Personal Blogs

Imogen: Well at least we managed to get you a private room.

Hermione: Much appreciated. Thanks.

Imogen: I can’t imagine anything more ghastly than being gawped at by the great unwashed when one is at one’s most vulnerable.

Hermione: It was pretty hideous.

Imogen: Anyway, how are we?

Hermione: I’m fine.  Apart from having to lie face down with my bottom on public display.

Imogen: It must have been terrifying for you being dragged along by the ankle after your horse bolted.

Hermione: I thought I was going to die.

Imogen: Three fields, a stream, one cart track and a hawthorn hedge. I couldn’t keep up with you after that.

Hermione: And some brambles and barbed wire, which one hesitates to mention.

Imogen: Well all I can say is you were jolly plucky about it.

Hermione: I didn’t want to alarm Jasper or Seraphima.

Imogen: What’s  does the doctor say?

Hermione: According to the doctor, a few cracked ribs, mild concussion, and a badly sprained ankle. He thinks I’ll get away without neurosurgery, but I may need a skin graft on my bottom.

Imogen: Ah, that explains why you’re lying face down. It’s usually unwise to present one’s posterior to the world. Sends out the wrong signals.  But in the circumstances...

Hermione: Thank you for being so understanding.

Imogen: Anyway nothing serious.

Hermione: Only for Hugo. He’s worried about how long it will take for things to get back to normal between us.

Imogen: Quite so. Now tell me, did you enjoy everything up until the horse bolted?

Hermione: I can’t remember much about it… it’s coming back to me in flashes. Who were those awful women with green anoraks who threw firecrackers at us?

Imogen: Lesbians.

Hermione: I don’t think so. I knew a lesbian once and she didn’t look anything like them. She was lovely.

Imogen: You didn’t...

Hermione: Of course not.

Imogen: Don’t let Lord Hamptonshire hear you say you think lesbians are lovely. He doesn’t approve of that kind of thing. Very traditional.

Hermione: Why were a group of lesbians throwing firecrackers at us? Not very festive.

Imogen: They’re a tribe of vindictive sabs who want to spoil everyone’s fun on Boxing Day.

Hermione: But we were only drag hunting.

Imogen: They claimed we’d got a fox hidden to release when the hounds came past.

Hermione: Did we?

Imogen: Of course not. Perish the thought.  Never in a thousand years.

Hermione: Are you sure?

Imogen: Entre nous, one of Lord Hamptonshire’s serfs was transporting a young fox to a nature reserve to live a secure life of luxury and he happened to be passing the hunt. Tragic misunderstanding.

Hermione: Did you say serfs?

Imogen: That’s what he calls them. I think it’s more polite to call them unskilled farm labourers. Vere calls them yokels.

Hermione: Lord Hamptonshire worries me sometimes.

Imogen: All the same, he saved you from being lynched.

Hermione: I missed that bit.

Imogen: He dispersed the rabble by firing shots over their heads. Oh, here’s Vere… hello Vere.

Vere: Nowhere to park in this loathsome septic tank of a place.

Imogen: I was just telling Hermione about Lord Hamptonshire scattering the mob.

 Vere: Hwah! Hwah! Whiff of grapeshot and all that. Hwah! Hwah! Actually I thought he was shooting to kill but his horse wouldn’t keep still. Put him off. Eyesight not what it used to be.

Imogen: But still sharp enough for him to give the one who stumbled a good horsewhipping.

Vere: Great character Lord H. He made her squeal like a stuck pig.

Imogen: The slut probably enjoyed it.

Vere: People like that often do.

Hermione: This is terrible. I don’t believe I’m hearing this.

Imogen: Pay no heed. It’s all light hearted banter.

Vere: Absolutely, old girl. Hwah! Hwah! Boxing Day would be insufferable without a bit of excitement.

Hermione: You might have warned me it was going to be like this.

Imogen: Oh no. That would have spoilt your fun.

Hermione: I hope the unfortunate girl doesn’t end up needing a skin graft on her buttocks.

Imogen: Heaven forbid. You might end up side by side in the same operating theatre.

Vere: Hwah! Hwah! Lucky chap Hugo to have a sporting girl like you. Hwah! Hwah!