I have just found what is called the Sunday Whirl: wordle #388 which is a sort of word puzzle where one has to write something which includes a number of words which have been selected. I quite enjoyed this writing challenge.
A weekend in the country.
My wife and I were asked for a weekend in the country by Lord Peter Whimsy and at first, I was reluctant to take up the invitation but one doesn’t get the chance for this sort of thing that often and it would be a story to tell my grandchildren the next time they came to visit.
His Lordship lives in the country in the wilds of Yorkshire which was quite a long drive as it entailed going round and round a very discombobulated route through the countryside.
Eventually we arrived and I parked the Bentley at the front door and went with my wife to pull the chain to ring the doorbell and was rather taken aback when the hinge on the imposing front door creaked and the door opened to reveal, no-one.
I had been expecting someone to emerge but no, there was not a soul to be seen, when in a flash a small rather withered old man jumped out at my wife and I causing our pulses to race alarmingly.
He introduced himself, “Good day sir, madam I’m Scrotum the wrinkled retainer, do follow me to your room.”
“I’m afraid there is no rush to dress for dinner, his Lordship had tickets in the stalls to see the Mouse trap and is running a little late.”
Some time later we went down for dinner and met his Lordship who apologised for his lateness as it seems he had trodden in a puddle when entering the house which necessitated a change of clothes.
During the course of the meal which was a very rich platter he informed everyone that the plan for tomorrow was to go clay pigeon shooting which sounded as if it might be fun.
Unfortunately, the meal was rather too rich for my digestive system and I could no longer contain myself and I let off an enormous fart.
At first, I thought I had got away with it as his Lordship shouted to his dog, “Rover, get away from the table,” but I could no longer hold myself and let an even louder one rip.
Once again, his Lordship shouted at the dog and then to Scrotum, “For God’s sake man open the vents on that window.”
Shocked as I was by his shouting I let rip yet again this time even louder.
By this time his Lordship was virtually purple in the face, veins bursting from his neck.
He rose from the table and bellowed, “For Christ’s sake Rover, get away from the table before he shits all over you.”
Well, this is my story of our weekend in the country, I have a feeling we may not be asked again.