Category Archives: Brandon Cummerbund

wit, wisdom and whelks from the Victorian explorer, etiquette expert and sardine salesman

The Collected Tweets of Brandon Cummerbund – Part 6

Another tranche of the pertinent observations, daily vicissitudes and culinary intake of Bloomsbury-based bon viveur, amateur sage and bouffant beardie Brandon Cummerbund. (This time in order of appearance)

Pass the gorgonzola, there's a good chap

Cook has crocheted an omelette. I say crocheted as there is clearly a yarn-like substance involved. I say omelette advisedly. Forensics!

Tweezers have been stolen. Mongoose on case, wearing deerstalker. Boot boy has magnifying glass. Botley looking shifty. Something’s afoot

Tweezers located – Botley had used them for cleaning galoshes. Put on half rations and extra hoeing duties. Mongoose rewarded with lemon

House a hive of activity – full of bees. No idea how they got in. Botley claims he was giving them directions and they refused to leave. Pah

Early Brandon tweets will shortly be available in a droll new format you can print out for your own amusement. Shall advise further shortly

Siblings flocking back to homestead for celebration of Mrs C motheringness. Happy days. Botley marking Blithering Sunday. Man’s a witterer

@artistsmakers Gad is old Ullswater still knocking around? Made best banana syllabub this side of Hilary Stretchtwinkle. Give him regards

@artistsmakers Kirkby and I no longer on speaking terms after the mustard and cress incident

Botley in trowel crisis. Boot boy in towel crisis. Mrs C in harmonica crisis (lost). It’s crises Tuesday. Still, sun’s out. Brekkie: muffins

Harmonica fanfare: Cummerbundery: Collected Tweets Vol 1 http://bit.ly/b5ESsg Print and fold your own – spiffing little item via @bookleteer

Cook started collecting engraved ladles. Botley has walls of shed decorated with unusual roadkill. Means well but mad as a whelk sandwich

Artisans of the law called to announce boot boy arrested for malingering. Have engaged arch lawyer Hon. Fandango Battersby. Breakfast: mango

Appears boot boy was trying to add to his shoelace collection. Battersby confident we can get him off on a technicality. Crowd were barefoot

Battersby buys off local custodians. Boot boy sent to Coventry (Aunt Spagbol will sort him out). Botley on decorative hedge clipping course

Temp boot boy being put through paces by Mrs C. Botley has clipped front hedge into Dali’s Last Supper. He says. Can’t see it meself

BC Classifieds: Tannadyce Celeriacs, specialist Scottish grocers, renowned for tatties and turnips. 10% off with the right tartan. Your risk

Unbelievable amount of fluff in the house. Mrs C has been reading chicklit again. Temp boot boy at work on coal scuttle. Cheese: gorgonzola

Mrs C complaint: too much testosterone in house. Cook instructed to use mayonnaise instead. Not sure it will work as a deodorant. Baffling

@artistsmakers Wcster sauce, raw egg, juice of lemon, dash of Tabasco. Whatever you do, don’t drink the blighter. Mixing it should be enough

Tendentious Plug dropped in to borrow some Vietnamese Beaver Cheese. We’d run out. Valet made gazebo out of Sunday papers. Odd talent.

BC Classifieds: Botley Weed Removals, experienced horticulturalists, occasional use of flamethrower notwithstanding. Best you’re insured

Cravat of the day: Paisley. Cheese of the Day: Emmental. Darts throw of day: treble 13. Lunch: Quotidian of flan, Belgian style. Needs must

Botley battening down hatches due to gale. Actually, hadn’t realised we had any hatches. Valet on roof, securing weather vane. Last I looked

Preparing for church en masse. Not Catholic, mind. Mongoose insisting on coming. Could be interesting after last year. Botley muzzled too.

Hullabaloo at Cummerbund Towers: Mrs C playing O Happy Day on the harmonica, bootboy on spoons, valet on string bass, Botley in string vest

Madcap inventor Isoceles Trolleybus popping round for tea with new invention. Quite excited but radiation suits issued to all staff. H&S eh?

Radiation suits justified. Trolleybus proffered portable personal BBQ, which equalled short course in self-immolation. Man’s a menace

Bday shenanigans at BC Towers: cook preparing haddock kebab, bootboy composing spoons concerto, Mrs C dancing with flags. Fearful fuss

Botley clipping hedge into shape of mongoose. Mongoose plotting. Maid sewing commemorative doily. Valet ironing spats. Street party ahoy!

Bongo Twitchbasket has popped round with a bottle of Moet. So we’re all partaking of the fizz. Cheers!

Sound of sizzling bacon and mushrooms a true joy. Not currently experienced however so off to rouse cook with loudhailer and dinner gong

Boot boy discovered yodelling. Botley discovered pickaxe in shed. Mrs C intervened with gag to ensure nature didn’t take its course. Pip pip

Valet has started humming. Sounds like bee in a blanket. Have installed small electric shock delivery system in trouser press to curtail it.

#mybreakfast Devilled kidneys, kidneyed devills, hash browns, brown hash, kedgeree, eggs – poached, scrambled, fried, omeletted, Darjeeling

Election news: Botley preparing to stand on bus ticket (they always leave when he appears), waving sign: ‘gardeners against weeding’. *sigh*

Boot boy offering self as monster raving bootboy candidate; Botley rallying gardeners in shed (all trowels and wellies). It’s getting silly

Spiffy swears he’ll abstain. Can’t think why, it’s not Lent. Doesn’t the blighter know chaps died so he could vote for the wrong fella? Pah

Should have acted on plan to take whole household to Riviera in an airship, impervious to ash. Cook’s curry might have downed it, mind

Taken straw poll of staff: 1 voting for Botley (Botley), 3 unaware election is on, 1 underage (bootboy), cook will vote for 1 with best hair

Cook’s syllabub exploded, leaving deposits of fruit, spices + old newspaper everywhere. Travel from kitchen hazardous. Low trolley service

BC Classifieds: EasyBarrow Travel Service (Proprietor: Botley Snr) – travel by wheelbarrow. Planet friendly, quite clean, hand luggage only

Mrs C in mad spring-clean. Botley EasyBarrow service in cash crisis (wheels fallen off barrow). Bootboy has lost brushes. Normal service!

Jazz of the day: Dixieland. Chosen cheese: Wensleydale. Red wine: Cabernet Sauvignon. Shaving gel: Palmolive. Polish: Brasso. What ho chaps

Valet off to Spat Ironers Convention. Mrs C busking in Hyde Park (1812 Overture for harmonica). Plan to read paper in pose of studied élan

Fact of the day: dozen tedious chaps at my club invented the 12-bore shotgun. Valet in spat ironing mode, inspired by convention. Tiddly pom

BC Classifieds: Bootboy Pocket Detritus – fluffy sweets, bus tickets, buttons, useless coins, collar studs, nuts, 30p a bag. If you must

Polished my kneecaps; gargled with jelly; tickled a Chelsea Pensioner; saluted a tramp; sauteed an artichoke #ThingsIAintDoneYet

Holy mackerel! Cook has gone the whole hog and reinvented herself as a woman. Bootboy needed smelling salts. Restraining order on Botley

Birthday hallooo to Wokwok Tahoomey, Ickly Toastbangle, Moravia Chisel Blowpatch Mudsprocket, Beluga Crouchgarter, and Baloney Trouserquiz

Whole household has voted and decreed bootboy Postmaster General, Botley Environmental Gofer, valet Home Secretary (ironing) – secret ballot

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The Collected Tweets of Brandon Cummerbund, Pt 5

The latest spiffing tweets of Edwardian cake collector and wit Brandon Cummerbund. To experience these in true chronological order, please read from the bottom up.

And nerve seeing as her harmonica wailings have sounded like jalope running over concertina on a wet Wednesday

His nibs, pictured with as much gravitas as he can locate from behind the drinks cabinet

It's never a dull moment at Brandon Towers. Unless cousin Cedric brings his matchstick collection round

Gargled I Left My Heart In San Francisco this morning. Splendid sound but only slightly spoiled by Mrs C making dog howling noises. Cheek.

Planning b’day outing. Inviting: Spiffy Glockenspiel, Prendergast Hitchgirdle, Whiskers Flannel, Glazeme Senseless, Spaghetti Eastern. Jolly

Boot boy playing bongos. Mrs C at bingo. Spiffy round to borrow wonga. Waltzing Mebuilder in Congo. Vowel-based plot suspected.

Thought I’d heard yodelling but turned out to be mongoose doing Tarzan impression. Stranger things have happened in our house. Lunch ahoy!

Catching jalope into town with Bishop Dr Rev Canon Waltzing Mebuilder for game of tic-tac, oxtail soup and some booing. Yes – House of Lords

Mrs C excited that yeast company now producing stronger version of gakk-tasting salty spread. Boot boy has used it instead of polish. Ahem.

Mrs C would like to welcome any recent followers. Glasses are raised, nibbles have been served and oompah band will be along shortly. Cheers

Cook is making boot boy drink milk to flush out effects of Brasso. He’s complaining bitterly. Well, it is mongoose milk. Off for a gargle!

Made mistake of letting boot boy loose with Brasso. Chump drank whole bottle. Now shining pipes with tongue. Coming up a treat. Silly boy.

Galoshes. Sou’wester. Brolly. Stout stick. Fisherman’s Friends. Am leaving house in search of a newspaper. May be some time. Onwards!

Flappertrunk popped back for salt, to go with lemon. Either a late pancake beanfeast or the lad’s bagged some tequila. Mrs C wailing in E

Caught valet using trouser press to prepare flowers for his botany collection. Stern words. Dingly Flappertrunk popped in to borrow lemon

Ran out of snuff. Went out through cellar, via boot boy’s pomade collection. Met Mrs C at crossroads. Had sold pocket watch, not soul. Wise

Worried Mrs C will start loitering with blues types. Have whipped up odd reasons to stop her leaving house. And Botley has nailed door up

Plangent tones of the harmonica drift up from cellar where Mrs C has been sent to practice. Just worried it will turn my Sauvignon to Ribena

Pigeons making dickens of a racket this morning. Seem to be muttering something about Tiny Tim. Maybe because cook is chasing them for a pie

Distinctly heard ‘choose any card, memorise it, then put it back’. Bally mind’s playing tricks on me

Rum do at the Smeringtons last night. Whisky chaser at the Glockenspiels tonight. Well, it’s National Spirits Week. Breakfast: Pilchards

Woke up this morning and some wag has replaced all m’shoelaces with licquorice, and all Botley’s braces with pasta strips. Culinary burglars

Local constabulary have lugged Botley home. Have left him in potting shed. Band now features mongoose on percussion, and valet on vocals

Mrs C getting hang of blues in E. Boot boy’s spoons need work. Botley has explored 12-bar workouts, but is stuck in ninth bar in Soho. Chump

We think Jenson Button has just been in and bought 12 cupcakes! (via @ParklifeCakery) Splendid move from the F1 champ – well done that man!

Throat velvet session this evening with Count Slowly Basil, Spiffy Glockenspiel, Nosferatu Bunting and Mims Flippertijibbet. Mayhem ensues

Surprise development: Mrs C has gone for harmonica. Expect boot boy on spoons, Botley on tea chest bass and self on Gibson 335. Cook nervy

Contacted all music shops in 10-mile radius, warning against Mrs C’s attempt on flugelhorn, in the interests of music. Comb n paper m’dear

Grocers delivering today. Mrs C in search of flugelhorn. Not even sure what a flugel is. Household in search of earplugs. Breakfast: kipper

@Jamiehailstone Nobody who is anybody is wearing frosted glass bifocals these days, old bean. Should’ve gone to jolly old Specsavers

All taxidermy-related items now cleared out. Mrs C wants new hobby: embroidery or learning the flugelhorn. You might guess which we prefer

Uncle Monty now removed to medical school curiosities museum. Mrs C had row with other local taxidermists and told them to stuff it. Ironic

Have also discovered stuffed Uncle Monty in glass case. Not entirely sure how long this has been here. Worrying.

SOS – am locked in cupboard under stairs. Mrs C has local taxidermy group round for buns. Thinks I would keep interrupting. Upside: peaceful

Grocers have delivered all wrong comestibles: herring instead of haddock; artichoke instead of asparagus; piglets not twiglets. Cook fuming

Breakfast: kedgeree, plodgeree and bodgeree. Appears snow is attempting a comeback. Have sent Botley out to repel blighter with hoe. Pull!

Composing love poem. Addressed to slice of cake. Mrs C may not understand. Valet strangely still. May have to ban taxidermy. Staff uneasy.

Have questioned Mrs C closely regarding large albatross occupying parlour. Need to find her supplier. Hai Ti celebrated with lemon drizzle

Is there food in your beard? Good advice for Brandon’s facial topiary http://bit.ly/cnuW7a

Gad, am so tired could sleep for England. If selected.

Need a steam bath. Mrs C can get up steam without a bath. Boot boy has new yo-yo. Cook has new Swiss ladle called a yodel. Expecting fondue

Spiffy Glockenspiel has promised to buy me a Jeraboam once I reach 100 followers. Can you blighters get the word out? Snuff all round if so!

Experimenting with French cheese with aspirations to be Camembert. Honey is involved. Though I warned her against it. Breakfast: diced pear

Face in better shape. Discovered owl in wardrobe. Botley has taken up bonsai marathon running – 26 yards is quite an achievement. Taxi!

Face covered in paper after shaving incident. Emergency services standing by: boot boy has mop, valet spare paper, Mrs C fig poultice. Shop!

Mrs C and cook in tug of war over pigeons bagged by Botley on local ‘shoot’ involving butterfly net and large stick. Pie or stuffing? Evens

All wildlife giving Brandon Towers a wide berth. Must persuade Mrs C to drop this taxidermy nonsense. Even postman looking worried. Vexing.

Taramasalata Flanstippler is drinking my Scotch. Scottie Fling has eaten the taramasalata. And Spiffy’s making omelette. All a bit uncanny

Clump claims rotary washing line being used in his version of Hadron Collider. Likely story. Garden birds gone into hiding. Mrs C to blame!

Voluminous Clump dropped in to borrow rotary washing line. Needed for ‘new invention’. May not get it back. Mrs C practising on sparrows

Hai Ti going well – Madeira has calming effect. Mrs C poring over taxidermy book. Mongoose packing suitcase. Cook practising custard pouring

@artistsmakers Gad! “Shooting into mist and sunset …”? Bag any game – grouse, pheasant, rambler? Botley picks the shot out with his teeth

Education week at Brandon Towers: Mrs C learning taxidermy (mongoose gone into hiding), self learning Hai Ti (Tai Chi with cake). Tally ho

Usual tailor has let me down. Now in need of tweed 3-piece suit for less than a few guineas. All leads gratefully received. Except dog leads

Botley piloting a skiff up and down the garden, due to thaw. Has hopes for Olympics. As likely as BC becoming world champion topiarist.

Tadger McPherson dropped in for a go on cook’s trampoline. Enough to make your eyes water. Left with a bag of figs and Botley’s bazouki. Odd

Grocers not delivering until Saturday due to weather. Lightweights. Shall confiscate their bicycle and make them hop. Lunch: walnut compline

Mrs C twitchy as binmen not been. Boot boy twitchy due to medication. Valet twitchy due to tweed ailment. Too much twitchiness all round

@artistsmakers Am told if you feel neurotic and nostalgic at the same time, you end up with neuralgia. Forewarned is forearmed. Onward!

Sampling tasty dark ale left over from Christmas. Botley has started business selling compacted mongoose droppings as grit. Will end badly

Starting to thaw: boot boy now safely removed from window, tongue intact. Mrs C has three less layers on. Or may be New Year diet. Unlikely!

Botley still steaming over US spelling of ‘humour’. May have been working too long at that heap of frozen mongoose compost. Smells like it

Spiffy Glockenspiel says I’m up for an award, named a Shorty, via our Transatlantic cousins. Nothing next to St Bede’s Yodelling Cup, mind

Compulsory cognac breakfast today. Mrs C has knitted mongoose a jacket. Boot boy flicked jelly at window, tried to lick it off. Oh dear …

All staff out shovelling snow. Cook shovelling bread and butter pud. Mrs C filling hot water bottles. Brandon testing hot toddies. Cheers!

Burning Oscar Wilde books to keep warm. Smokeless fuel, full of wit. Botley thinks he’s a wit. Well, he’s half right. Mrs C wearing mittens.

So cold at BT we have mongoose on a treadmill, bootboy burning old copies of Wisden, and cook hatching ferocious curry. Medicinal brandy sir

Cook fuming having discovered real London Eye staged fireworks last night, clearly stealing her culinary masterstroke. Calmed with gin.

Gad! Woken by Botley’s snoring. Why? Ah. Entire rollcall of guests slumbering under giant blanket. Huge Oompah brought marquee down. Parp!

Have cornered mongoose and recovered cognac. Cook buried under pile of meringues. Mrs C rosy cheeked. Oompah band oompahing. Happy New Year!

Meringue London Eye taking shape, not sure about Spiffy’s sparklers idea. Oompah band delayed in traffic. Boot boy has been at the Brasso

NYE doings ahead: cook constructing life-size model of London Eye out of meringue, valet polishing Wurlitzer, Mrs C embroidering marquee

Much joy over England cricket victory. Boot boy playing spoons, valet has ironed my spats, cook planning celebratory syllabub. Yabbadabbadoo

Cook has found Glockenspiel covered in fluff in cupboard under stairs, and Spong has perfect map of Kidderminster tatooed on his head. Odd.

Is it me, or have army of dwarves just painted house silver, and constructed tank out of discarded corks and sprouts? Ah. Glad to hear it.

Seasonal drink with Spiffy Glockenspiel, Twinkle Troutbadger and the Earl of Spong. Jolly time, hope Spiffy isn’t squiffy enough to juggle

Soave. Asti. Cava. Amontillado. Harvey’s. Beck’s. Frascati. All good names for children but somehow remind me of the old throat velvet

Mackerel and smell of fish now gone, thanks to Botley, but Bunting and crew have eaten all the trifle. Received gift of sock garters. Bingo!

Mackerel pushing for scampi in breadcrumbs, PLUS the salmon. Mrs C wavering. Talks paused while Botley ‘persuades’ with trowel and carols

Have called in negotiators looking to strike deal with Mackerel: he vacates house and we give him some salmon in return. Desperate times …

Red alert: Mackerel has somehow snuck into house while Bunting and vampires argued over flag drill. Botley has him cornered in scullery …

@vobes Mucho obligato for the coffee and mince pie today, sir – you must toddle round for tiffin sometime. Cook does a good sticky bun

Mackerel alert: aborted attempt to breach the house as Bunting’s strategy is working: vampires and semaphore going nuts. It’s never dull.

Joke from boot boy: if you let rice get cold enough, you get Ricicles. Have stapled his knees together and cut his Haribo ration. Tough love

Am in the doghouse after suggesting to Mrs C that one way of thawing ice outside would be for her to talk to it. No crumpets for tea now …

Christmas ale now in stock, courtesy of Sebastopol Thundergrass’ extraordinary brewery. Botley swears by their pale ale, so avoid that one

Extraordinary: woke up surrounded entirely by Twiglets. Turns out it’s one of Bunting’s ploys for repelling Mackerel. Breakfast: kedgeree

Cook is concerned at possible ban on garlic though

Gothic local fete organiser Nosferatu Bunting has offered to ward off unwanted relative Mackerel using cunning mix of vampires and semaphore

Boot boy shovelling drive, Botley shovelling grounds, Brandon shovelling porridge. Chiselled cook out of coat with breadknife. Tot required

Gad it’s so cold am considering rolling Botley in peat and shoving him in the Aga

@vobes Splendid – a strong concoction featuring hazelnut would slide down the Cummerbund throat a treat. And one of those Italian biscuits

Hatches now battened re Mackerel’s visit. Move rejected as too costly. Mrs C has flyspray; valet: carpet beater; Botley: hoe. May get messy

Distant cousin Mackerel Flaypasty has sent telegram to say he is coming to stay. Whole household on red alert. May move or hide behind sofa

Hullabaloo brewing re Christmas wrapping paper. Valet has been stuffing it in shoes. Butler summoned. Mrs C on warpath. Have tin helmet on

Spelling is key in the kitchen. Common culinary errors: cuddling an egg, toasting chicken, bowling potatoes, grinning bacon. Cook on warning

Gad! Could be hobnobbing with the politicos at prestigious bash this afternoon. Sadly had to duck out due to waving farewell to Sir Bob Limp

Spangled bollard parked outside conservatory. Could be freeform Christmas tree or discarded piece of nuclear matter from kitchen. Hmmm

Trust bally eye sorts itself out for the morrow. Suggest poultice of figs, cold compress, glass of something warming and a string quartet

Tolly Snitchett popped in for a pinch of snuff. Sniffy Pinchit toddled round for a bottle of pop. Coincidence or conspiracy? You decide …

Botley experiment with fertiliser and cook’s broth prompts major incident. Troops and navy called in, soup sent for tests. Man’s a menace

May dig out some old 78s to drop in to the jolly vinyl swap at Worthing empty shop bazaar The Upmarket http://bit.ly/76Mzi7

Rumours of batty relatives coming at Christmas (Agamemnon Plankton, Hospitality Planks etc). Mongoose returned, singed. Breakfast: trifle

Arividerci Clacton drops in to borrow mongoose. Refuses to elaborate. Mongoose looks alarmed. Ran out of milk. Cook buys goat. Oh dear …

One of me love poems got an outing at bizarre Worthing bazaar The Upmarket. Listen at http://bit.ly/88aJbo for a gem amidst the buffoonery

Out for snifter with pals Glazeme Senseless, Wingnut Poltergeist IV, Prendergast Hitchgirdle, Dave ‘The Nudge’ Cakewalk. Lifeguard alerted

Valet back from A&E but walking strangely. Mongoose grumpy after returning illictly grabbed parrot. Mrs C spotted in sou’wester, galoshes

Brandon love poem likely at Floating Fish Cabaret, Ye John Selden pub, Salvington Rd, Worthing, Thurs 8pm. Entertainment for the desperate

@artistsmakers Better to use paper, surely. You’ll never hang a train on the wall

Valet in A&E after bizarre shove ha’penny accident. Mongoose reprimanded after kidnapping next door’s parrot. Paired socks. Humdrum day, eh?

Am attending evening classes in loofah use. Did not realise you need a licence to wield the things. Cook’s omelette resembled one earlier.

Somewhat strangely, appears I have been abducted by aliens. Lacking necessary paperwork, they have returned me. Am intact, bar braces. Odd.

Have lost 3 days. Woke up under hedge with rubber chicken, bag of walnuts and a lemon. May have been part of mad cooking experiment …

Off for a spree with old pals Bart-Bart uber Dinglestein, Fandango Battersby, Ickly Toastbangle and Hilary Stretchtwinkle. Mrs C worried

Tish, Posh, Piffle, Waffle, and Tosh. Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths. Taramasalata Fitzgerald, tremendous voice, useful party dip.

Renaming Lords? Preposterous. Like calling The Royal Albert Hall ‘The McGivitty, Flout & Spraingarter Musicality Venue’. Not cricket at all.

Blancmange disaster involving cook, bootboy, mongoose, three spatulas, a tin of pineapple, yesterday’s FT and a stray chicken. Unbelievable

Well pickle me in garlic and stuff me with olives, it’s not raining. Boot boy can come down off the roof with the tarpaulin. Tea: Darjeeling

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Live poetry set at The Upmarket, Worthing 29/11/09

Featuring a lot of recent poems from this blog, this was recorded for the legendary Vobes podcast, presented by Richard Vobes, usually from his Worthing beach hut, but this time as part of Empty Shops Radio …esr-russ-live

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The Tweets of Brandon Cummerbund, Pt 4

brandoncummerbund

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? No, a compost heap, Botley, unless thou get the shrubbery cut back.

Coriander Fitzshertbert called to borrow gramophone. Baboon in cellar. I have quick toe count: still all there. Recital today. Must gargle.

Baboon squatting for monkey rights. Have called cousin Bertie who has blunderbuss. Hailing outside. More taxis than usual. Breakfast: kidney

Cook still sulking over quiche rejection. Muffins like rock cakes. Rock cakes like meteorites. Mrs C using reinforced false teeth. Temp: icy

Coriander Fitzshertbert called to borrow gramophone. Baboon in cellar. I have quick toe count: still all there. Recital today. Must gargle.

Baboon squatting for monkey rights. Have called cousin Bertie who has blunderbuss. Hailing outside. More taxis than usual. Breakfast: kidney

Bertie has adopted baboon, and lent me blunderbuss. Botley suddenly showing respect. Ukulele session later. Mrs C has earplugs in. Hippityho

By Jingo! Have been selected for Bloomsbury Quoits second team. Must buy new jodphurs and tub of wax for grip. Supper: braised haddock tails

Taramasalata. Salsa. Gentlemen’s Relish. Hummous. Tzatziki. Tabasco. HP. Piccalilli. Some of the dips and sauces I have tried with toast …

Hobbledehoy attempts to steal Mrs C’s handkerchief. I see him off with a thwack of me cane. Suspect Fagin’s mob. Breakfast: waffle, sausage

Valet gone to whittling workshop. Cook bottling plums. Mongoose scuttling about. Butler buttling. Boot boy sprattling, he says. He’s fibbing

Botley planning severe hackage of garden tomorrow. May not see him for days. Champagne on ice. Supreme gargle this morning. Tea: lapsang.

Gad, Botley roped in gang of labourers to chainsaw the foliage. Now can see the wood for the trees. Rumours of lost tribe in garden shed.

Tasty dish with squash and risotto proffered by cook this evening. Mongoose sulking again over paw-paw allowance. Chocolate: Green&Blacks70%

Friday looming large and hairy, although could be cook in bad light. Where is cheese? Do chickens snore? What is Botley? Mysteries, all

Chum Archipelago de Cuella chuffed about Olympics in Rio. May take a steamer over. Brazil’s footballers should be made to play 3-legged mind

The oranges of my aunt are in the basket. Here is Father. The monkeys have eaten all the cheese. Why am I reading a French textbook? Bouf!

Glad to have travelled up to one of our foremost metropoli by steam chariot. Enjoyed a book charting history of gramophone record. Chachacha

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No, a compost heap, Botley, unless thou get the shrubbery cut back. Poetic justice. Dinner in Pinner

Pass the marmalade, Terence. Chum Monty the Monk suffering from tonsuritis. Valet has limp. Mongoose looks shifty. See http://bit.ly/4rHZFv

Stiff neck from too much craning. Boot boy afternoon off for football. Mongoose toenail clipping day. Going out. May be some time. Toodlepip

Mongoose clipped. Police were called after neighbours complained. Mrs C just wanders round gibbering. No change there. Breakfast: quail eggs

Mushrooms on toast. Cheese on toast. Scrambled eggs on toast. Bacon. Sausage. Devilled kidneys. Potato cakes. Just wanted others to salivate

Toasting fork missing. Butler looking shifty. Always looks shifty. Born shifty. Botley looks like hamster. Marshmallows located. Plot afoot!

Tallulah Boomdeay calling round to borrow lemon. Sparrows have been pecking the milk. Must clear ‘em out of fridge. Breakfast: zabaglioni

The Boll Weevil (aka next door’s cat) is on back lawn. Botley poised with hoe. Mongoose behind shrubbery. Self in easy chair with binoculars

RSPCA called after Boll Weevil hooha. Mongoose unrepentant. Boot boy has drawn rough sketch. Next door making threats. Weather: sunny spells

Mashie niblick playing up today. Jiggerypokery on the links. Caddie reprimanded. Snifter at 9th. Crofter at 12th. Afters at 19th. Tiddlypom

Mrs C and I exchanged lobsters, as custom on nuptials anniversary. Cook promising fatted calf. Mongoose worried. Breakfast: mango souffle

Awoken by belching mongoose. Not recommended. Birds tweeting. Cook puffing. Valet brushing lapels. Boot boy polishing. Mrs C snoring. Ho hum

Stoke Poges. Cleethorpes. Upper Witherington. Nadgers Bottom. Twistlefield. All places Mrs C & self have holidayed. None we’d revisit. Humph

Top suppliers: Tosh & Piffle, solicitors and commissioners for oaths; Spatchcock and Batley, fishmongers; Twaddle, bakers. Ying tong ipo

Couldn’t find toaster this morning. Turns out it’s his day off. Pah!

Electrickery chap came yesterday and replaced things, fiddled with bits and bobs and charged a King’s ransom. Still, all now hunky dory

Envisaging some foraging next week. Unsure where to take Mrs C since rest of household absconding. Only Splinge is coming. Suggestions?

Caught Botley eating Gentleman’s Relish. Severely reprimanded. Also reminded he is not a gentleman. Mrs C says I am harsh. Refuse to kowtow.

Tintinabulists bonging merrily today. Mongoose ponging, must get Botley to hose down. Must ask vicar if he’s going to Rome. Cook needs pasta 8:41 AM Oct 25th from web

Vicar not going to Rome, so cook sent out for pasta. Boot boy on day’s training at St Pancras. Breakfast: grilled kipper. Weather: hopeful

Cook alarmed to discover new trend in eating places: http://bit.ly/2gwXaG Boot boy went and ate half his weight in beans. Mongoose in trauma

Off to market today in search of mothballs for mongoose (don’t ask). Am taking pith helmet and stout stick to fend off ne’er do wells. O yes

Marscapone and he won’t know where he’s going. Survived market and mongoose now happily crunching mothballs (don’t ask). Breakfast: anchovy

Algernon Parp-Stratley gone to India to find himself. Wasn’t aware he’d gone missing. Will leave a gin sling in the window. Tweed: Harris

Attending nuptials tomorrow. Best bib and tucker. Here comes the bride. Mrs C refuses to wear hat. Ridiculous. Shall sing with gusto, dammit

Brolly? Top hat? Overcoat? Sou’wester? Spats? Breeches? Plus fours? Fedora? Cane? Smoking jacket? Waistcoat? All good if playing Scrabble

Gad, mad 11-tweets at once woman is at it again. Considering not feeding mongoose for a week then sending him to her in a parcel. Tiddly pom

Cook ill. Rest of household holding its breath. Botley staying in shed. Bootboy in cupboard under stairs. Mongoose in box. Breakfast: toast

Mrs C applying Venezuelan back massage. Requires Wellies, a cricket bat and three litres of treacle. It could get nasty. But does the trick.

Back still a bit dicky. Suspect Mrs C used wrong sort of treacle. Mongoose will not come within 10 feet. Botley spotted with fly spray. Pah!

Back improving, front so-so, sides splendid. Boot boy practicing polishing. Valet ironing. Botley hoeing. Mongoose yodelling. Eggs: coddled

Shall have to call tradesman again. Sprocket is broken on thingummy. Boot boy looks guilty. Mongoose looks innocent. Looks can be deceiving

Plimpley Brothers coming to tinker with the Aga. Aga Khan coming to tinkle on the Steinway. Mongoose ticked off for tinkling on cook. Ahem.

Botley to creosote the trellis. Expect mayhem to ensue. Cook in search of maraschino cherries. Invented cereal that cleans teeth: Flossties

Trimming my portmanteau today. Spats sent to be ironed. Collar studs being defettled. Shoelaces waxed. Hats starched. Cologne: pungent

Butler sent to get umbrellas repaired. Excessive downpour damaged spokes. (Spokes is our umbrella carrier, now receiving treatment). Hum.

Reliquary. Tonsorial. Tintinabulists. Mulligatawney. Agamemnon. Paganini. Plangent. Interlocutary. Wallamaloo. Just trying out new teeth.

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The Tweets of Brandon Cummerbund, Pt 3

Wit, French polisher, amateur twinkler and whelk collector Brandon Cummerbund

Wit, French polisher, amateur twinkler and whelk collector Brandon Cummerbund

Tested zeitgeist first thing. Needs more yeast. Mongoose band rehearsal sounds like poltergeist let loose in hardware shop. Lost a cufflink

Never allow hedgehogs free rein in your lilo factory. Sometimes only a mallet will do. These observations are not connected. Scones: cheesey

Sunday is always a good day for twinkling. Plan to linseed oil the cricket bat. Cook says she’s planning adventurous menu today. Oh dear.

Allow a badger to sharpen your kitchen knives, and a pigeon will soil your birdbath. Had to use cooking oil on cricket bat. Mustard: English

Chum of mine: Clicktwiglet von Drenchstartler – neurotic Teutonic inventor. Need to buy more blotting paper. Coffee of the day: mochalulu

Matron, someone’s forgotten to butter the parsnips. My beard is being trimmed by a squirrel with a mincer. [&%@!!*] No more evening naps …

If it’s possible to be non-plussed, why isn’t it possible to be plussed? A tiepin can be a mirror to a man’s soul. Vegetable of day: swede

Salmonella Fitzgerald – deadly, but enjoyable to listen to. What is the difference betwixt lingering and malingering? Fruit of the day: pear

Gad – humble apologetics for one’s lack of tweet yesterday. Sudden attack of sunshine, an ample breakfast and an escaped mongoose. Fine now.

Boot boy gainfully employed in oiling my laces. Tomorrow’s tip: lather up well before you shave. Mrs C learned the hard way. Tea: Darjeeling

Chum of mine: Nosferatu Bunting – Gothic local fete organiser. The art of conversation should be a subject taught for school examinations.

Hullabaloo in the Cummerbund household. Exploding blancmange, mongoose has snake flu, butler with lockjaw and no tea bags. Cordial: lemon.

Butler’s jaw unlocked, mongoose still hissing, blancmange cleared up (cook still shakey), shooting stick went off in pantry. Chin chin, eh?

Chum of mine: popular music yodeller Wopbopaloobamawopbamboo Smith. Mongoose now just slithering slightly. Biscuit of the day: Bourbon

Gargling incident with toothpowder. Mrs C covered in paint. Bootboy sent off in search of brown laces. Tea: lapsang souchong. Toast: French

Some days I mourn the decreasing use of … galoshes. A little anchovy paste spread on the nose will certainly excite comment. Wine: Shiraz

Every clock in the house has stopped. Clock winder sacked. Longer in bed though. Mongoose disorientated. Cook flapping. Breakfast: cereal

Pencil drumsticks are at their most effective if not sharpened to a point. Chum of mine: Hospitality Planks, affable joiner. Quaff: pale ale

Shaving incident involving cheese grater, tweezers and industrial sander. Cook has been warned, police informed and mongoose hosed down.

Taramasalata alert. Silly name for a cousin but there you go. Cook puts locks on cupboards. Mrs C in flurry. Not going to McDonalds again.

Take a bowl of meat stock and add a quart of strawberry jelly, two buttons and bookmark. Simmer then pour down drain. On no account, eat it.

Mr Spatchcock round to borrow bicycle pump. Cook was using it for souffle. Has now sent boot boy out to buy some bellows. Breakfast: muffin

draeb rof srezeewt etsap hsif seotamot – gah, never try copying shopping lists off blotting paper. Never works. Rather like gardener Botley

Celia Catflap popping in for spritzer. Mrs C flapping. Boot boy beating carpet. Cook beating egg. Mongoose beating up next door’s cat. Joy!

Next door returned spatula. Botley found in hedge, clutching trowel. Toast burned. Watched the cricket. Found whistle. Mrs C has hidden it.

Sorry – incommunicado. Shut in cellar after turnip incident. Hunky dory now. Boot boy accused of suet experiment. Investigators called in

Botley has dug up the petunias. Mrs C fuming. Cook fizzing after boot boy switched tooth powder for bicarb of soda. Hey ho. Breakfast: whelk

Huzzah! Back on British soil after three days of fromage, undercooked meat and no decent tea. Mrs C lightly tanned. Out of sardines. Tallyho

Weather set to steam bake us. Mrs C has parasol. Botley has red bald patch. Boot boy offering me espadrilles. Mongoose wearing hat. Scorcher

French cheese gone walkabout from larder. Last seen scaring the staff. Mongoose sent off to track. Mrs C has had a turn. Time for a snifter!

Mangle undergoing repairs. Boot scraper out of action – has hurt his knee. Own silly fault. Cook in brown study (Brown not using it). Voted.

Pilchards lost. Search party despatched. Butler sent off to source more satisfactory corduroy. Mangle fixed. Painted ukulele. Lunch: panono

Spatchcock has returned bicycle pump. It is bent. What’s he been doing with it? Shall quiz him later. Good gargle today. Breakfast: kumquat

Mrs C is plastering camomile on to deter sunstroke. Bootboy has discovered espadrilles. Butler in shock. Mongoose in larder. Cook in strop

Well great jumping Jehosophat! If it’s not a week since I last updated you chaps, I’m gaiter full of blancmange. 12th gin sling to blame …

Boot boy doing strange walk, cook more morose than usual, butler has gelled hair, Mrs C humming odd ditties. Gad! Party or wake? Kippers off

Vagabonds ahoy! The smelter has smelted the grate, and the milk’s gone orf. Linen recommended for clothing the limbs amidst summer sunshine

Can’t see wood for trees. Trees *are* wood, so damn silly saying. Promises to be a steamer today. Fizz on ice, batten down hatches, yip yip!

Happiness, my boy, is a pilchard on toast and feet in a mustard bath. Bootboy flagging down ice cream vendor. Mrs C just flagging. Geronimo!

Fig poultice, olive oil marinade, sprinkling of paprika and wrap in brown paper. Unusual skin treatment in this weather, but it works for BC

Hefty rain yesterday: boot boy wearing water wings, Botley gardening in sou’wester. Mongoose has goggles on. Ridiculous. Tiffin: muffin

Gardener, boot boy in huddle. Cook in muddle. Mrs C learning fiddle. Crossword a doddle. Eggs coddled. Mongoose waddled. Twaddle. Sozzled!

Laundry invaders: jodphurs and deerstalker. No-one rides or stalks, valet to investigate. Mongoose sulking as no post today. Poppycock say I

Impossible pudding last night: spoon stuck in it. Botley has planted succulents. Mongoose still sulking. Tin opener covered in aniseed. Why?

Hollyhocks wilting, mongoose moulting, Mrs C quilting, boot boy bolting breakfast. Stiff neck: linament required. Gargling well! Tickety-boo

Breakfast: grilled anchovy. Found cufflinks under diced kumquat. Read Psychics Nostalgia weekly: yesterday’s news tomorrow. For betting tips

Urchin calls, selling nosegays. Mrs C sends away with flea in ear. We have oranges and lots of open windows instead. Boot boy’s feet remain

Am being followed by a compulsive tweeter: 12 tweets at once is madness, woman, so stop it. Urchin to sue because of flea. Breakfast: sole.

Have not had gout. Would be glad not to get it. Have never had chitterlings either, but have had chipolatas. Highly satisfactory. Lunch: egg

Gad, sun is shining. Botley out of shed where rain has has him pinned for two days. He says. Familial gathering today around roasted meat.

Cricket bat covered in taramasalata. Boots have sugar mice in them. Plot thickens

Walrus in aspic. Boot boy in clover. Cook in hock. Botley in nettles. Mrs C in high dudgeon. Tweezers in vaseline. All possible band names.

Gah! Just escaped from coal bunker. Shut in by Mrs C after the tweezer incident. Plotted a novel and discovered anthracite. Invented yoghurt

Muffins ahoy! Crumpets at one o’clock! Scones beneath! Buns above! Crossants a droit! Pain chocolate a gauche! Baking day a-go-go! Huzzah!

V little sleep. Dreamed couldn’t wake up. Now not sure if conscious or not. Mrs C snoring like trooper, though I’ve never heard one. Piffle!

Back from jaunt to the coast. Quaffed local ale and sampled local mussels, hake, pasties and weekly paper. Old homestead looks dull. Pah!

#bestholidayever Mrs Pocklington’s Guest House for Gentlefolk, Broadstairs – splendid trouser press, rather ample foodstuffs and no Botley

Time for a constitutional after much industry this morning. Buffed up the leather patches on me jacket and straightened all the pipecleaners

Just added myself to the http://wefollow.com twitter directory under: #bloomsbury_london #spats #toastmasters #edwardian #entertainer #bear

Feel like toasted pilchard, and half as athletic. Time for glass of something medicinal and game of darts at boot boy. Mongoose quivers (6)

Bally rain. Leaky shoes. Damp plus fours. Soggy spats. Grumpy Mrs C. Sweaty kipper. Broken brolly. Sleeping gardener. Prod with hoe. Cheered

Spending this evening with the following: taramasalata, spirit level, plunge bath, flange, Illustrated London News, Mrs C. Jollity ahoy!

No shillyshallying today. Can’t be doing with every Tom, Dick and Harry. Piper calls the tune. Time waits for no man. Breakfast: kidneys

Mellifluous shennanigans in conservatory. Botley discovered with trowel, pot of honey, chamber maid. Evidence being gathered. Lunch: bagel

Unsavoury incident with quiche. Cook delivered it, Mrs C had taste – sweet not savoury, sent it back. Thumps and clangs. It’s never dull.

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Brandon Cummerbund’s Love Poems – No 7

Tremulous, she was
quite tremulous
But with a right hook
like a pheasant

I loved her dearly
Very very dearly
In fact, so dearly that I was left
destitute
But entranced

Her eyes were like
limpet pools
Pools – full of limpets
Her arms – there were two, as I recall,
One on each side,
Were milky white
White
Like milk

And her hair!
Her hair was
everywhere
I could have bathed in it
Except it was hair, and not water

To me, she shimmered
Particularly after the fifth glass
Her figure was full of curves
It was curved – in all the right places
In all the places, in fact
She undulated like …
she had always undulated.
I believe she learned it in the Far East.

When we first met, she elbowed me in the stomach
Immediately, I felt a connection
She took the wind out of my sails
Although I wasn’t in a boat at the time
And she left me all at sea
Clutching a bag
Of fish

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The Tweets of Brandon Cummerbund Pt 2

Pocket handkerchief crisis. Government step in. World leaders confer. Cook finds it in saucepan. Today’s biscuit: Bourbon. Breakfast: banana

Scrimshaw, beard crimper and toast buffer Brandon Cummerbund

Scrimshaw, beard crimper and toast buffer Brandon Cummerbund

Some days I mourn the decreasing use of tongs. Pulled a muscle attempting to fold the Telegraph. Cheese of the day: Gouda. Learning to yodel

Guildhall function last night. Bassoon playing gave me a headache. Or might have been the spritzers. Beverage: soda. Breakfast: parsley

And why should quoits should not be an Olympic sport? Mongoose snaffles chops. Mildew is as mildew does. Dog of the day: boxer. Pong: sewer

Today’s lesson: Tumble-drying is best done by a machine. Think the hip will recover. Chum of mine: Tolly Snitchplunger. Breakfast: quail.

A study of knots has much to commend it. If fell walking is a description rather than a pursuit, stick to taxis. Wind: SE. Breakfast: scones

Chum of mine: Ticktock Strangely – surrealist watch repairer. Never give a croissant an even break. Paint of the day: country meadow. Hoorah

Gad! Birthday imminent. Dinner party planned: pheasant, rosti, wobbly jelly, gin fizz. Assorted loons descending for carousing. Aunt banned.

Swift daquiri to mark the splendid day. Cook making an architrave of blancmange. Mrs C fussing over embroidery. Luncheon with poetical chums

Precipitation appears to be ongoing. Twanged nerve in right shoulder blade. Hot Cross Bun imminent. Breakfast: archipelago of swan, toast

A gentleman foregoes fish gutting in the presence of a lady. Chum of mine: Bishop Rev Dr Waltzing Mebuilder. Tea: cod. Brolly weather. Parp!

Hair oil goes missing. Cod liver oil sandwiches. Suspicious. Cook looks sanguine. Mongoose avoids my gaze. No breakfast. Gargling ticketyboo

Creaky knees. Twingey back. Cheesy buns. Dew on grass. Bicycle in shed. Mongoose in disgrace. Cook on a roll. Sausage roll. Brandon on banjo

Joyous Easter shennigans. Chocolatier excels himself. Cook beside herself. Mongoose reprieved. Boot boy sticky. Church: I should cocoa. Yip!

Malingering Monday. Leftovers to eat. Cook day off. Mongoose to have bath. Hatches battened down. Pig in aviary. Mrs C after it with broom.

Toaster back off holidays. Plan to get my spats ironed. Chum of mine: Voluminous Twig, freelance aborealist. Breakfast: kippers, plum torte

Overslept. Or underwoke. Must have been the tonic. Mrs C beating carpets. Cook beating egg. Mongoose beating next door’s cat. Happy days

Eeni, meeni, mynee, mo. Except on Thursdays, when a large spatchcock will suffice. I sense a marmalade on toast moment. Socks inside out.

Taking Mrs C to the theatre. Mongoose left in charge with strict orders to repel all callers, particularly mad aunts. Cravat: Old Yeoman.

Splendid night at theatre. Mongoose strangely quiet on our return. Something’s afoot. 1.30 at Fontwell: Jagger’s Mangle. Hat of day: trilby

Perambulation is the mother-in-law of bus strikes. Note it well. Chum of mine: Timbuktalulah Boomdeyay, society golddigger. Breakfast: toast

No milk. Cow sacked. Chicken worried. Cook beside herself. Good trick if you can do it. Chum of mine: Len ‘Thwack’ Bungeeclamp. Food: yams.

Ironmongery can delight the soul. A specially curved fork is wonder to behold. Chum of mine: somnambulent twitcher Snooze the Tickwarbler

Splendid day for a tootle round the local park on the wheeled steed. Mrs C heading to shops. Cook off to medicine cabinet. Breakfast: pawpaw

No shoes in house. Boot boy has sold them. Boot boy sacked. Mrs C recommends thick socks. Game of the day: hopscotch. Breakfast: spiced ham

Beware the toffee hammer. It may be small, but foolish is the man who underestimates it. Go placidly amidst the stuff and things. Tally-ho!

I used to think stubble-burning a kind of extreme sport version of shaving. Some days I mourn the decreasing use of inkwells. Jam: kumquat

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The Tweets of Brandon Cummerbund

Cummerbundery – or the first month’s witterings from CummerbundEsq

Good morrow gentlemen and ladies, it is my delight to join you in this brave

Brandon Cummerbund: sage, gargler, wit and gastronome

Brandon Cummerbund: sage, gargler, wit and gastronome

odyssey. I shall be furnishing you with Cummerbundery daily …

Toast has its uses in hand to hand combat. Chum of mine: Mangrove van Flagbutterer – well meaning Dutch philanthropist. Breakfast: kedgeree

Just stalked some asparagus with me blunderbuss. Winged the blighter. The old rugger injury playing up. Mrs Cummerbund promises fig poultice

Bats in the cellar again. Sent Little Shitzu in. Chum of mine: Nodulous Quango-Chainsaw, mad as a tweed sandwich. Breakfast: anchovy mash

Shaver caught me beard this morning. Sacked the blighter, y’just can’t get the staff. Chum of mine: Leggy Tonguebuttress. Breakfast: kidneys

Gad, the shrapnel’s giving me gip. Could be the turbot from lunch, mind. Must grill the cook. Try Silly Me in the 2.30 at Kempton Park.

Locked in the scullery again by Mrs C. Dashed if I can work her out. Chum of mine: Tingling Parp, trombone for hire. Breakfast: poached egg

Discovered fishing rod and large brandy uneasy companions. Suffice to say no charges being pressed. Took mashie niblick to get slice repair

Practiced me gargling this morning. Improving. Chum of mine: toff conman Lord Quicksand Stuntly. Breakfast: porridge and glazed walnuts

Discovered butterscotch has little to do with a slab of Irish best and a bottle of Glenfiddich. Pity. Flutter: Arbroath 4 Forfar 5. Tea: cod

Cummerbund’s patent sleep recipe: two olives, a pickle, oats and a ding on the back of the head with a bedpan. Sheep counted: 97. Baah!

Soup of the day: Mulligatawney. Today’s limerick: There was a young fella called Bob. In the laundry: spats. Chum of mine: Wokwok Tahoomey

Fell asleep in stamp collection last night. Woke in small hours with Penny Red stuck to nose. Today’s poet: Milton. Breakfast: liver & bacon

Lost shirt on a horse today. Bally thing had hidden in the wardrobe. Considering buying tandem. Or a mongoose. Lucky cravat: paisley, silk

Constitutional amidst wheeling seagulls post-lunch. Kiteflyers on greensward have wheels attached. Most peculiar. Hat: straw. Shoes: brogues

Coal scuttle full of owls this morning. Must reprimand coal man. Fog outside, possible pea-souper. Today’s socks: Wolseley. Breakfast: bran

Jalope behaves itself as soon as stout mechanic looks at it. Typical. Can’t find cigar cutter. Must be his day off. Potato: Maris Piper

Aged aunt coming to stay. Attempts to book holiday in Folkestone have failed. Mongoose acquired, named Wilf. Cheese: Red Leicester. Tea: hot

Boots back from menders. Mrs C back from Boots. Valet gone to sea. Everything else tickety boo. Chum of mine: Abstemious Grout. Tea: saveloy

Practiced with Indian clubs in the conservatory. Hodgson says glazier can fix panes tomorrow. First rabbit of spring delicious in stew m’lud

The reviving qualities of cucumber dare not be underestimated. Chum of mine: Muggely Pooterstick, itinerant sweep. Breakfast: fruit compost

Quail in the attic or cower in the cellar? Hard choice. In for the laundry: garters. Chum of mine: seaside gangster Arividerci Clacton. Pah!

Need to get gardener in to trim the hollyhocks. Horse left compost in wrong place (still steaming). Lost fiver. Practiced tenor. Sneezed x 3

Taking aunt to Hampton Court. Plan to lose ‘er in maze. Need to stalk deer but have lost deerstalker. Coffee: Camp. Breakfast: bubble n sqwk

Hampton Court called to say have located aunt. Had to send chum with tranquiliser gun. Where can you buy decent tongs these days? Supper:egg

Mrs C birthday. Children constructing wobbly jelly for the entertainment later. Polished me blunderbuss. Fed the aunt. Breakfast: pancakes

Splendid day of sterling hymns, Far Eastern nourishment and seaside perambulation. Chum of mine: Glazeme Senseless. Cake of day: Battenberg

MPs’ expenses brouhaha. Have to get mine past Mrs C. Not easy. Aunt escapes via catflap, recaptured by paperboy. Breakfast: lobster fritters

Time waits for no man. The No 37 sometimes does. Aunt escapes in flat cap. Next door’s sheepdog brings her in. Dessert song: Eton trifles

O sole mio!! Except in Grimsby. Bats in the wardrobe this morning. Cricket bats. Linseed oil on order. Chum of mine: Moo Flip. Brekkie: Pate

Shooting stick went off in the pantry. Cook needed smelling salts. Played water polo at the baths. Damn mints hard to catch. Breakfast: bran

Dog escaped with leg of lamb. Aunt escaped with wobbly jelly. Mrs C wrote sonnet. Arividerci left contraband cornets. Late supper: chops

Discovered unusual crease in plus fours. Son says I’m losing my edge. Cheeky scamp. Off to polish cufflinks. Spread: gentlemen’s relish

Aunt sent back to Little Wotherington, guarded by gardener with toasting fork. Toaster back off holiday now using gardening fork. Tea: Egray

Terrible wind yesterday. Pedestrians walking sideways. Definitely better in than out. Marmalade of the day: Chivers Olde English. Muffins.

Fusty Montgomery borrowed putter. Twigs in the marmalade. Mrs C went shopping. Staff nervous. Eggs overcooked. Monkey of the day: gibbon.

I left my heart at Clapham Junction. It was in a small paper bag, along with a sausage roll. Kindly return it if you find it. Breakfast: egg

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The distilled wisdom of Brandon Cummerbund

Recently discovered in a dusty trunk filled with pith helmets, stout walking sticks and a large quantity of Gentlemen’s Relish were the accumulated advice and sayings of Victorian wit, man about town and amateur taxidermist Brandon Cummerbund … A man ahead of his time. Or behind the elephants, with a spade.

Always check your greenhouse for baboons. If you find one, let it out carefully as they have a thing about compost

Tumble-drying is best done by a machine

It is possible to get over-excited about cheese

Toast has its uses in hand to hand combat

A walrus does not make the best of pets. Better to start with something smaller.

Warning: grass cuttings can become unstable if allowed to accumulate.

A mint in your pocket is worth two in your glove compartment.

Best never to secure anything, except for a temporary measure, with an elastic band

Pencil drumsticks are at their most effective if not sharpened to a point

The reviving qualities of cucumber should not be underestimated

What goes up must come down, unless you are a tennis ball adjacent to a garage roof

Lino may struggle to be stylish, but its ability to be easily cleaned is admirable

Chim-chimerney, chim-chimerney, chim-chim-cheroo … particularly on Thursdays

Any travelling funfair close to a dental surgery should beware the use of candy floss

Country ways: I used to think stubble-burning was a kind of extreme sport version of shaving

Some days I mourn the decreasing use of … tongs

Extremely dangerous, but great to listen to – that’s Salmonella Fitzgerald

The cracked pitcher goes longest to the well. And never gets picked in the baseball team.

If it’s possible to be non-plussed, why isn’t it possible to be plussed? Why is a boxer invincible, yet an effete gentleman unable to be vincible?

Is the opposite of a mangrove a womancopse?

One mongoose is enough. Two will argue and three can cause explosions.

Some days I mourn the decreasing use of … pac-a-macs

Eeny, meeny, miny, mo. At least, that’s what I tell the milkman.

Tonic water isn’t always. However, the bubbles have some entertainment value.

Angels prefer not to dance on the pointy end of a pin.

Cushions can be hugged, but rarely reciprocate.

Mildew is as mildew does.

Much can be achieved with six pomegranates, a ladle and a small volume of 19th Century French poetry

Some days I mourn the decreasing use of … ink wells

If fell walking is a description, rather than a pursuit, stick to taxis.

A study of knots has much to commend it.

Never allow hedgehogs free rein in your lilo factory.

Cod liver oil has many benefits, but do fish take human pancreas juice? One would doubt it.

Magnificent beard, vicar, but why did you dye it orange?

Never discuss secrets near a tree. Whorls have ears.

O sole mio. But rarely in Grimsby.

A pocket knife has many uses, however a gentleman foregoes fish gutting in the presence of a lady.

Mulligatawney soup should be compulsory during Lent.

Tremulous, she was, quite tremulous. But with a right hook like a pheasant.

Perambulation is the mother-in-law of bus strikes. Note it well.

Allow a badger to sharpen your kitchen knives, and a pigeon will soil your birdbath.

‘Once I was afraid, I was petrified … ‘ – the cry of the Jurassic forest

Pecan nuts squirrel. Good for the pecan.

Take a bowl of meat stock and add a quart of strawberry jelly, two buttons and bookmark. Simmer until next door’s cat starts yowling, then pour down the nearest drain. Be grateful you didn’t have to eat it.

I have yet to see a convincing argument why quoits should not be an Olympic sport

The art of conversation should be a subject taught for school examinations

Sometimes only a mallet will do

Finding time and space for breathing is a necessary nuisance

Ironmongery can delight the soul. A specially curved fork is wonder to behold.

I was beside myself with rage when they diagnosed schizophrenia.

Too much thinking can exasperate the brain. Too little may congeal it.

A little anchovy paste spread on the nose will certainly excite comment.

Many a man has been denied greatness for want of a good pair of shoes.

Some days, I mourn the decreasing use of … spats

A tiepin can be a mirror to a man’s soul

There’s a place for us, a time and space for us. Walthamstow, 4.37pm, Tuesdays.

Selflessness is an attractive virtue, but don’t ask anyone to spell it.

She was to hats what pigs are to laundry mangles

Anger may conceal a generous heart. But not usually.

A stout umbrella is a friend in many a dire circumstance.

Beware the toffee hammer. It may be small, but foolish is the man who underestimates it.

Too much genetic modification may yet give us the brussel trout.

Approach the sun with similar caution to strawberry jelly – it is only safe when set.

Many a pig with an itch has become pork scratchings.

Delirium tremens. Plus support. £6 on the door.

Go placidly amidst the stuff and things.

Brut force – an army powered by after-shave.

Need mystic tooth cleaning? Find a transcendental hygienist.

Whispering grass? Speak up a bit, man.

I was Monty’s Carlo.

Matron – someone’s disturbing the peaches.

A moustache is all about trimming.

I mourn the decreasing use of … blotting paper

A twig may, in extreme circumstances, be used for cleaning teeth. Never one’s own, of course.

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