Keepers Of the Hour

- although any minute they might be put back in their box!
Meet Hungarian István and his bearded cohorts.


After yesterday's day of wind and drama, today is dreich, cold and uninteresting.

Sitting here looking out of the window onto our fallen tree, disconsolate seagulls and wet humanity, I am trying to resurrect the glow of our noon champagne cocktails at a neighbour's yesterday.

As a Lady, I feel I have been unfortunate never to have sipped such a decadent drink so early in the day; in fact never to have been offered such nectar in my long and illustrious life is surely a shortcoming by anyone's book.

If there is anyone out there not sure what is involved let me tell you: a cube of brown sugar in the bottom of a champagne flute, with brandy in what tasted like liberal measure above, and topped up with champagne. It became a very merry gathering.

Today's nectar has been a bowl of soup made with the remaining contents of the vegetable drawer in the fridge, largely Brussel Sprouts and carrots; surprisingly tasty although more likely to produce flatulence than merriment.

However we have a supper get together this evening with two of my old schoolfriends. I will probably have to strap his Lordship into the chair to prevent his escaping. He has promised to behave.