A Terrible Plight

My dear Lady Ursula, let me interject here on behalf of The Lady Percy, you recall, she of the Beetham Mansion, has been taken terrribly unwell by one of her very own teeth! Yes, a tooth of her own, a bold upstart, has taken it upon itself to cause her much grievous torment. Not only that but her very own medic poisoned her with penicillin and if not for wits and sharp tongue, she would have been laid to a bed far colder than the one she now occupies, praise be, her trusty Lord beside her. Can you imagine the ache that she must endure without gritting her teeth too hard, as she awaits for the medication to soothe her inflamed body?

Lady Ursula, let this be a lesson to you, to take care of your teeth before they start making short shrift of you!

And make sure that you pay her a visit both of chiding and charm!

More Tea?

How observant you are Lady C! I didn't even notice! So fixiated was I with the encrusted stones of ugliness and the dual inability of the pot to be a functional item or a center piece. Now that you mention it, it could be something a crafty hostess uses as a conversation starter. Imagine serving Lady Grey in that?

Lemon or honey with that crumpet, Ms. Crumpet?

Hisssss

Is it my imagination, Lady Ursula, or does the metaphoric teapot below spout the neck of a snake?
Upon hearing your tale, that is all I saw.

Allow me to sip on some tea to recover from this tale of maternal conniving.

Mother Saga part deux

Tell me this isn't the guadiest teapot you've ever seen Lady Crumpet!

Ok... so I speak to my mother finally, on Thursday. She asks why haven't I called, I use the old tooth excuse and she is consoling and tut tuts in all the right places. Then I delicately enquire as to her travel plans...

Hey, you aren't like at the airport or at the train stop are you?

And her polite laughter sounds like good china.

Seriously, I ask again... what are you summer travel plans?

She candidly confesses that she has none; although she tells me has heard Vancouver is a lovely place to go this time of year.

Great, great, I say - but what about London?

What about London? she counters...

Well aren't you... er coming? Great Auntie said you were on your way...

Great Auntie is senile, she says in her briskest manner. London if far too hot right now. Besides, you don't really think I'm just going to descend upon you like that? How thoughtless do you think me? How gauche?

I breathe a great, great sigh of relief and release the tension that has bound me for the last few days. Suddenly, I feel a tender and loving feeling toward this maternal creature who spawned me.

It is really too bad you aren't coming, I say and I realise with regret that I mean it.

Don't be silly she says, smoothly changing the subject and bringing up South America again. I consent with a murmer, It would be lovely to go next year.

But first you are coming here for Xmas are you not? she asks all innocence, sweetness and light.

Every year my mother and my mother-in-law participate in the great taffy pulling contest that is our December family holidays. Last year mother-in-law won by a tiny hair of a margin and my mother, being my mother, has not forgiven nor forgotten.

To be truthful, I am tired of the tug-of-war. This year we planned to go somewhere else, away from here and there, away from the manipulative mothers.

After all, mine continues, If I can't see you in London this summer, it is only fair that you are here for Xmas. We haven't seen you in SO long, we really shouldn't let so much time pass.

Wham. Bam. Thank you Mam. Blindsided while my shields were down.

What?? Wait a minute... well, we were thinking maybe about Acapulco, remember how nice you said it was last year?

Don't be silly. Who goes to Acapulco when they could be with their family? Then it is settled. You are coming of course... It is a not a question, the good china has been replaced by steel.

I agree or concede, however you want to look at it. What kind of daughter would I be if I didn't. But as I hang up, I wonder how much of the conversation with my aunt was senility and how much of it was my master manipulator of a mother getting her way. So summer was never really a contender... and I have been given my freedom... for a few months anyway. All sacrifices come at a price.

And so it looks like we will be home for Christmas.

Mothers - God bless them.

Where Is Help When You Need It?

Oh, Lady U! the tremor, the horrot, the beads on the brow, how your very incisors must be shivering as you in vain trying to solve the very enigma of your soul: the stalker mother! Mothers! So enduring in their pursuit of revenge!

I have several answers, none of them worthy, I fear:

1. Where is the help when you need it? Why can we no longer call on our servants, Theresa and Milly, to place the call to your mother on your behalf, curtsy and explain in obedient, lavender tones how tender your disposition and how phone conversations give you the fits?

2. Call mother and plead toothache, speaking of the anguish of insistent root canals.

3. Have a drink and call mother, speaking of the anguish of insistent root canals.

4. Tell Lord Major to call mother and report on your absence as you are helping refugees in Uganda in a covert governmental mission.

5. Fling the door open widely when she arrives and say, "Surprise! Mummy, I am home! Just got back from Namibia and you know the phones dont work there! "

Then ask yourself, what is your character's motivation? if you were the author of you, what would you say of you and your mother?

In any case, please relate, if you will, the continuing tale of generations in mutually ignorant transit.

I sympathize as only a prodigal daughter can!

A Good Mother is Hard to Find

I googled 'mother' pics and this is what came up first. Now I don't know about you, but for me, this photo distinctly screams 'stepmother, mid 20s, no visible stretch marks'. Not, 'gave up hourglass figure & sanity to raise ungrateful trio of children who never call or write as they are too busy living their selfish lives'.

Which leads me neatly onto my topic...

For the past 6 months, I've been terrible about calling my mother. She (as always) has been great. She phones me periodically acting as if she is not at all angry, nor displeased that I have forgotten her. But I know better. I can feel her disappointment with each cheery greeting. I'm know I'm pushing the limits and somewhere down the line I'll pay.

Well...that day has arrived.

On Monday, my great aunt calls out of the blue (I haven't spoken to her in 3 years). She just 'happens' to be in Germany with her daughter and she wants to speak to my mother.

???? This aunt lives in the same city as my mom and they frequently have lunch together.

Er. 'She isn't here,' I say.

Oh? <--- the aunt sounds surprised. 'Well, she should have arrived. Maybe she will get there later tonight? Anyway, let her know we are thinking of booking a hotel in Hyde Park.'

(gulp) Hyde Park???

'Have you not spoken to your mother? We're getting the train into London in a few days. We can all meet up and have lunch. Won't that be nice?'

Like a bullet to the brain.

After my hands stopped shaking and I dry-heaved a bit (excuse the non-ladylike description) I sent an email to my sister to ask what the hell was going on.

I did NOT however call my mother to find out whether she was at home or at the airport. They say ignorance is bliss, then by logic, I must be the happiest lady on the planet.

To my mother's credit, she did tell me in early May that she wanted to visit. But this is MY MOTHER we are talking about. Various times during the year she phones me to say, 'Iran looks interesting dear, let's go there' or 'I've heard Afghanistan is the place to go'.

I don't really take her seriously. We have been planning a trip together to South America for the last 10 years! Everytime we talk, we pretend that this time we are really going. We talk about what who we will see; what we will eat; what beach is best; but we both know she will end up changing her mind and go somewhere else - some place fun like Vegas (last year) or Acapulco (the year before). The allure of her fantasies are not as powerful as the allure of the Bellagio or the marvellous seafood brunch buffet/show featuring Edie Gourmet.

So I wonder... why do I choose to ignore my own mother? Do I really believe she will go away if I do? And if she did - by some miracle - decide to leave me alone, would her abandonment traumatize me to the degree that I would need irrepairable years of therapy?

Is this her way of teaching me a lesson for being so incommunicado? Would she reallyforget to tell me she was coming, just out of spite disguised as 'doorstep surprise'? Typing this, I already know the answer. I think back to all the people in my life that have dared to ignore me. With each slight, my response grew more and more out of control. Before long the pot water was bubbling and all that was left was the bunny...

Despite the worry and guilt that nags at me today, I have still not made contact. I will tonight... I hope. Unless she comes a-knockin' before then.

Whatever is a lady to do?

Goodness Me!

I would not reveal this ever to anyone but you, Lady Ursula, but I burst out laughing at the celebration below, hat to hat so retro amidst a sea of immaculate chapeaux. Yes, indeed, I lost my composure. I am ablushed to say that but am certain that with you my secret is as safe as a hair in a locket.

I am abashed also to add that right next to the bride yesterday, I was the best vested bosom around. She as to be expected was beaming with romance and fiddling with her ring as the dress billowed forth and back in the breeze. They do look a happy couple and I will believe in that. I will escrow my cynicism for now.

But sometime during the meal, a slender Lady Geraldine leaned into me and introduced herself as the mother of the bride's best friend, for she--the daughter, Charlene--and the bride, Amanda had been friends since they were three years old. By their pearls you shall know them, an old wives saying reports, and surely, Lady Geraldine, limber in a pale blue sheath dress punctuated with only a string of pearls and immaculate smile, was of the comfortably moneyed. She laid her hand easily on my shoulder and spoke,

"Amanda's parents are very godly people, very godly, very good and godly people. I knew her father and he died of cancer, very young, at 42, but he died contented because he knew, he was sure where he was going, to a good place...."

Lady U: what better way to define oneself and one's affiliations than beginning by praising others? Here is your own perhaps controversial stance and affinity presented in the most complimentary fashion, without compromising one's own hat, as it were.

Imagine a world in which the conversation begins, as directed by Women in Classy Hats and Pearls:

"I know Francois and Francine. They are very good people, very gourmet people."

or

"I know Thelma's mom and mom. They are very gay people, very good and gay people."

or

"I know Lady U and Lady C; they are such good tea-drinking people."

Naturally, I feared for my life, but soon the Lady Geraldine departed for other listeners in need of reassurance as to her approval of godliness. As it turned out, daughter Charlene had been slighted by Amanda who had opted for a less godly maid of honor, a mere Jordan of a girl, a name that did not have the fortitude to end with a flairsome vowel.

Weddings

La Perla? That is a fine fine gift Lady Crumpet. Her heaving bossom will thank you I am certain.

On the topic of bossoms and weddings - A few years ago I went to the wedding of one of Lord Major's cousins and his perky blonde fiance, whom he met while holidaying in South America (fiance was teaching or do-gooding down there).

At the time, the cousin was in a long term relationship with a woman with whom he a 3 year old child. As such, she was in no way inclined to be perky, but was nice, smart, accomplished and much loved by the family nonetheless.

The cousin it was said, was too independent, carefree and freespirited for anything as serious as marriage, so life went on... until one day he jumped into his candy apple porche, drove to the airport, hopped onto a plane and met the perky woman of his dreams. He had fallen head over heels in a matter of days and determined to marry his blonde goddess immediately. So he whisked her back to England to meet her parents and have her meet his and of course to tell the long suffering girlfriend the bad news.

But that alas is not my story...

On the wedding invites, the fiance, whom we had not yet met, enclosed a handwritten note, telling us how she was a sucker for traditional weddings and asking, nay... demanding we all wear hats or not bother going to her wedding at all. Most of Lord Major's family not already offended by the events mentioned above, were now 'officially' miffed and there was much drama about the donning of hats and various other plummage.

As predicted, the wedding turned out to be one of those ghastly affairs - held in a converted tudor coach house; white Bentley, white horses, white flowers; dress so white I was blinded as the bride from her golden coach like cinderella.

At the wedding there was a quartet made up of classical beauties playing Bach ad naseum, an opera singer, a tux and tailed pianist, 3 professional video recorders, 2 photographers and many, many ladies in overbearing hats.

Partly because I ran out of time and partly because I resented being told to wear a hat (a lady must never be forced to wear anything she doesn't want to) I neglected this part of my wardrobe and so asked my mother-in-law to pick up something for me while she was out shopping.

Two hours before the wedding, she pulled out of a bag a hat she had picked up at her local thrift store. and by then Lady Crumpet it was much too late to do anything.

My mother in law had chosen a vintage hat. Vintage circa 1982! Yes, she had been a big Dynasty and Dallas fan and it showed. Not only that, but she had also one for herself, so picture the two of us in sedate cream suts with Alexis hat brims so wide they were in a entirely different postal code.



Her hat was coral and mine was white with black polka dots.



What can I say Lady Crumpet? I wore the hat with as much panache as I could muster and even though a few people raised eyebrows and one man approached me and said he really liked my hat because modern hats were silly and frilly and a REAL hat like mine was so refreshing to see.

As for the perky bride herself? One look at my hat and she crinkled her perfect nose in disgust and turned her back on myself and Lord Major.

Later I saw her standing around with a group of her ladies and they pointed to my 'power' hat and rolled their eyes and giggled.

It just goes to show. A true lady shouldn't be judged by the size of her hat or her heaving bossom.

The Heat

It is too hot. I find the heat unquenchable, I say to myself enough of lime Coke and enough never comes. I crave it ferociously to my detriment, I am sure. Tell no one!

Today, Lady Ursula, I too am going to a wedding, and I too must proclaim, in that most familiar of tones,

I have nothing to wear!

It is an outdoor wedding and I have no hat! I go hatless! Yes, deride me if you will.

I go hatless!

I rummage in my wardrobe and compile an outfit of some merit, something new, something old, something red, but nothing bold.

Enough about me, though.

The bride marries a man older, fifteen or so years older, but an American who has already gifted her with a motorbike, a Honda Shadow. She squeals with delight as she vrooms away. And then we will repair to a jazz bar for the reception.

What have I gotten her for her present, you ask?

A gift certificate from La Perla. I could do no less, for this is the time when her blood will run hotter than ever again, and she needs to hoist up the heaving bosom in something a little frivolorisque, no?

Could It Be...

Lady Ursula,

Did someone say, "twee"? Did I hear the word, "twee"? the most apt and elegant of words, as daintyrich as a sugar cube lowered into a cup of earl grey? Is it not the very meaning cast so vulgarly as the word "cute" by those across the sea who chew on each word as they do on the gum through which they mumble, oh, excuse me, speak?

"Twee" is not a word I hear often, but when I do, the very air chimes so melodiously as to multiply the dance of the Tetley Tea Folk and their most resounded jig around the pot. "Twee" is a present from a distance, a speck in utterance, but a bold streak in the trajectory of its meaning, a late summer shooting star arcing over my hat in spring. O fortunate me, in the path of twee!

I will thus make a wish!

I wish to use "twee" as verb even, not as to tweedle, precious, no, but as in to create an object as twee as we observe hanging from the xmas tree.

And is it not a fact as crunchy as digestive biscuits that with the addition of "s" twee and some playful nudging, "twee" becomes "sweet," and so, immeasurably sweeter? To twee sweetly is not the same as to tweet sweetly, it is to sweetly be in the most twee of ways so that one is in surfeit of tweetness till sweetness:

He who twees
is sweet to me!
And if you do,
I twee with you.

I do not have the panache to use this word outside our teaparlor but am infinitely delighted that you indeed have allowed me this opportunity.

Let us ever twee!

me

Ornamental Victorians

Lady Crumpet - this blog gets better and better every day! How on earth could I possibly top the Victorian perfume dispenser? Speaking of, is it me or do all Victorian gadgets resemble bellows or spoons?

Behold these precious trinkets:



Could there be anything more precious, more twee than the Victorian obsession for miniaturising objects?



Goodness. I would love to have some of these, but where would a modern lady ever find the time or energy to make or collect these? Not including the great Martha S of course. And where does one draw the line? Ornamanets would be the start, but before long, you would be out collecting and gilding acorns; or making your own sugar from beets. Just give me my usual 6 blue bulbs per box at Target or Walmart and I'll be happy to covet the Victorians from afar.

Now on to the hat story you promised... I too have another one up my lady sleeve.

Lights on!

And now for a tale of wattage to top the hattage!

How does your inkwell flow?

Another Objet d'Vogue

Observe the gadget above, Lady Ursula. Have you any idea what is its use?

You are correct to identify it as a Victorian perfume dispenser, from 1892, spotted in an Apothecary Museum. A lady such as you or me would drop in one cent, pull its spoonesque lever and wait till a spray of "the finest Paris" perfume wafted onto her hand or handkerchief. The bell would tinkle too.

That and a hat and we are set to go about town.

And yes, that jar you see behind is for the leeches.

Hats Galore

A tale of hattage just as I returned from my trip wondering who are the women who would wear a hat at large? For at the town where I took my respite there was indeed a hat store with hats upon hats the colors of easter eggs, with sashes and feathers and beads and sundries...I was scoffing and dubious and yet at the same time across the water, the Lady ursula was fancifying herself as well. I beg your pardon, Lady Ursula, for doubting the purpose of hats. For you made a statement as pastel as if the Queen herself had. You are an incarnation of Bold Chique.

Tea for Two

How delightful! Our blog is so beautiful it makes me feel verklempt. I love the photo Ms Crumpet! Sounds like your trip was a delicious success.

The weather here is hot and humid. Oh, how I long for a little afternoon tea to perk me up.

I must tell you about this wedding I went a few weeks ago. It was in Windsdor darhling and we stayed at the Christopher Wren hotel, which I swear was riddled with ghosts.

I bought a hat of course, as all ladies should at weddings and other occassions like divorces. I was quite pleased that it came with an old fashioned hat box in baby pink. To tell the truth I was taken more with the box than the hat. Such a novelty! So many things to figure out, like what to store it in and where on earth to find room for such a useless yet lovely thing. I dare say this is what men used to think about women before we learned to kickbox them in the front teeth.

Anyway, so the wedding was not the ghastly affair I envisioned, being only two stones away from the Queen's palace. She was (in case you are wondering) in residence, as her little flag was flying and everything.

More impressive however is Eton, which is just down the road. We took a Sunday morning drive through the grounds. It was ever so charming. The blessed tikes, adorably sweet with their little black robes, which I think they must wear at all times, even on weekend mornings when they don't have class.

Oh Ms Crumpet - I tell you, it was like we were on a movie set, the bells were a'tolling like crazy, a beautiful blue morning, the students running, robes, ties, caps all heartbreakingly askew. Some of the students were sauntering along slowly, eating toast or crumpets and whatever else boys eat. The school and the grounds were enormous, but also charming - I was instantly reminded of Hogwarts. And the little tiny stores in village were to die for: a tiny old fashioned tailors shoppe; Ye Olde Ham; an old fashioned bakery of the kind you don't seem anymore; a place to buy magic wands...

Lord Major claimed it was SO adorable, SO quiant, he was half expecting the catering people to run on set and bring out the donuts.

So back to the wedding service, which was small, intimate and non denominational and PC my very insides.

After about 20 minutes of non-gender specific possesives and self-written vows so earnest and unpresuming(nary an 'obey' or even a 'will listen to you if you have a bad day at work' ) I looked around the room and guess who was the only one wearing a hat that wasn't the bride's mother!

Shocking I know. I was even flummaxed for a few moments. But then I relaxed and enjoyed myself and drank copious champagne and loved all the attention my hat caused. A girl has to be prepared for every situation Lady Crumpet.

A Lady Returns from her Expedition

Having returned from my bold and beautiful expedition to what has been proclaimed the prettiest town in Ontario, or Canada or the world even, I bring back footage of amazing proclivities. Apparently, tea is being shared throughout the realm to creatures of all persuasions so as to better entice them to civility. Here is proof enough: gekkos clamoring for a whiff of the most potent and inspiring of brews.

What have YOU been inspired to lately?

This Very Morning!

And in fact, this very morning I did have scones, albeit with coffee, albeit with coffee from Dublin, from a tea emporium since deceased, Bewleys.

Welcome to the Tea Salon

Lady Crumpet invites you for afternoon tea for two.

Come, there will be scones with jam and cream.