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.
Comments
Owning Cornwall
'The half of Cornwall that doesn't belong to Charles belongs to him.'
Yep, though a fairly big slice of it has belonged to my landlords for centuries. For years they sent their tenants Christmas cards sold in aid of the Countryside Alliance (a misnomer for a bloodsports propaganda pressure group - Lord H would definitely be a member if he doesn't keep it afloat). Every year I twitched to return a LACS card (like I do with normal people) but the power of eviction being one-sided, I always changed my mind!
As they consistently get my name wrong, I think I'll be safe if they stumble upon your blog... heh heh
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You should be pretty safe Elizabeth. There are only about fifteen people who frequent the OU blog site and none of them seems to be an obvious member of the Countryside Alliance. I met another Murfitt about month ago, spelled just like you but he was no relation and had no Cornish connections. It doesn't seem to be a very common name - though probably slightly commoner than Konarzewski - you and he are the only two Murfitts I've ever known.
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Wow, as if one isn't enough, William!
I'd be lying if I said my name was Cornish. In fact, I think my dear old Dad (long gone) might have been the first Murfitt to set foot here in the 1930s. Meeting my Cornish Mother did the damage and, like many others, they were married at the outbreak of WW2.
I've been susceptible to checking out phone books over the years to see if the name occurs here and it only started popping up in very recent years and in very small numbers (grockles or emmets, I think). Of course, there could be a gene for people so named to go ex-directory in large numbers (as I have) but it seems unlikely.
Apparently, huge clusters of people with this name occur in the north of England and I have a dread they might be related to me. Can't say I ever yearned for an extensive extended family as it sounds terrifying - what if they all turned up?
Now, 'Konarzewski' is a name that requires explanation. Would this be Polish ancestors or have you recently joined us? It would be interesting to know if anyone has ever been able to spell it.
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One is never enough, although I can see why you're worried about being tracked down by lots of northerners claiming consanguinity. The Murfitt I met seemed very civilised and articulate - but then he's an Essex man and Essex men are renowned for their sophistication.
My name is Polish - my father came over in the war and married an Englishwoman. A surprisingly large number of people do spell it correctly, but many people find it a challenge.
Northern folk
Actually, I wasn't suggesting people from the north are less sophisticated than Essex people (they seem to be as burdened by negative stereotypes as Cornish people). I'm ashamed to say I've never been there and don't know them. It was the numbers that worried me.
If a coach load of sophisticated Essex men called Murfitt (or Smith or anything else) turned up, I'd be just as alarmed (as I live in a small space and haven't a clue how to entertain)!
Crossing borders
'...came over in the war and married an Englishwoman.'
I've met a small number of people over the years (in different parts of the UK) who originally came here in the war. Men from both sides who decided to stay and integrated. The Italian and the German were prisoners originally. I'm quite proud of all this as a Brit, as it suggests something nice about us as a society. Personally, I'm glad they all stayed.
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Do not panic Elizabeth! If a large number of Essex men turn up on your doorstep unannounced I'm sure they'd be more than happy with a diet of Cornish pasties made to your mother's recipe and unlimited quantities of Doom Bar or Tribute.
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Ha ha ha! I'll get some in!