Monday, November 4th
Mrs. Jennings, the cleaning lady, has asked for a pay rise in line with the rate of inflation. I said I would think about it, to which she replied that she needed an immediate answer as she had another job waiting in the wings which she would take immediately if I wasn’t forthcoming. I don’t take kindly to ultimatums, and declined to be thus pushed. I think I may need a new cleaning lady soon. It’s of little consequence: I can always get Cook to do a bit of dusting again for a couple of quid on top of her normal stipend. I like that word: stipend.
Melissa telephoned. She’s still sad about her cat, so I allowed Cook to be sympathetic. But I gather the cat is going to be alright, thank goodness. I like cats, and if anything ever happened to Rumple and Teazer I’d be very upset.
Tuesday, November 5th
Today, for reasons I forget, I came across a poem by Robert Frost, “My November Guest”. And it begins thusly:
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walked the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
I’m not sure when Frost wrote this poem, but I love that “I am fain to list”. It’s very 20th century . . .
Of course, today is Election Day in the USA, but it will probably be a few days before we find out whether or not the end of the world has come a lot nearer than it was yesterday. That our fate should be in the hands of several million Americans is worrying, to say the least. Even more worryingly, I found Jethro today wearing a MAGA baseball cap, and had to tell him to take it off, and that if he was ever found wearing it on my property again or, for that matter, if he wore it anywhere that he might be associated with me, then he would be looking for another job. He said he was wearing it ironically, but when asked to explain irony he was, unsurprisingly, at a loss. I suggested he might be able to find a bonfire somewhere nearby where he could put the cap for safe keeping. He’s not happy; neither am I.
Of course, this evening was endless small explosions of significant consequence and fireworks, the sound annoyingly carrying from far and near. I made sure the animals were indoors and safe, for the kittens certainly would be frightened, and Winnie also wouldn’t be overjoyed by all the noise. Jethro kept the horses company for the evening; I think he would have read to them if he could read.
Melissa telephoned. I was not fain to list, so Cook took the call.
Wednesday, November 6th
Woke up to election news from the USA. I fear this is of very dreadful consequence. I despair, but writing about despair is not really my thing. I specialize in calm and ironic and often witty hopelessness, and don’t plan to fill my diary with bleak and bleak and more bleak.
In other news, I was kept awake last night by fireworks going off until midnight and beyond. Fireworks that time of night is an intrusion, and should be outlawed. On top of which, I woke at 6 and couldn’t go back to sleep (see previous paragraph for the ‘why’) and this morning and into the afternoon I felt short of sleep and very sleepy. But something approaching a nap after lunch refreshed me.
Melissa telephoned. She was kept awake etc. and wanted to talk politics, so I told her I was just on my way out, and passed her on to Cook, our in-house expert.
I’ve been invited to “a public recitation of verse” by someone who is described as “French-Anglo”, which is ugly. Surely “Anglo-French” would be more elegant. I’ve come across the lady’s “verse” on occasion, and find it rather boring. Poets who write about the stuff poets are expected to write about are already heading in the direction of Boringopolis, and she has definitely pulled in at the bus station of that over-populated city, found a place to live, and taken up permanent residence. I shall not be attending the event. I’ll be doing my nails and attending to some other private toiletry matters.
Cook has asked if Mrs. Jennings is coming to clean tomorrow. I don’t know. I’ve declined her request for a pay rise, and have heard nothing from her since she left on Monday, so she might be a goner. I don’t think cleaning ladies are legally required to give formal notice; they can just sod off.
Thursday, November 7th
Mrs. Jennings turned up for work today as usual. It was of little consequence, but I made a perhaps rather cowardly but on the other hand rather pointed point of going out with Winnie just after she arrived, and not meeting her or saying anything. When I got home a little later after our walk she was just finishing up, and she informed me that upon consideration and taking everything into account she had decided to remain in my employment but would be grateful if I would bear in mind her earlier request as regards wages and financial recompense. She actually said all of that, sounding like a bad business letter. I told her I was happy she was staying, and that indeed I would remember what she had said. I didn’t add how remembering was all I would do. I’m not made of money. Or am I?
Melissa telephoned. I was out.
Friday, November 8th
I have to find a diplomatic way of telling Algernon Tenderloin that his frequent dropping in on the off-chance is terribly inconvenient and disruptive and annoying when it comes to consequence. Frankly, I don’t want him visiting at all, but I can’t be completely unfriendly. This morning he arrived just as I was settling down with the daily crossword, and so my morning was disrupted and I had to be sociable when all I wanted was my coffee and the puzzle. The last thing I wanted was to listen to Tenderloin’s wittering on about poets I have no interest in, and where he’s submitted work, and all that nonsense. Then bugger me but after lunch Dominic Borderline shows up unannounced and expects to be treated hospitably when I was just about to go to bed for a nap. Perhaps I could leave the country.
Melissa telephoned. She’s been to the dentist. I assume it was something to do with her mouth. I didn’t listen to the details.
On a positive note, I do enjoy what Cook does with leftover roast chicken. This evening it was some kind of curry. Considering how she’s not over-keen on foreigners she’s pretty damn good at imitating their cuisine.
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James Henderson (Gentleman)
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