As the events described in the present chronicle wound towards their ineluctable and squalid calvary, Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova began to find that she met with a certain froideur on the part of her hosts in Mangotsfield. Dr Mark Wankstain in particular had metamorphosed. Gone was the dapper little chimpanzee burbling his fashionable Likeney nonsense about triangulation, replaced by a surly, shambling, monosyllabic, altogether abject and charmless goblin who, on the rare occasions when their paths crossed, would not deign to look Ms. Dročerpyatova in the eye, but ever must scurry away mumbling some or other miserable inanity about the business which required his urgent attendance in person. And whenever she assayed to join Miss Minerva Ledwitch in the hot tub for nice sexy two ladies banya, the Mangotsfield γη μητέρα would immediately rise from the briny and, assuming a dignity which did vey little to belie her inherent ridiculousness, clamber over the side and waddle across the garden into the house. Withal, Ms. Dročerpyatova being possessed of a vey thick skin (for all that she kept it supple by dint of the application of a vast cornucopia of creams and unguents), what might have induced social anxiety in a less sturdy soul was vey little to the discomfort of the young lady, who continued her blithe and insouciant self in response to every slight. —
Dr Mark Wankstain, Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery, Triangulation, Mangotsfield
One evening, Dr Mark Wankstain and Miss Minerva Ledwitch having separately excused themselves on their respective pretexts - by no means for the first time and both excuses insultingly flimsy - Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova found herself dining à deux with Mr Don Quicksotte, who perhaps not epslootly to his undiluted credit did not participate in the generalised anomie of that benighted household. Even in thus egregiously absenting herself, Ms. Ledwitch had not been entirely neglectful of her self-ordained matriarchal role as provider of sustenance, to which purpose there was a savoury fairtrade organic mung bean, organic fairtrade pumpkin, and tradefair organic caraway seed bake in the aga, with a fairtrade organic rhubarb, organic fairtrade fennel, fair organic trade lemon curd, and trade organic fair plantain pie awaiting their delectation in the pantry, all washed down with a bottle of Miss Minerva Ledwitch’s charmingly unpretentious homemade gooseberry wine, which met all the specifications of organic, having being pressed by her own bare and richly calloused feet according to organic fairtrade principles, from the organic fairtrade gooseberry vines flourishing on the wall behind the hot tub. —
Don Quicksotte
At length, the proceedings were brought to a termination by the vibration of the Dročerpyatova mobile, that good lady perusing the screen thereof and being given to understand that Dr Mark Wankstain was on his way home and desirous of an audience if it was not too inconvenient. Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova shrugged her shoulders at this intelligence, and subsided into an even deeper and more aboriginal … er … squat. Her host for a long moment peered hypnotically at her, before muttering two or three utterly pathetic platitudes and returning to his shed where, Dear Reader, unless I am vey much mistaken, he will be content to lurk during what remains of this tawdry business. —
mobile
“Whatever floats your boat,” replied Dr Mark Wankstain, “I am arranging the rental of a studio flat in Bath.” —
Bath
This site would like to use cookies to count visits and measure advertising. Nothing is set unless you accept.
