_. To Portwood [Southampton] this morning where Ally had a fitting for a pale blue bridesmaid dress, in readiness for Graham and Gill's wedding in March. Afterwards, we had one drink in the local Berni Inn, where Ally and [John] Pinder once spent a week, and then to the home of a theatrical lady where we were kitted out with fancy dress gear for tonight.
Back at Chillandham Cross we dressed. I was transformed into King Henry VIII, and Ally an exquisite Anne Boleyn. Graham = Wurzel Gummidge, and Gill = Aunt Sally.
At 9 to the vicarage at Kings Worthy and out with the Lynn family to a depraved do at the local rugby club where we all became horribly drunk. We arrived back at the Plough Inn at 11:45, the straw from Wurzel Gummidge's hat hanging out of my doublet and hose. A debauched evening. In my capacity as monarch I gave Scotland to Neil [the bar man], who likes sheep, you know. Other minions received dukedoms. I then knighted Neil with the command: 'Kneel, Neil'. Barbara, the alcoholic lady from Easton, took a great shine to me. I was administering Holy Communion in the dining room [using Midge's silver gravy boat filled with port and brandy] when in walked the Rev Matthew Lynn, just as Graham spewed all over the sideboard. The clergyman took it in good spirits [geddit?].
Neil, King of Scotland, and I ran the after hours bar, despite the advanced intoxication. I found Anne Boleyn, in a precariously treasonable position , fighting off the advances of Lord Nelson, on a settee. By 4am I was on the phone to France in search of an expert swordsman. I also stole all the toiletries from Midge's bathroom and hid them in my doublet. Dreadful of me. Home covered in damp ermine and feathers, dribbling Bacardi. Oh, God. See you next year.
Fin.
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