An Improper Use Of A Pantry

“Do you promise you won’t tell anyone?”

An anxious Mumsie looked up into the flushed face of Boris’ butler, Snetterton. The face she had, for the last ten minutes, been kissing quite indecently.

“Never a soul, my lady,” replied Snetterton, with uncharacteristic vigour. “But… don’t you think the Prime Minister has a right to know?”

Mumsie’s brow crinkled and she sighed, gently releasing herself from the intense embrace of her amour. Snetterton just about managed to veil his disappointment with an expression of most earnest concern.

“No, you’re right,” said Mumsie. “I think we must tell her. I must tell her.”

The previously blistering atmosphere in the pantry had turned a little tepid. Snetterton was most dissatisfied. He had spent the best part of the day trying to track her down and he didn’t want to waste time now. After much searching, he finally came across her in the kitchen. She was basting a raw chicken in butter and it seemed only natural when, coyly announcing that she needed some stuffing, he followed her into the pantry in search of the same. And of course, being a butler, he was an absolute authority on stuffing birds.

After Snetterton had closed the door behind them, a sequence of torrid events unfolded with such practiced aplomb that one would almost think that they had played out many times before. This break in proceedings had occurred at quite an inconvenient moment as far as Snetterton was concerned.

“Yes, but… we don’t need to tell her right this minute, do we? Besides, she isn’t here.”

“Where is she?” asked Mumsie. Snetterton cursed himself for opening up a line of conversation that took him yet further away from his passionate destination.

“Shopping, I think. It doesn’t matter. She’s fine. And as for us…” he stroked Mumsie’s cheek with a sweep of his finger. “Well, we have the pantry all to ourselves.”

Mumsie considered all her options and decided that this was probably a good one. Barley able to contain his desire, Snetterton snatched her once again into his arms.

“Hang on,” said Mumsie, tilting her head to one side. “Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Snetterton was beyond irritated.

But Mumsie was right.

There were voices coming from the kitchen.

“…There’s an awful lot of old balderdash proffered about crime scenes, you know, old boy. These Intelligence Agency chaps are going about it all wrong.” The pompous tone and Oxford lilt were unmistakeable. “I’m King, so I should know. I’ve been reading these cracking books by a fellow named Agatha Christie. He’s bloody brilliant, I tell you. Get’s everything solved and ship-shape in a few hundred pages. Have you seen the bloody reports being churned out by the Wing Commander’s men? Utter piffle! Arse-breakingly bad piffle at that.”

“Surely you know… I mean, Agatha Christie…” The nasal whine could only be duster salesman and ineffectual spy Nigel Farage.

“Quiet, you. Because you see, in these books the police always do things per libro and I tell you – it never ends well for them. It’s always the cunning odd-ball and their plucky side-kick that solve the crime.”

“Hang on,” said Nigel. “Which am I? The cunning odd-ball or the plucky side-kick?”

“Oh good point,” there was a considered silence from Boris. “Being King, the role of side-kick seems rather under par, doesn’t it. And although I am in favour of ‘cunning’, I think I would like it more if I had ‘plucky’ as well.”

“I’ll be the oddball side-kick, then” grumbled Nigel, resigned to his fate. “Although ‘cunning plucky’ sounds bloody obscene to me, for some reason.”

“All the more reason I should adopt it as my cognomen!” Boris guffawed and slapped a thigh. “No, but seriously. Your lord and master has the brains to balls to match any of Christie’s great detectives. Not so much Miss Marple on the balls front, actually. In fact, I can’t really speak for the balls, but the brains are bursting forth, I tell you!”

Nigel very much needed a drink.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve spotted our first clue! Look over there!” Boris thrust a fat finger in the direction of the uncooked chicken, left forlornly on the sideboard, waiting to be stuffed. “See? I bet Tom’s men didn’t spot that. That chicken has been abandoned at some haste – I think we have disturbed a pivotal event!”

“Cooking chicken is rarely a pivotal event, Boris.” Nigel shook his head and began looking in cupboards. “And I don’t think it features heavily in the vicious murders of war criminals, either. Look, I’ve found some sherry.”

“Oh good,” said Boris. “Bring it hence. Now, then – this is the kitchen – the crime scene! So we have to search it for clues. Also maybe for some crisps. I say we start with the pantry…”

68 thoughts on “An Improper Use Of A Pantry

      1. we should!!
        I should demand work buy me a new one on the grounds of impending nudity!!
        I don’t need to mention whose impending nudity…threatening my boss with potentially naked Boris johnson and some dictionary writers seems unfair…

        Liked by 1 person

      2. willy nilly Bernards are, indeed very worrying!
        Me too…there must be at least one out there!!
        this reminds me of a cheese joke…
        What cheese can you use to encourage a bernard?


        Liked by 1 person

      3. Yeah, right! And if anybody reading believes THAT, Ms. Brazier, I have acres of swamp land I can sell them — a real deal!
        (Madelyn Griffith-Haynie – ADDandSoMuchMore dot com)
        – ADD Coach Training Field founder; ADD Coaching co-founder –
        “It takes a village to transform a world!”

        Liked by 1 person

      1. A) I will have to consult my Latin grammar book to be sure. My skills do not match those of Boris. B) I used an online translator to help me write a card for my German friend. She said it was like it was written by a backward child. They cannot be trusted!


    1. DON’T BE UNPLEASANT ABOUT THE DELIGHT THAT IS CAPTAIN HASTINGS! But to be fair you have a point. Quite frankly they are both Captain Hastings. But not as wonderful, obviously. Very naughty Mumsie indeed. I hope she gets round to cooking that chicken.

      Liked by 2 people

    1. Haha! I do love that the main concern for most people is the future of the chicken. I have to say that I agree, that is most likely dinner. Mumsie is setting a very bad example indeed. Canoodling with a butler! Lawks 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  1. Oh … wonderful today Lucy. Watkins says that he really likes that Snetterton fellow. Watkins has himself stuffed many birds in his time. He had an unfortunate accident stuffing one particular bird which landed him up in A & E. Still … what goes up must come down … eventually.
    Your adventure is unfolding in a wonderfully adventurey sort of a way.
    Have a great week. Chris.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much, Chris! I do think that Snetterton and Watkins could be the very best of buttling friends. It takes a certain type of man to be a butler, with very specific skills. Have a wonderful week too – I shall keep up the supply of adventures 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Locks are in order. I mean one cannot take a quick slip away without someone smooping around. Oh indeed on the old farm grandmother kept all her homemade jams and jellies in a very dark pantry guarded by a hugs black widow and a slide lock on the out side of the old wooden door, being trapped I’m there has cost me plenty in therapy and meds. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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