising a shiver.

Even Sir Dongle, who grows faint and unwilling when he espies a balloon, was not indisposed by the looks of the circus tumbler.

Indeed, if one was called on to report on the features of the circus tumbler one might go forward as to declare it to be all sweetness and angelic with its two anterior teeth projected in a similar fashion to a hare.

The film attempted to execute the use of hackneyed themes such as stout youngsters beset upon and taunted by cruel brutes, however, once more, these scenes were ineffectual in creating even a scruple of kind feeling towards the character.

Lady Dongle felt no commiseration or benevolence for anyone in the dreadful story.

Therefore it was her strong conviction that the novels of Stephen King should always remain in the pages of a book and that they inevitably transfer into a very sorry film.

Lady Dongle and Sir Dongle Suffer a Great Anxiety

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During this past week, a melancholy and grievous circumstance took place at Winterfowl which must immediately be conveyed to you, dear reader.

It is generally apprehended among many of Lady Dongle’s neighbours and acquaintances that the lady last mentioned owns a peculiar inclination towards her poultry. Most visitors are required and imposed on to sit amongst the shrubbery in the park and show a great deal of delight and fancy towards her poultry.

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Accordingly, Lady Dongle universally renders the satisfaction of a large wine and cake during such receptions, which goes some way to comfort the indifference of her visitors towards Lady Dongle’s poultry and her insistence that all her visitors must sit in the shrubbery rather than the more amiable drawing room where they would be in a great deal more satisfaction.

It is a distinguishing and strange thing that Lady Dongle’s affection and attachment to her poultry should contribute to her subjecting her visitors to such pain and distress, however, Lady Dongle can be quite narrow and ungenerous when it comes to her own passions and entertainment and usually places her own amusements above those of others.

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“Do you not think my poultry to be the finest in the country?” she commonly quizzes her languid and cheerless guests.

“Do you not think my rooster, in particular, to be exceedingly handsome?” she declares repeatedly to her company, who merely fidget with anxious unease as they wearily slap away the insects fluttering about their person.

It is therefore conspicuous to all that the rooster is a certain favourite with Lady Dongle and her high regard and sentiments towards him are instantly perceivable.

This is the tedious recognition her visitors usually settle upon, anyhow.

It was with much shock in which Lady Dongle received the news from Sir Dongle, when she arrived home to Winterfowl on Wednesday evening, that her dearest, treasured rooster had been discovered, dead, cold and stiff by Sir Dongle that very same morning.

“Oh!” Lady Dongle lamented grievously. “Where is the poor precious creature resting now, Sir Dongle? Where can you have placed him?”

Sir Dongle replied that due to wild, vexatious hounds that were in the habit of digging up interments, he had been obliged to place her adored rooster in the wheelie bin.

This was a most undesirous situation as Lady Dongle was quite sensible of the wheelie bin collection carriage having only been in attendance the day prior to this one. It would yet be an entire week until it would return and she wondered why Sir Dongle had not the forethought to place the carcass in the ice box.

Lady Dongle felt quite vexed and indignant with Sir Dongle and could only pronounce that Sir Dongle’s actions were indefensible and he must hose out the wheelie bin with great care after it was next emptied and that the smell would be highly intolerable for the next egregious week!

She quickly determined that Sir Dongle had acted most imprudently and wished the entire affair had never taken place at all.

But as a lady of high breeding and civility she merely turned her face away from him in silence and walked out to pay her respects to her poultry.

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The park and shrubbery

Sir Dongle is the Bee’s Knees

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Lady Dongle adores the ballet. This stems from an addiction formed some years ago; quite a number of years ago it must be acknowledged.  When she reached ten and five years of age, Lady Dongle was encouraged to give the art up as a pleasurable interest and apply herself to more studious pursuits, such as her education.

Despite her dear Mama and Papa’s entreaties, the young Miss Dongle turned her attentions to balls, dances and other such receptions whereupon she might meet her desire of mingling with the stronger sex.

In consequence of this sudden loss of valuable exercise, the young Miss Dongle developed a quite unpleasing, fullness of figure. It is a truth apprehended with certainty, that the stronger sex are not usually piqued by such increases in the feminine shape and Miss Dongle found herself seated and unpartnered at many dances and balls from thereon.

In much later years, sometime during the recent past, Lady Dongle, in melancholy reflection, said to Sir Dongle,

”Sir Dongle, what an agreeable and gratifying thing it would be to own a pair of ballet slippers. What a felicitous delight it would be to enjoy the fragrance and sense of the silky fabric of a pair of new satin shoes,” she whispered in despair, recollecting her fondness for the art and all its delicate gaiety.

She deeply regretted the steadfast resolution of her Mama and Papa all those years ago and how easily she had been persuaded to throw off such a beloved employment which had granted her so much pleasure.

Many days passed and it was with great astonishment that Lady Dongle answered a strong knock on the door one day which had startled her into a state of perturbation. “Who might it be?” she wondered aloud, as her little pugs flew at the threshold making a great disturbance and discomposing the honest gentleman at the door.

It was an extraordinary circumstance, for there at the door was a carrier delivering a parcel of the most curious nature.

As the parcel bore her name, Lady Dongle at once began to unfasten the wrap as assiduously as her trembling hands would allow her.

In great consternation, Lady Dongle realised that this transaction had transpired only through the impassioned interest of her own dear husband who had indeed, communicated with eBay and had thus accomplished such a triumph with a not small measure of aplomb.

Lady Dongle was most obliged to Sir Dongle. Most obliged.

“Sir Dongle,” she demurred. “Never since the romantic and historical accounts of characters such as Colonel Brandon, the penetrating attentions of Mr. Darcy, and the piercing regard and history of Mr. Knightley, have I ever been so persuaded to declare my application to such a man as you.

You, my Lord, are the bees knees.”

Lady Dongle’s Unexpected Visitor

Lady Dongle received an unexpected visitor from the north this week. The unanticipated company, was indeed her second son, Jacques De Venoix;  a country lawyer who resided in the county of Brownsville and was on an official appointment in town and enabled the opportunity to visit his maternal home at another’s expense. Mr De Venoix’s employer was kindly funding the trip and therefore he was enabled to perform a homicidal act on two birds with one stone.

With much felicity Lady Dongle received the news of the forthcoming visit, though it was not one and twenty minutes prior to the beloved arrival and this sudden information threw her into a state of acute angst.

Lady Dongle, rather languorous in her endeavours to maintain an orderly household over the previous few weeks, discerned in her imagination, the dust and hound hairs scattered around the halls and scullery to be considerably profuse.

Normally this unruly condition vexed Lady Dongle into an agitation much extreme, however, due to the excitement of the unexpected reunion with her treasured progeny, Lady Dongle resigned herself to the situation at hand and decided in her mind that ideal domestic appearances were merely for visitors of the non-relation kind.

Jacques De Venoix, distinguished gentleman that he certainly was, would surely demonstrate clemency and exonerate her from any charge of lacklustre housekeeping skills.

Lady Dongle, who in usual habit immediately called on her servants to secure suitable ingredients when important guests called to dine, made a special appointment to the butcher to purchase a large amount of high quality mutton. (It came into her perplexed thoughts during this excited bustle that she had not, and never had had any servants of any description and could hardly suspect why she ever imagined she did.) Bundling up her mutton and frozen potato strips, Lady Dongle rushed home in her chaise in an anxious expedition accompanied by the anticipation of a most gratifying outcome.

Sir Dongle expediently collected Jacques De Venoix from the horse-less carriage station and before Lady Dongle had the time to clear away her ironing press from the spare guest bed chamber, Jacques, her beloved son, was to be spied lingering on the threshold.

Oh what a sight to behold.

The conversation which followed this happy reunion can not be repeated for it was too intimate for the hardiest of readers.

However, when the candles began to quaver in a final glimmer of life, Lady Dongle persuaded Jacques, who was most reluctant in the first part, to allow a self- portraiture to be taken of the both.

This was a most rare opportunity as Jacques De Venoix, being a much more judicial and prudent creature than his matriarch, was not partial to self-portraitures, particularly those that were to be posted in a public forum. This was an uncommon moment indeed. Much anxiety and happy elation was felt on Lady Dongle’s behalf towards this unusual and exceptional adventure. Thrills coursed through her frame as she fussed about her hair in preparation.

The portrait was snapped.

However, sadly, on consequent viewing of the recent portraiture, Lady Dongle instantly decided her face looked far too plain and indeed, ugly and thus deleted the portraiture at once. The delightful memories of this visit would however, be kept firmly in her mind until their next fortunate meeting.

A Most Contemptible Bird

On each morn before the sun has even begun its ascent, without the slightest provocation, because there can hardly be provocation of any kind in this tranquil, verdant and peaceful quarter of the world, a very intrusive bird begins its call.

It is a most injurious call, a call one might even describe as inflammatory. It is a call which may be described as contemptible. It is the most loathsome bird call one can even begin, in one’s gloomiest of moments, to imagine. It is a dreadful, wicked and appalling cry upsetting the sensibility of all who may hear of it.

Sir Dongle, in particular, takes exception to its call in the most violent of emotions. He exclaims! Oh how he exclaims! There are passionate exclamations of the most forceful and intense fury interspersed with dreadful oaths, I am sure of it.

My ears are all a tremble at Sir Dongle’s oaths.

The situation is even more compromised and the tranquil pre-dawn serenity more agitated when, upon hearing the upsetting fury of Sir Dongle’s afflicted torment, our attentive hound in the garage sets upon a relentless howl which then intrudes on the dreamy slumber of the diminutive canine ensconced in our own dear bed.

The petite creature begins upon a bark most plague-some and so entirely wicked, it is difficult to conceive. This, in turn, riles a naturally phlegmatic Sir Dongle into a state of absolute apoplexy. The entire restful and soothing character of our beloved bedroom is beset with such a cacophony and a disorderly confusion that one might suspect a heinous and atrocious criminal act has taken place within its confines.

You would agree, would you not, that the bird is a tiresome creature and must be eliminated.

But how? We should not be the character of personage who might destroy the horrid bird through vile and immoral means. It is a creature of nature, one to be admired for its innate spirit of the rural landscape.

It must not be hunted to extinction.

No. That would never do.

All we might do, in order to persevere through this vile and ghastly impasse, is to wish for our feathered adversary, our vexing antagonist,  to discover yet another tree in another meadow, far beyond our fields, where he may find true contentment and gratification for the remainder of his days.