Liewe Hexie

I wonder if Lady Pumpernickle is Catholic. I only ask because that might explain the washing her mouth out with soap incident as a sort of pre-penance, a self-flagelation for sins to come...

Every evening we sit by the fire, which has been beautifully laid by the Gardener. It lights up with a whoosh and a roar, but about an hour in the fizzle begins to fade. Now I suspect that in this case the dwindling fire is a combination of my lack of expertise and the damp wood provided to keep the thing blazing all night. Regardless, last night, the fire began to die despite vigorous poking on my behalf.

This did not please her Royal Ladyship, she berated my fire maintainence skills and asked if I was adequately ashamed of myself for my stupidity. I maintained what I hoped was a dignified silence and continued poking the dying coals, at this point she-who-should-not-be-a-Lady threatened to push me into the fire. Using my acutely developed Danger Observation Skills (honed from years of living in Africa) I realised that if she made good on the threat, I was well within kicking range of her spindly sparrow legs. I quickly employed another skill in my arsenal and attempted to defuse the danger with a quip, "Ah, well lucky for me the fire has died out then! Ha, ha."

Well this raised a laugh but not the sort I'd anticipated. Lady Pumpernickle curled her lip, baring age-yellowed and sharpened teeth and imitated a witch's cackle. Which she informed me was the sound that came out of my mouth.

It was all down hill from there. The T.V programmes annoyed her, my reading a magazine caused snorts, sighs and disgruntled looks until finally "my stupid face" (and I quote) was too much for Liewe Hexie to endure.

Needless to say she was very unco-operative and refused to come with me to the bathroom to change into her bed clothes as she was sure I was going to "stick her full of needles in the bathroom". At this point I seriously considered adopting a Heroine addiction or at the very least raiding her booze cupboard. Instead I had a bath and power napped in 30 minute intervals, returning regularly to see if she was ready for bed.

Finally at midnight my quarry gave in. And I fell into a troublesome slumber, racked with dreams inwhich I was a witch complete with boils, hairy moles and obligatory gnarly teeth.

This job can't be good for my mental health...paging Dr Freud, Dr Freud to Reception.