Clarabelle’s Christmas Message

For my readers over waters many…. you may not be aware that the esteemed majesty of this country broadcasts a Christmas message every year.

This year we are told she she is going to applaud the wonderful work of  our boys in Afghanistan – why are there any boys left in Afghanistan we ask ourselves when they would much prefer to be tucking into roast turkey at home and not sitting ducks for being blown up???!

I feel it as my duty to offer an alternative to our poor queen’s message, who’s lip is so stiff it is quite amazing she can get any words out.

Now if you heard my message last year, my advice was to get yourself under the table as soon as possible, and have a jolly good time doing so. and wake up to a new dawn, a very bad headache – but at least it will ALL BE OVER.

However this year my surgeon has said… No Clarabelle, three to four units maximum PER WEEK, and I was to learn to my horror that these can be consumed only too quickly leaving one bankrupt for the rest of the week.

Three to four units was not going to get me under the table.

What was a gel to to!!!

Now last year I started the day very pleasantly California style – in a hot tub, surrounded by a bevy of well proportioned and impressively endowed (I couldn’t help noticing) surfers. Now that’s the way to spend Christmas, under the table with one of those chaps.

And on top of this my most loyal and adoring admirer and chum, Archie, is taking his mother to lunch… of all things!

And so I was going to have find some other way at amusing myself.

And I soon came up with a plan that was also going to solve another of my problems -  that odious aristocratic duty of handing our Christmas boxes to the servants.. and believe me this can get very expensive, particularly during these punishing times and you would be amazed how many persons consider themselves my servants. And in any case what are they going to do with anything I put in their christmas boxes – spend it on some rubbish. I feel it is my moral duty to provide those dependent on my bounty with an item that is going to edify – and the item that I had in mind could even save a life.

And so I made a purchase online at a very reasonable rate, increasing my savings even more, providing sufficient variety of the item to fit the requirements of every recipient. You may imagine that I was extremely pleased with myself.

When my butler, dear Shuffle-Bottom brought me my breakfast in bed on Christmas morning and thanked me heartily for my gift. “Very useful to be sure, ma’am, and more appreciated and very generous.”

A shreik could be heard from Downstairs.

“I believe Mrs Huggins has opened her Christmas box,” Shuffle-Bottom reported cooly, a quiver detectable on his well trained (and rather stiff) lip betraying his relish of the incident.

Yes Mrs Huggins when in a rage can resemble this

Now Mrs Huggins is never known to stray Upstairs. She regards Downstairs as strictly her territory. But before I can remove the froth of the cappuchino from my upper lip, Mrs Huggins had unceremoniously burst into my bedroom.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion!” I cried out.

Mrs Huggins to be sure was in a most frightful rage. Her face was so red it almost boiled and her grimace made most gargoyles look postively mild.

“What am I do with these, ma’am” she cried flinging the condoms at me, the sharp edge of the packaging of one slightly grazing my eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can find plenty of uses for them, Mrs Huggins.”

“I am a widow!” she exclaimed.

“That is exactly my point,” I replied.

Mrs Huggins boiled red turned to puce and I could swear that steam began to come out of her ears.

“You’re enjoying this Ma’am! You are despiccable! They should arrest you for this!”

“Please call the constable, Mrs Huggins. I will happily answer any charges that you may bring against me.”

“You are indecent, a harridan, a smirch on your family, an offense to your country…” and so she continued for five minutes, and it is quite amazing what can come out of Mrs Huggins mouth when she means to. Shuffle Bottom certainly was enjoying himself greatly.

“Well if you are unable to make use of them yourself, and you never know Mrs Huggins when an occasion might crop up when you might thank me. Things are very different these days you know. But I’m sure they will come in very handy for one of those grandchildren of them. I especially included some of the flavoured ones so popular with the younger generation.”

“Flavoured!” Mrs Huggins blushed redder than the reddest tomoto , quite unable now to speak.

“Yes the modern grandmother has many duties, and one of those is to make sure that her offspring’s offspring are well equipped and informed on these matters.”

Well it was quite plain I had gone way beyond the mark. Mrs Huggins raged and railed, threatened to leave me, (if only she would!) but then finally turned full circle and swore it was her Christian duty to protect me from myself, how could I on Christ’s birthday let Lucifer into my soul. It was all very amusing and gratifying, and certainly it made the day pass very pleasantly without the requirement for intoxicating liquor.

Shuffle Bottom made me up a very nice bed under the table and  spent a very nice day under there, enjoying the latest movies and catching up on reading matter and regaling my friends with the latest Huggins incident.

See what uses can be found for our common or garden condom!

And since then the thanks have been pouring in from my retinue of retainers for my most amusing and unusual gift. The paper boy was “absolutely thrilled” (although his mother was not), the milkman and the postmen said they would come in handy in the call of their duty (and let us give a hearty thanks for the wonderful service these essential workers do to keep the average Brititsh family). My accountant, baker, greengrocer, shoe repairer, gardener, road sweeper, the woman for the village or “does”, plumber, electrician, window cleaner, odd job man, poacher, delivery boy, all were absolutely delighted, and not forgetting the nice man from DHL,  my astrologer, reflexologist, acupuncturist, kinesiologist, herbalist, hairdresser, surgeon and landscape architect who also expressed grateful thanks. My dressmaker phoned me on my mobile and told me she planned to make a fashion item out of it.

And so I can rest back upon my laurels, feeling that I have not only had a wonderful Christmas but have too brought so much pleasure to the lives of many.

Now what shall I do next year…

Fondly

Clarabelle

Where Have I Been?!!!!!!!

I have been looking for myself everywhere.

I have looked high and low but I was nowhere to be found.

They have seeked me here, they have seeked me there, they have seeked me absolutly eveywhere. (PLEASE NO COMMENTS CORRECTING MY GRAMMAR – I AM CLARBELLE AND I CAN DELIBERATELY MAKE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS IF IT SCANS BETTER!)

Have I been in heaven? Have I been in hell?

I have remained for many ears and eyes as elusive as the Scarlet Pimpernell…

I have been in a kind of limbo, floating in space in a miasma of grey and beige, according to the latest edition of The Lady. And as I have told you before I am no lady so what on earth I am doing in that publication I cannot imagine.

ASIDE That title of lady belongs to my dear Mama – who shows no sign of popping her clogs. And while she is alive, according to the aristocratic tradition of my lamentable country, I remain  a mere honourable. Apart from the fact of my simply dreadful reputation, which I intend to perpetuate. With a bit of luck and with my appetite for fast cars, magnums of champagne and scandalous love affaires with plebeins, her ladyship, my dear  mama will outlive me.

However try telling that to the Americans, who insist on lady-i-fying me at every opportunity. Well they simply have no truck for our antiquated traditions. They prefer to cut to the chase and call me whatever pleases them…

“Where have you been, Clarabelle?” they squeal at every social function that I have had the pleasure of not attending.

And I reply from my miasma – my voice as faint as a kitten’s mew…. I am nowhere, nowhere, NOWHERE…….. (ECHO EFFECT NEEDED HERE)

I have been in a deep and dark place. A gloom so profound that ivy has grown up around it obscuring every inch of my former lustiness. And I have sunk deep, deep into the bowels of this gloom. The Underworld of all glooms in which the most desperate Lords of  Darkness rule, a place in which any normal human would never get out of .

my brief sojourn with the Lords of Darkness

But I am no normal human being, as I expect you have gathered.

With supreme effort I have emerged. I have conquered the Lords of Darkness. Fortunately I learnt a few things whilst swanning the yoga classes of Marin in heavenly California. Did I achieve this throught the half lotus, the head stand or the Dog. Although dogs did come into it, my escape required more desperate measures and every ounce of Clarabelle’s cunning. I report that the last time I saw the Lords, they had a beatific smile and were groaning in a very satisfying way.

I am out, and I do not intend to go back.

It all started when my dear Mama, the legitamate Lady de Burgh – summoned me from my delicious sojourn with the white-necked inhabitants of Mill Valley.

“The recession!” she cried. “Clarabelle, I cannot endure it without you! We are ruined!”

Of course she was not ruined, she may have had to do without a few highly disposible indulgences. But I went, being the dutiful daughter that I am not, I responded immediately to her call, and climbed aboard one of  Mister Branson’s planes, and was beside mama in hours. However it seems she had forgotten she had called me.

But when I returned to my estate I found that my presence was sorely needed. My dear butler, Shuffle Bottom was at his wits end, and as for my housekeeper – the horrible Mrs Huggins – she was in a fury so intense, that the ground shook around her.

I had leant my house to a bunch of desititute bankers - and they had insisted on commiting suicide on the front lawn.

how to recession proof your life

The tabloid press had got wind of it and they had parked themselves everywhere with their cameras, ladders and caravans.

I found poor Shuffle-Bottom begging a former Financial Director of  one of the doomed Scottish banks, to please move his act of self destruction to the kitchen garden where it would be much easier to dispose of him. Yes they would insist on staging their dramatic departure on the front lawn- of all places- and the blood, shattered skulls and exploded body parts were absolutely everywhere, and two of them from Pensions had decided to immmolate themselves crying out “It’s all our fault” making the worst mess of all.

So we brought in therapists in droves. We had primal scream in the Billiard Room, Gestalt Therapy in the Parlour, Stress Management in the Conservatory, and Drama Therpy in the Ball Room. Mrs Huggins reluctantly prepared the most appetising menus designed to revitalise their life force, and I’m glad to say our tactics worked for the few that remained. The last of them picked up his  brief case and departed upon hearing that the exchange rate and the FOOTSIE was picking up.

But then my surgeon got hold of me and started rearranging my body – not I hasten for cosmetic reason. He snipped and cut and stitched until he was satisfied, and what was left was nuclearised by a team of glorous girls in white uniforms. And I can assure you that after that little lot had finished with me, I was not fit for public display…

So it is no wonder I disappeared.

However CLARABELLE IS BACK NOW. In full force  and in full voice – and better than ever before!

Ready for anything!

And I wonder, did you miss me even the tiniest bit? Did you even notice that I was gone? Have I made such little impact on you? Please humour me and tell me that you missed me and that every single day that passed you called out my name. Even if it’s a total lie. You cannot imagine how fragile my ego has become in these past months.  As thin as a ghost.

Please, please don’t drive me back to the Lords of Darkness!!

fondly

clarabelle

silence is a silver spoon

Well it seems an awful long time since I’ve said anything.

Although for anyone who knows me well, the idea of me being silent, is quite out of character.

My last husband prayed for the day when I would shut my trap. “You drivel on and on about nothing, woman,” he complained over the top of The Times, a cup of coffee stone cold beside him. And when I produced divorce papers for verbal neglect, then he was sorry. Then he missed my drivelling.  The he begged for a dribble of a drivel.

And I haven’t spoken to him since.

And never will AGAIN!

So you see I can be silent.

Verbal neglect is a terrible thing. It makes fox hunting look positively mild.

HOW I HAVE SUFFERED.

The judge at his trial was terribly sympathetic.

But that is not why I have been silent.

I of course have been busy. Everyone is busy in California. It’s quite the done thing. Rushing from dance class, to yoga class, followed by lunch on the run, and then there’s the endless shopping one HAS TO DO, and the trying to work out how the cell phone works, the last chance to phone England before everyone shuts up shop, followed by meditation and a little spot of Kirtan, before finally someone has the decency to pour me a glass of wine. Well you can appreciate how gruelling life is in Marin! And how much one deserves that glass after the upteenth person has mimicked me and said how much they love my accent.

And much as I would love to delight you with a meaty topic, I think I’ll just drivel on about nothing, until it seems time to stop.

DRIVEL! DRIVEL! DRIVEL! BLAH BALH ABLAH!

Or as they say in this neck of the woods  PERIOD

i.e.  .

FULL STOP

silence is a silver spoon

in the mouth, long after the horse has bolted

imitations of mortality

after playing crochet

a silenced clarabelle

Pissing it down in California

It is pissing it down in California, as my ostler would say… (more about my ostler in a moment).

Raining cats and dogs in more polite society – not the company I keep may I add.

It is gushing down the gutters, torpedo-ing down the streets, filling the rivers – and a great delight to the reservoir officials who were proclaiming drought only a few weeks ago.

And just when I was feeling a tad homesick, here the rain comes to remind me what I’m missing.  Grey, clouds, wet feet, wet dogs, smell of wet things, muddy boots, muddy everything for that matter. Absolutely refusing to go out because its too wet!!!! Moaning about the rain – now that can be rather enjoyable, the lovely smell of wet leaves, dank undergrowth, wet and muddy men running around playing fields (and that can be a delightful thing too!!!) …

DON’T GET ME ON THE SUBJECT OF UMBRELLAS

….Umbrellas! (loathsome things) – someone dripping their wet umbrella down your neck then the next minute poking you in the eye. A  very short person offering to share their umbrella with you which is only too kind of them but having to walk along in a crouched position like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Trying to have an intimate conversation with a short person with an umbrella and INSTEAD conversing with the bobbing black canopy of stretched rain-proof material  through which the short person’s confessions are broadcast to the world…

And far worse of all is those women who insist on sporting one of those transparent umbrellas which comes bell-like over the top of them and encloses half of their body, usually with an irritating little frill at the bottom. I have not seen any on this side of the pond but lots can be seen in the high streets of suburban English towns. Of course there is no likelihood of being spiked or dripped on and the lady can see where she is going no matter how heavy the rain. And is in all likelihood kept pretty dry.

However I did find this as a very close rival and in my opinion just about takes the biscuit in term of rain apparel!

oh my god what DOES she think she's wearing!

Would you wear this to the Oscars, even if it was raining???

HOW I CELEBRATE THE RAIN

I of course am usually kept dry by my lovely Shuffle-Bottom (my English butler for those that are new to this bulletin) who so thoughtfully whisks me into whatever transport I am choosing that day. Usually something fast and racy.

So what  to do when, in my ostler’s words – when it is pissing it down?

[My American friends we English like to use pissing in all sorts of contexts. We used it to refer to liquid exctreta, to being delightfully inebriated, to being so embarrassingly drunk that you can't remember what you said or what you did, to pouring rain - to being somewhat miffed - in which case we are "pissed off".]

I’m very sorry to say, and I am not proud of this, that when it is really miserable like it is in Marin County, California today and when I am of course back in England – I summon my housekeeper Mrs Huggins and proceed to have a row with her, because the rain seems to bring out that belligerent spirit in me. Yes my American friends I get pretty “pissy” which if I were to say such a thing in England, they would imagine that I had been accidentally drenched in urine.

ENTER THE LOVELY MRS HUGGINS

Now for those who haven’t yet met Mrs Huggins, may I tell you that Mrs Huggins is a loathsome woman. Extremely unpleasant in all ways, and sometime I wonder why I employ her. But she does have her uses, and she keeps my mansion absolutely pristine, and amuses my guests with just how rude, vile and loathsome she can be.

So I summon her to me by ringing the servants bell very loudly – and Mrs Huggins enters in a stew because she hates answering to the servants bell. And so I proceed to have a jolly good row with her, in which true-to-style Mrs Huggins participates fully. During this exchange the horrible Huggins has been known to call me…

“You toffee-nosed trollop” – she’s just getting warmed up…

“You utter disgrace as a mistress!” – I love that one, I do so love disappointing Mrs Huggins when it comes to all the ridiculous aristocratic claptrap. “And what would your mother say if she could see you now!” My mother would be only too delighted!

“You breast-less bitch” let me tell you Mrs Huggins breasts are gigantuous.

“You horrible haggard whore” – she’s terrible jealous of all my conquests of course.

….. and sometime “you appallingly arrogant arsehole” – not that Mrs Huggins has seen or been anywhere near my arsehole.

I’d better not say any more, because Mrs Huggins vocabulary can get pretty rich, and I wouldn’t want anyone I meet at a cocktail party out here to start calling me those names. So….

BUT PRAY DO TELL ME – WHAT DO YOU DO IN THE RAIN?

I’d love to hear about it.

Oh dear and I haven’t mentioned a thing about my ostler, – he’s the man that manages my stallions. More about him in another bulletin…

bye bye for now…

fondly

the disgraceful clarabelle

Don’t you love to be in love

Isn’t Valentines Day wonderful.

I am full of excitement of how many Valentine’s cards I am going to get.

I’ve already had one from a fellow who referred to me as a goddess.

 Oh fa la! How wonderful these Californians are. And how they say it is even more adorable….. GARD-ess ! 

What music to a woman’s heart. It’s almost as if they’re throwing themselves down and worshipping at your feet. And what woman doesn’t adore that.

Ringing in my ears at the moment is Bette Middler’s wonderful words from the film “The Rose” – don’t you just love to be in love …

 I simply adore it.  Don’t we all adore it!

But nothing worse than living through a Valentine’s Day without a single Valentine’s card or wish.

Clarabelle has lived through this and knows this only too well. Husbands are the worst sinners, which is why I’ve vowed to have no more husbands – unless of course they’re VERY SEXY and promise to do their duty on Valentine’s Day!

It’s as if they are embarrassed by the idea of love. And in England believe me they are!

This why it is much, much better to have admirers. I have found on the whole admirers are very keen to do the honours on Valentine’s Day. There is no embarassment there.

And of course a woman should never send a Valentine’s card – except maybe to her husband if she knows for sure he is going to do his duty. Dear female friends are acceptable.

The very first Valentine’s card I had was from an American Lady of somewhat advanced years and I thought it was a marvellous idea.

You see it is simply not the point for a woman to send a Valentine card. Valentine’s day is all about the woman being adored and spoiled.

It is all about BEING OLD FASHIONED.

So ladies wear your bra today. Put on your most gorgeous attire and most importantly your most sensational knickers – even if no one’s going to see them but you….

And gentleman – particularly if you are English – please do not see this as a chore.  I know you work hard to bring home the bacon but this is the day for you to allow your heart melt and enjoy the sheer pleasure of adoring all the lovely ladies that are populating the globe.

 This is your opportunity to be a swain, a love-sick shepherd, a worshipper of the female form, a supplicant -  A LOVER.  This opportunity may not arise for another year and so grasp it with your body and soul.

tree love

Speak love in every possible way.

Tell the trees how much you love them.

The trees need you love. So do the flowers, and the insects crawling on the ground. 

Shower you love like rain storms – it has after all been raining today here in Marin County. DON’T YOU REALISE THE CLOUDS WERE TRYING TO LOVE YOU!!!

Share your love with every window pane!   

window pane love

Say it with sweets ….

Throw care to the winds and see just how tacky you can be…… let’s get married today

 

marry me!

 

 

Go on have a nice Valentine’s day

 

love

 

clarabelle 

 

 

 

Twisted Humour – a wonderful night out

I had a  wonderful night out last night. Mind you every night is a wonderful night – if I have anything to do with it!!!!!

I was escourted by the former court jester of Marin – the delightful Elijah, sometimes also known as DR GARY – a very colourful personage. Now he is a real person, unlike me of course…

But more about him in the moment.

The setting was Mill Valley in all its atmospheric charm. Now for those of my readers in Angleterre, Mill Valley is the absolute synthesis and apotheosis of the delightful county of Marin. When you think Marin, you think Mill Valley, with Sausalito following a close second.

Surrounded by water and mountains, Mill Valley is most auspiciously  located – alas I stray into Estate Agent’s flotsam !!! Enough Clarabelle – remember YOU ARE AN ARISTOCRAT and you are fast straying into dangerous territory. They call them Realtor’s out here – which is amusing because anyone who know anything about property prices, will know they are far from REAL.

However  it has to be said MILL VALLEY  is the ONLY PLACE  to live for most of its inhabitants and. The veritable Hampstead of these parts.

I simply adore Mill Valley!

When you think Mill Valley you think fairly lights, pretty shops, pretty almost every thing – and lashings of money of course. NO RED NECKS HERE! The inhabitants of Mill Valley have delicate white necks, are fastidious about what they eat, and pride themselves on their  taste and SOPHISTICATION – which like the money they have lashings of – even in these uncomfortable times.

So listen well my countrymen and women of prejudice  – come to Mill Valley and see for yourself . You will wish you lived here!! Not a  Shopping Mall or a MacDonalds,  or  a piece of litter to be seen in sight!

The venue for my wonderful evening out was THE THROCKMORTON THEATER. Now try saying that in a hurry or when  asking for directions – in fact its better not to – because like the Twisted Cabaret this word will twist your tongue into a flacid worm… as mine did when I wandered round helplessly looking for my jester and the location.

To waste more time and say that eventually the jester turned up, and we sat ourselves in the theater that was a bit like being on a set of Mary Poppins …… and then our entertainer arrived.

What a marvellous fellow. What the man didn’t do. He rolled his tongue into three loops, he hurled knives at a blow up doll, he unicycled in a tutu, he transmogrified inte a giant woman with massive calves and breasts as taunt as Jordan’s and if you don’t know who Jordan is  may I assure you you haved been spared – it turned out that they were blown up condoms which is probably closer to what Jordan has … call it jealousy dear!!!

Anyway this marvellous chap was accompanied by a limping, huge fellow who looked as if he’d escaped from an institution – and cajoled us into doing all manner of things. And beleive me the persons of Mill Valley rose to the occasion and showed us that they may be tasteful and sophisticated but they could also make a terrible racket.

Well this is my review simply marvellous – and I am wondering how many years he had to practice to get his tongue to do those things.

http://www.142throckmortontheatre.com/event.php?eventid=926

Go and see him next time!

Now back to Elijah – who is a fellow of many guises.

This wonderful fellow gave me a very unusual massage, and they are very keen on massage here – which is pronounced MASS – ARRRRGE. You can be enjoying a quiet moment at a social gathering and then  someone will come up from behind and start manipulating the lumps and bumps that seem to continually accumulate within ones flesh.

Any way Doctor Gary has his own massage caled the WOHLMAN METHOD. And quite wonderful it is too. Not only did he massage my body but he also worked on my issues – oh lor do I have to have confess all and tell you that I have issues? Well of course I do. In England we call them problems, and just put up with them.

But here they transform them. I am learning so much on my adventures.

Anyway it has to be said that I felt pretty marvellous afterwards. And it is pretty frightening to think that there may be a time when I am washed clean of issues like in one of those huge washing machines – BLEACHED OF ANY RESEMBLANCE OF BEING A HUMAN BEING. Although I have been reassured that there is no need to be concerned, that once one issue has been sent packing, you can be sure that three or four new ones will arrive to take their place. But these new ones are called challenges and are supposed to be VERY GOOD FOR YOU.

How reassuring.

This fellow’s website is www.garywohlman.com and he’s now back on a plane to Australia.

Anyway just saying how appreciative I have been of all the participation from my lovely visitors who have been most assiduous in leaving their calling cards. It really is too nice of you all – even if  some of you think I am completely barmy.

WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO BE?????

fondly

Clarabelle

the glories of the 44th president and what was going though my mind when the photo was taken!!!

Well well well here I am back in wonderful America after returning to chilly Britain to pay my respects and make sure dear Shuffle-Bottom (my butler) and the horrible Mrs Huggins (my house-keeper) are keeping everything spick and span. No worries about that. Mrs Huggins is a domestic Titan and keeps all things more hygienic than a hospital and Shuffle-Bottom’s efficiency should never be doubted for so much as a nanosecond.

OBAMARAMA
My chums and I huddled round the television to watch the lovely Mr Obama thrill us with his fierce words, whilst Shuffle-Bottom attempted to keep the baronial fireplace alight.

My word what a performance! Nothing quite like it on the homefront. Our new PM just stands in front of No 10 and says something rousing, maybe quotes from St Francis of Assisi (as the terrifying Mrs Thatcher did) does a bit of a wave and a flourish, and then scuttles back to oversee the demolition of the previous occupants decoration preferences.

It was rather amusing to discover that the unpopular Dick Cheney had hurt his back being overenthusiastic with packing up his moving boxes and had to be wheeled about in wheel chair. Doesn’t he have a butler or some other kind of useful person to do such a menial task?!!

Aha! Clarabelle wickedly wonders, what was he wanting to move that he didn’t want anyone to move for him?!!! Secret heavy items! Oh how the plot thickens.

WHAT WAS IN THE BOX!!!!

And what a surprise to discover that the new president did not fluff his lines – he may be forgiven a little nervousness, given the occasion and the frightening number of people who were gathered to watch the event – ALL OVER THE WORLD.

But oh no! It was the chap telling him what to say who got it all mixed up. The man is a positive tornado. What a pleasure to behold. NOT FOR A MOMENT WAS HE GOING TO FLUFF HIS LINES!!

What a lovely lady

A LOVELY LADY
And his lovely wife. I can’t think that a more genuine, natural and – dare I say it – happy first lady has ever occupied the White House. I could not take my eyes off her. Now that is what I call beauty!!! Inner beauty that no make-up/botox/cosmetic surgery can possibly supply.

And did you see those lovely pictures of them dancing together… how utterly touching. Clarabelle is ever a romantic. A president and first lady that look as if they genuinely LOVE EACH OTHER! What a turn up for the books! And aren’t the children simply gorgeous. Certainly I am a No 1 fan!

THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGIN’
Well,well well! It’s very pleasant to be back, even if everything on the economic front is pretty bleak. But do not worry America, all will be well in the long run. It’s just a matter of time. THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGIN’ as your dear Bob told us more decades ago than we would like to remember.

And here in California AT LEAST it is gorgeously sunny. Think of the poor sods in colder climes – like poor old Britain 20 degrees colder. Yesterday I went about my business without a coat, hat and boots! That was really very pleasant.

And so the most important thing I can offer you wherever you are and whatever the temperature, is it is time to be amused. And this is what Clarabelle hopes to offer you – a little bit of amusement. Now just look at me!

Clarabelle not afraid to look ridiculous

WHAT WAS GOING THROUGH MY MIND?
Heaven know what was going through my mind at the time? I leave that to you to imagine…. and maybe you can tell me by posting your ideas on this blog – now wouldn’t that be fun – and I will announce my favourite in a future bulletin.

But certainly I wasn’t worrying about the economy or how my stocks are faring or the punishing upkeep of my mansion in Gloucestershire – that goes without saying is reason for anyone to shoot themselves. I have asked Shuffle-Bottom to put all fire arms under lock and key.

So how can you make yourself ridiculous today? It is after all a Saturday – and people won’t think too badly of you. They may even rather admire you!

Wishing you an amusing day….and amusing times ….  clarabelle

oh how adorable to meet you

moi on a good hair day

Oh how simply adorable of you to visit my page, and I do hope that you will feel inspired to leave your calling card. I simply HATE it when I know that people have stopped by but haven’t left a trace of a “calling” of any description – even a few pigeon droppings would be appreciated. It is simply HORRIBLE manners and very hurtful to such delicate sensibilities as mine!

Now I don’t mean to frighten you and I have been told that I can be quite offensive – but one has to express oneself, and get one’s point across. And as you read my musings you will soon find that I can be quite blunt at times. No doubt you will upbraid me and publicy expose me…. One can only look forward to that!!

Oh how wretched it is to be a human being always having to watch what you say ALL THE TIME – and I do want us to have a lovely relationship.

I am The Honourable Clarabelle de Burgh and this cyber ramblings are an account of my adventures in the delightful American State of California.

I hail from Gloucestershire in England and I have left my estate in the safe hands of my butler (Shuffle-Bottom – yes poor man!) and my dragon of a housekeeper, Mrs Huggins. More about them in a future bulletin. Now you may want to sign up to my regular publications so as not to miss a thing (I highly recommend it).

Now let’s get things straight – I may be honourable but I can tell you that I am no lady… How I got to be honourable I can’t quite remember….

But what I can tell you that I AM EMANCIPATED.

Thank God!

I was VERY fortunate that Daddy and Mummy were Bohemians and proud of it. No doubt you have heard of the Bloomsbury Set, Virginia Woolf and a Room of One’s Own, and dear Vita having it off with Violet and poor dear Harold having to cope with it all.

I also need to inform you that my upper lip is neither stiff nor thin. In fact as you will soon see I have a very large mouth, and both top and bottom lips are of ample proportions I am glad to say.

I also am eager to do not suffer from the unfortunate English Malady of being obsessed with one’s bowels. In fact my bowels can go unnoticed for weeks on end. Other parts of my anatomy I assure you get lots of attention.

And as to why I am rambling around the delightful state of California, I have reached the end of my tether. There is only so much that one can take…. of baked beans, tasteless prawns,  pasty-faced young men and Gordon Brown– tedious man.

As soon as I heard that the lovely Mr Obama had grabbed the reins of power, oh what an exciting man – I said to my Butler, “Shuffle Bottom  it is TIME TO VENTURE OUT INTO THE VAST UNKNOWN  and explore the delightful American State of California   where you can walk about the streets without seeing hordes of desperate individuals hanging outside buildings sucking furiously on phallic substitutes as if their lives depended on it nd polluting our already over polluted air waves, and where a delightful event au naturelle is not ruined by the necessity for an umbrella!”

Well that’s all for now! Time to go out into the fog!!!!

Tirrah!

clarabelle