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Valentines Ball t e k c u B e m a d Ma
Oh Romeo, oh Romeo where the blinking hell is that invite?
I
t’s that time of year again, when the higher echelons of our society expect the annual Valentine’s invite to the chateau, for terrible food and wine. I’ve normally RSVP’d by now, but I’m slightly concerned that I may have upset our local chatelaine! I did honestly think I was saving her, offering to lend her my gardener, leaving my catering contact’s details (and a few more business cards besides). Maybe, I went too far, pointing out the obvious layers of dust with my pale pink glove and suggesting a visit to Alcoholics Anon?
I was recently at the chateau for our Annual General Meeting and as usual, Jinny was three sheets to the wind, full of homemade bramble gin and living on spaghetti squash, whilst apparently enjoying the French Good Life! My goodness, she is skin and bone! 44 acres to deal with, evil twin daughters and her husband still away with the army, away more than home and no wonder! The gossip is that her gardening and lifestyle column, in our favourite French country living magazine is more fabricated than fact and that her much younger husband has run off with the nanny! Money doesn’t always buy happiness or the ability to entertain, it would seem. Don’t get me started on the flea market interiors, they do photograph well though, in certain favourable lights! Never been a fan of too much tatt myself, unless it is of the champagne variety
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