with guest blogger and “Peeress-on-the-go” Lady Penelope St. John-Inbred, TBE*
If you’re like me, whenever you return to the family estate
in Gloucestershire after two absolutely super weeks posing with leprosy victims outside the Mumbai Hilton, you’ll find yourself casting about for something useful you can do with your time.
Leprosy, by the way, is a most highly recommended charitable commitment for any “peeress-on-the-go” because, you see, white goes with everything so you need never worry!
Well, here’s my tip you’ve been waiting for: Try wearing this simply frightfully super cockroach hat at Ascot! Or at Henley! Or Henscot! Or Asley! Or Ashens! Or Scotsley! Or just pile into the backseat of the Daimler with Nigel and Henry like I do ! I always find something useful that way, absolutely delish!
But be jolly sure you before you wear your super cockroach hat that you tart it up a bit! That’s the stuff! Grab a few tattered ribbons from a beggar, that’s what I like to do, then I give him a jolly good kick in the damson stones for making me feel guilty. Bloody cheek! And I make bloody sure he thanks me for it!
Simply smashing beggars outside Liberty, by the way, jolly amusing, trust William Morris to get it right! Or Harrods Food Hall, simply whack your beggar a jolly good one with a cooked lobster, that will straighten them out! Jolly right it will! And make jolly sure you grab those ribbons for your hat!
You know, the hat! For Scotstot! or Leyhen!
Well, the servants tell me we’re out of the European Union. Bloody bore! I always thought “European union” was when Nigel puts his thing in my front bottom while Henry hides the pickle up the back passage, that’s what Nigel told me at any rate! And not the back passage the tradesmen use either, quite a different one altogether!
Like Daddy always says, Be a sport, Penny, let your brothers show you what they learned at Cheltenham College! Jolly nice, I call that!
But now they tell me that European Union is that thing, you know, when we stabbed poor old Britannia through the heart with daddy’s entrenching bayonet, as it were, and allowed all those dusky-skinned people in to take away those – what’s that thing again?
Yes, you! What’s that thing? That thing they do? The dusky-skinned people?
Jobs! Yes! Jolly right, too! Jobs and housing and all the best seats at The Oval and such! Well! It’s outrageous!
I was telling Nigel just the other day, we were doing “reverse polo mallet”, which always makes poor Henry jealous, silly bugger, I said, “Bloody cheek! It’s getting so you can’t even tell who’s a nigger and who’s a wog anymore!” Jolly disgraceful!
Nigel was simply too, too sick-makingly funny, he said, “Penny”, he said, “What’s that new scent of yours, Gentleman’s Relish?” And we all simply rolled about laughing!
Oh you’re not going to go on about it are you? Bloody bore!
Have a simply marvelously frightfully jolly time wearing your simply lovely cockroach ribbon hat at Niggerscot! Or Wogsley! Or Scotsnigger! Or Aswog! And then you can all just go jolly well european-union yourselves!
Then pile into your Daimler and have a nice cup of tea and a Brexit! Simply too, too jolly super!
Or a Jaffa Cake!
(* Twat of the British Empire)