Imogen: Well this is it, family, done to perfection though I say so myself. Nigella would be proud of me.
Vere: Splendid bird. A wonderful shade of bronze. Hwah! Hwah! Congratters old girl! Hwah! Hwah!
Hugo: Oh! Well done mater. You’ve done it again. Bravo! Come on Jasper and Seraphima. A round of applause is called for.
Jasper and Seraphima: Clap! Clap! For one’s a jolly good fellow! Three cheers for grandmater Imogen. Ra! Ra! Ra!
Hugo and Vere: Ra! Ra! Ra!
Hermione: Clap! Clap! Hear! Hear! What an amazing shape! Nigella certainly would be proud of you. Er, Ra! Ra! Ra!
Imogen: Deboned of course and stuffed with widgeon, teal and ostrich. Marinated in cider for two days. Flavoured with a smidge of sage and a hint of Andalucian orange from the estate of the late Duchess of Alba – or Cayetana as we called her when we went over to stay with her.
Hermione: Ooh! My mouth’s watering. I’m amazed you can cram so much into a turkey.
Imogen: I beg your pardon.
Hermione: I said I’m amazed…
Imogen: Did one hear the word turkey?
Hermione: Yes.
Imogen: Does it have the appearance of a turkey?
Hermione: It’s not quite typical.
Imogen: So what do you think it is?
Hermione: I was thinking it must be a rare species of Cornwall turkey served in the traditional Cornish way. You did say it was deboned.
Imogen: Do we look like the sort of people who eat turkey at Christmas?
Hermione: Erm. Perhaps not every Christmas.
Imogen: Not ever. The turkey is just a large battery chicken designed by grockels for grockels. Tasteless and disease laden. Thankfully we keep well clear of such atrocities.
Hermione: Oh. That’s ever so slightly extreme isn’t it?
Vere: Hwah! Hwah! Imogen doesn’t mince her words does she? Hwah! Hwah! But you’re right about one thing, it’s a rare species.
Hermione: But if it’s rare, surely it’s protected.
Vere: Technically yes. There’s only one breeding pair left in the country.
Hugo: Correction pater. There was only one breeding pair left in the country.
Vere: Lord Hamptonshire should have taken the other bird too. Singleton’s no use by itself.
Hermione: Poor goose. Did Lord Hamptonshire run it over accidentally?
Imogen: Certainly not. We don’t served road kill here.
Vere: Lord Hamptonshire shot it on that swamp up the road.
Hermione: But that’s the National Trust Nature Reserve.
Vere: It belongs to Lord H.
Hermione: Oh I suppose that makes it all right.
Imogen: Of course it does. The half of Cornwall that doesn’t belong to Charles belongs to him.
Hermione: I see.
Vere: Great character Lord H. Loves shooting. Doesn’t see too well these days, but he’ll have a crack at anything that moves.
Hugo: Yes he tried to shoot some grockels having a picnic on the beach. Reckoned they were trespassing. Had to take the gun off him. Going a bit far really. Some of them were children.
Vere: Hwah! Hwah! Little grockels grow into big grockels. Always remember that Jasper and Seraphima.
Seraphima: Yes, grandpater.
Jasper: Bang! Bang! Another one bites the dust.
Vere: That’s the spirit Jasper. Hwah! Hwah!
Hermione: I can’t help feeling sorry for the one that’s left behind. It must be so lonely.
Hugo: It won’t be lonely for long.
Hermione: That’s nice. Is Lord Hamptonshire going to try and find it a mate to make up for what he’s done?
Vere: Hwah! Hwah! Hwah! Such a sweet girl! Hugo’s a lucky chap to have you.
Hermione: You don’t mean…
Imogen: Come, come Hermione. No room for sentiment in the country.
Jasper: Bang! Bang! Another one bites the dust.
