Astonishing New Identity Direction in Usk «

Astonishing New Identity Direction in Usk

Wednesday 3rd February 2016

On 23rd January once again to the Usk close where the Laird and Lairdess reside. But you won’t believe the goings-on behind that unassuming facade. One is reminded of the Krogers – do you remember them? The drama! They seemed to the most respectable neighbours, although Russian, in a similar newly-developed development but in fact they were hissing the most frightful stolen secrets down a special radio phone to the Krelim night and day. Not that the Laird and Lairdess are spies – but their life!

We were to have a Burns Night. It turned out that, contrary to appearances and previous experience, apart from Beamish O’Halloran of the Mail (Irish so same difference) we were all Scottish. It just goes to show, when you pluck from nothing and create an event or anything else for that matter, reality somehow swings round to fit in. Never say the Middle-Aged aren’t weaving a glorious life for themselves. Remember the Victorian Gentleman’s Day Out before Christmas? I, Adrian Edge, have already been buried in Scotland, as it happens. Bruce McBain discovered my grave on a visit to Edinburgh. I’ve also got statues of Scottish ancestors in various town halls. Moira MacMatron – well, what could be more Scottish! She’s got connections to John Junor of the Express. Matt Driver’s Scottish – as well as Chilean. The Laird was displayed in Scotland, on vacation from Chingford, from earliest years in well-managed kiddie shorts and is half-Scots.

So we were Scottish for the Burns night and all through the following day and the playing of Scottish Quest. We started with the whiskies in the sun room. The Laird explained how to fill in the chart he had created. It wasn’t so easy. I wrote: ‘Nose: nice, fumy’ and ‘Palate: nice fumy.’ The Laird had applied a strip of tartan ribbon to the back of the chart as well as importing all the logos of the whiskies onto the chart. The detail! The technical know-how! In the Gourmet Dining Room, the Laird introduced Robert Burns (he came from nothing and was very sociable; died young). Then the Laird must have pressed a switch, for a voice poured from the ceiling and the bagpipes. It was the famous lines of Burns in the Scottish language. All us Scots were pouring over the translation provided. It was very guttural, I must say. I was a little bit reminded of Percival Cruising at New Year with his buzzers for the quiz. After that the Laird-created courses began: the haggis tower on a turnip foundation, the cock-a-leekie soup, the scallops with pea risotto, the lime and vodka palette cleanser (‘My Luve is Like a Red Red Rose’ out of the ceiling again: the Laird in floods) the Wild Glen Lean venison stalked by Winston Churchill, the Selection of Scottish Cheeses (explanatory chart provided), the pre-dessert Cranachan, ‘The Deil’s Awa’Wi’ the Excise Man’ (not very sure what that one was driving at: the Laird in floods) and the Sticky Toffee Pudding. We became the unsurpassed luxury courses in their originality such as haggis tower (exceptionally delicious) as we had become Scottish.

The next day we visited a Welsh town and were slightly sneery about the properties for sale in the estate agent’s window but Moira MacMatron bought a reduced frock and the Daily Mail. In the afternoon, we played Scottish Quest, with the Laird as quiz master (another link with Percival Cruising). Laura Malcolm went mental and said it was an awful game. Although Scottish, we had to guess all the questions which were all about Scotland. Hadn’t a clue and there was no way ‘Blankety Blank’ was going to be the answer. But Laura perked up when she looked like winning and for some reason decided not to destroy her husband which she usually does when playing a game whether he is on her team or another. Possibly owing to the courses and wines of the night before Matt similarly failed to kill his wife as is his custom when gaming.

All the way back in the car, Beamish O’Halloran kept up a stream of brilliant gossip: the life of a pressman! Gate-crashing parties then getting thrown-out for being a gossip-columnist, Bubbles Rothemere, getting sued and having to hide from Lord Dacre until the fury had died down, John Junor, Terry Wogan, the Queen Mother (‘How dare you speak to the Queen Mother’ the flunkie said to Beamish after she’d stopped in her buggy at Cheltenham Races to speak to him…

Before boarding for Usk, I fetched Eddie Sedgewick from Moorfields Eye Hospital where He had been Re-Lensed. The Red Seats are for In-Patients

The Blue Seats are for Out-patients: Moorfields Eye Hospital

Encouraging Illustrative Material on the Walls of Moorfields Hospital

More Encouraging Illustration on the Walls of Moorfields Eye Hospital

The Laird’s Selection of Whiskies for the Usk Burns Night

The Laird’s Scallop and Pea Risotto with Bacon

The Laird’s Winston Churchill Venison

The Laird’s Sticky Toffee Pudding Art: He’s Been Years Perfecting the Recipe and has a Thorough Knowledge of Sticky Toffee Puddings Mis-versions in Nearly all Corners of the World