Two entries in 24 hours, you ARE lucky, darlings!

Golly but I have a head on me today, I can't tell you. I woke at about 10 this morning with the most thumping headache and had to call Rupes on his mobile to come and bring me a cup of tea. Poor man was feeling almost as rough as me, and stumbled around the house for a good 10 minutes with my breakfast tray until he found me - I'd forgotten to tell him I was in the Cedar Room and he simply couldn't find me! He ended up calling me back on the mobile and I had to talk him in. So amusing. Anyway after my tea and toast and a bit more dozing and three nurofen and a hot bath with that lovely bath oil that Suki sent me from California - it's almost run out actually, must get her to FedEx some over - I've managed to struggle into a Kimono and get upright. And now to the burning question - what AM I going to wear to the Winterthur's tonight?

Do you know I haven't really seen Ralph since the night of the Wiltshire's dance and our tremendously exciting encounter in Louisa's dressing room. Well I've seen him, obviously - given him a few waves from my car as I've driven through the village, and passed him coming out of the village shop as I was going in (I do feel it is important to support these things, so I make a point of going in and spending a tenner at least once a fortnight, although I end up buying all sorts of horrible little cakes and dusty tins of overpriced soup which I end up having to pass on to Mrs Coddington. I do think she appreciates my thoughtfulness, though). But I haven't really spoken him if you know what I mean. So it is going to be rather exciting going there this evening. I wonder who else he has invited? And of course meeting his mysterious wife - what's her name? Bugger, I can't remember. I expect she is bottom heavy and rather worthy and over-accessorised like these Americans always are.

Which brings me to the burning question - what to wear? I have a rather lovely Missoni wrapover jersey dress which really highlights my marvellous and newly perked up chest, I could wear that with my new Roger Vivier heels. It may be a little day, though. Or I have a rather demure new short Alberta Ferretti cocktail dress, midnight blue chiffon over a silk slip. Jolly sexy in a sort of veiled way. Or I could dress down a little and wear my little Pucci tunic and my Balenciaga flat gladiator sandals - they are splendid, sort of studded bondage for the feet. I had a super fake tan yesterday (Michelle in Marlborough has been on an advanced course and she is really tip top now - although I was a little less happy with her waxing skills, my landing strip is veering distinctly to the right which is SO frustrating), so I could carry the Pucci off with no problem. It barely covers the tops of my thighs though....

Golly it is tricky. Oh! I must dash, the cellar door is decidedly sticky and Rupes is banging away at it. Better let him out. Wish me luck for tonight, and of course I'll report back in full detail!
Minty xxx

Hello Darlings! I'm terribly drunk

I've just packed our weekend guests off to bed, where I really should be going myself, when I thought I'd log in and say hello to all my lovely lovely friends who have been so lovely and supportive and lovely about my blog. Do you know I get all these emails from people who read everything I post avidly, and beg me to blog more often, because they just can't wait to hear what I've been up to. I knew that there were lots of People Like Us out there who wanted to read about the normal, everyday happenings of an ordinary, well-brought up girl, and it seems I was right! Well I love you ALL, you are lovely lovely lovely. Apart from the few horrid people who send me really rather rude messages accusing me of being bitchy and horrible - I suspect they are all the same person actually, you know who you are - anyway you are horrid and nobody likes you, especially not me!
I really should go to bed, I'm making the most terribly heavy weather of this typing, thank goodness for spellcheck. I don't normally get quite so squiffy without a very special reason, but we have Rupert's incredibly bossy and aggressive sister Arabella staying, and that has driven me to drink. Within about 20 minutes of her entering the house I felt the need to drive up my blood alcohol level to blunt the effect of her personality. I'm afraid I was rather too successful.
Anyway I managed to get supper over rather earlier than usual by inadvertantly offending her - which isn't difficult, actually, like lots of incredibly prickly people she is also as sensitive as hell. Such a boring combination. I was blathering on about the children and what a bore Lara can be and how annoying Ludgrove is being about putting Archie up for Eton, and goodness knows what, when she said "Minty, you should just be jolly glad you've got children, there plenty of people who'd love to be in your position but haven't been so lucky". I said "Well, you should be jolly glad you haven't got children, there are plenty of people who'd love to be able to hunt three times a week and go to Mauritius for a fortnight in term time, too." Well it was quite an innocuous comment, and really no different to the remark she'd just made to me, but she burst into tears, which has got to be a first, and ran upstairs with Esmond hot-footing it behind her with a hangdog expression and a box of mansize tissues.
God. Anyway Rupes and I had to finish the rest of the bottle of Sauternes to recover from the shock of seeing old bossyboots in tears - the last time he could remember Arabella turning on the waterworks was when Rupes had shot her guinea pig with the air rifle he'd got for his 9th birthday. And he is 44 now!
Must dash. I'm really awfully pissed and ought to get a bit of sleep before I have to deal with Arabella over breakfast. I'm not too sure where though - I think I've just heard Rupes chucking up in our bedroom. Nightmare. I wonder if Mrs Coddington made up the bed in the Cedar Room like I asked her to?
Minty xx

PS My goodness, quite forgot to tell you - we've been invited to dinner at the Rectory tomorrow night. I'm dying to meet Ralph's wife, finally. What to wear?

Pour a glass of Puligny Montrachet and settle down for a riveting read!

Right darlings, well I've promised you a blow by blow account of the Wiltshire's bash, and I haven't forgotten you (even though it was WEEKS ago now and I expect you've heard it all from someone or other, it's been the talk of the County).

Well the D of C and I had a simply lovely time getting ready for the party, my Chanel fitted like an absolute dream and was just so, and she looked jolly nice in something Robinson Valentine had knocked up for her, although she said it was a bloody pain in the arse that she had to wear British all the time, she fancied a bit of proper french couture, but the upside was that at least she had some knockout rocks. We had a couple of extremely dry martinis, and after the third one she said "Shall we just stay here this evening? We always have such a jolly time and I loathe bloody Louisa bloody Wiltshire!" Well, of course, this was music to my ears, so I bit the bullet and admitted the whole pathetic story of Johnnie being cross with Rupes over some investment or other, us being NFI to the party of the year, and finally that we were coasting on her and the Prince's coattails to get to the party specifically to piss Louisa and Johnnie off. She simply roared with laughter, absolutely loved it. Apparently the Wiltshires treated her like complete dirt throughout the Diana years and beyond, never invited her to anything and cut her dead when they saw her, but once she got Charles up the aisle they were all over her like maggots on a dead sheep. We swapped some fabulous stories about them (she never knew that Johnnie likes to shag Louisa wearing his granny's tiara and waders, and I had no idea that Louisa was born Louise Stokes in a suburb of London called Morden or something equally hideous sounding - very interesting though) and swore we'd have a good evening, come what may.

So we then had drinks and the funny little American turns up - sans wife! Jolly rude I thought, and the sort of thing that the Prince is usually exceptionally chippy and cross about, but Charles greeted him like a best chum, and waved away the apology, quite extraordinary. It was frightfully annoying but I didn't hear the excuse the Yank came up with for her no show, as I was standing next to Goran who popped the champagne at exactly the same time (I don't know HOW many times I've tried to teach him to open champagne correctly - "as quiet as a virgin sighing" - but he just can't get it. I'm not sure whether it is because he didn't have many opportunities to open champagne in Timisoara, or because there were precious few virgins there sighing, but it is jolly annoying. I may have to look for another handyman cum butler).

Anyway we were slightly steaming when we left for the Wiltshires - even the Prince, which is most unusual for him - and even more so when we arrived thanks to the Billecart Saumon thoughtfully placed on ice in the Bentley. Johnnie and Louisa were, of course, waiting outside their door for the guests of honour to arrive and I'm ashamed to say we were a teensy bit late due to me accidentally moving all the clocks in the house forward by 20 minutes! Whoops! The poor things must have been jolly cold and rather bored, listening to their expensive party happening somewhere else. It was completely hilarious watching them greet the Prince incredibly obsequiously, the D of C fulsomely but with a hardly discernible hint of froideur, and Rupes and I barely civilly. Quite impressive really. And I don't think they knew whether Ralph Winterthur was a guest or the chauffeur or a bodyguard so they just ignored him totally. Camilla and I did slightly get the giggles at the whole nuanced performance and I swear I saw the hackles rise on the back of Louisa's wrinkled chicken neck.

So we went straight into dinner because we were so late, gosh I was glad of that trip to Paris when we walked into the (frankly completely overdecorated) marquee and everyone stood up and watched us go to the top table. My dress was a complete triumph, especially compared to Louisa Wiltshire's disastrous backless number, which had the result of exposing a huge amount of slightly puckered cowhide. She looked like an aged Soho madam. "Oh Louisa! What a lovely tent! I'd completely forgotten you didn't have a ballroom, but this tent is really almost BETTER, and so rustic looking, isn't it?" I trilled so everyone could hear. I thought Camilla was going to explode with the pressure of keeping a straight face. She is a game old bird.

Anyway thanks to Louisa I had some eighty year old deaf Deputy Lieutenant of Wiltshire on my left who actually fell asleep during the starter and didn't wake up at all thereafter (perhaps he was dead? I never thought to check) and Ralph Winterthur on my right. He managed to get through the whole meal on small talk - I tried and tried to winkle some information out of him like Who Are You? How Do You Know The Prince? Where Is Your Wife? What Do You Do All Day? Why Have You Come To My Rectory? but drew an absolute complete blank. So then I tried to flirt with him - I tried everything, and believe me, when Minty wants to flirt, Minty usually gets results. But it was like flirting with Michelangelo's David - nada, nothing, zip, back in return. Of course I could hardly open my eyes, let alone speak at this point, so much lovely wine had I consumed, but that has never stopped me from getting a positive response before. Finally, I gave up, and staggered off to find the loos, tripping over that godawful canvas stuff they put over the molehilly lawn in the vain hope you'll forget you are in a tent. Of course I ignored the revolting old portaloos they'd put up (god Louisa has NO style) and went into the house, and while I was having a riffle through Louisa's dressing room (hardly worth the effort - you could put the whole lot including the actual cupboards on ebay and still not raise enough for a Paddington bag) who should turn up but that dark horse of an American. I held up a particularly nasty chiffon blouse and said "Pitiful, isn't it?" and he came up to me, took the blouse, chucked it on the floor, stuck one hand on my arse and one behind my neck and gave me the most tremendous snog. Golly it was exciting! I was just getting into it, and wondering if Louisa's Empire Daybed could take our combined weight, when he stopped, removed his hands, and buggered off.

So how about that?

Oh bugger, Rupes has just come in from the pub and brought Giles, Ed and Harry with him, they'll be wanting a Welsh Rarebit. Must dash!
Minty xx

I know, I know, I know, I've neglected you terribly and I'm ashamed!

It has been almost a month since I've written my lovely blog. And I know I've disappointed a few people who rely on me to let them know what's what and who's who, and who just love hearing about what Orca has been up to (swimming in slurry if you must know, the filthy beast. And then trotting into the kitchen, simply dripping with ordure, and shaking herself furiously in front of me. I screamed like a banshee, and nearly stoved in her skull with my Kitchenaid mixer, and it took poor Mrs Coddington FOUR HOURS to clean all of those hideous droplets of liquid manure from all the crevices in the Aga and my lovely kitchen furniture. And then of course she had to shampoo and dry the stinking sodden dog too, my god it was hideous. Poor old stick smelt like a drain by the time I finally let her leave, hours and hours late for her regular Wednesday afternoon whist session at the local old people's home. I felt a teensy bit guilty but I know she wouldn't have enjoyed the whist if she had abandoned me in that catastrophic situation. She is awfully good that way.)

Where was I? Oh yes. It has been a simply exhausting month. Thank goodness half term is over - I've just this moment come back from dropping the boys at Ludgrove, girls go back tomorrow. Honestly it is much too long, a couple of days would do it. They are like puppies, masses of energy, have no need for a holiday, just need their tuckboxes restocking really. I couldn't possibly begin to tell you all the things I've been up to - describing Lavinia Woodstock's girls luncheon party last week alone would take up several pages. She invited simply everyone, ostensibly for Macmillan Nurses, or CLIC Sargent - or was it Long Winterbourne Volunteer Fire Service? - anyway something terribly worthy, but actually it was just an excuse to show off her newly redecorated house. My dears, I can't tell you how awful it is. Her drawing room is so screamingly hideous that Flossie and I got simply uncontrollable giggles, really couldn't stop, exactly like we used to in Hymn Practice with poor old Miss Cletherton when we were 14. Honestly, it looks like a cross between a WWI Field Hospital and an 'O'Level art studio - all white walls, white floors, funny chairs with sticky out legs and no upholstery, and the most lurid, vast, pink and orange daubs on the wall. And the kitchen! Oh I can't start on the kitchen. Suffice it to say that I'm sure concrete worktops have a place, but it's probably Shoreditch and not Long Winterbourne. I do feel for poor Julian, you'd have thought for £250k and two years of hell and builders, he'd at least have some cushions and some decent bits of furniture. Still, he is shagging Claire in the village, who has lovely comfy old sofas and makes a marvellous White Russian, so I expect he'll just spend even more time up there "discussing parish business".

Of course the main event this month was the Wiltshire's bash. Well! Never in my wildest imaginings would I have forseen how that panned out, it couldn't have been more extraordinary....
But the terrible thing is that I'm going to have to keep you on tenterhooks for the moment, darlings (I know, I am too beastly). My creme de la mer facemask has gone simply rock hard (well you are meant to rinse it off after 10 minutes and I've been on here for at least 30), and I've got to chisel it off before Rupes comes home or he'll probably never shag me again. Honestly, I look a complete fright, even Orca yelped when she saw me and ran for her basket. I really must dash! I promise I'll be back with the full gory details soon!

Minty xx