This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We are making toadstools out of clay and leaving them in unexpected places. We are salivating over very rare lamb. We are waiting for the floods. We are watching MVP: Most Valuable Primate, a wonderful film about an ice-hockey playing chimp. We are re-reading Adrian Mole, for comfort. We have shaved our legs for the first time in over a year. We are already hotly anticipating M. Jackson’s kid’s autobiographies. We have become guiltily addicted to The Daily Mail website. It’s our dirty little secret, as though we were masturbating on the bus.

This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We are planting mandrakes in the garden, in order that we might marry the roots. We are eating too many Wagon Wheels. We are claiming them on our MP’s expenses. We are cursing our confounded sewing machine to the ends of the sodding Earth. We are trying to coax the monkey out of the cistern. We are sporting a darling playsuit over the top of our long-johns. We are reading Consuming Passions: A History of English Food and Appetite by Phillipa Pullar, and it is one of the best books we have ever read. Our new hero is Trimalchio.

This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We have sworn off poppers, for good this time. We are getting up in the dead of night to eat Bernard Matthews’ Golden Drummers. We find they taste better when you are squatting. We are gearing up for Eurovision. We are unnerved by the way a coat hung up in the window of the door of the house over the road looks like a man-sized dolphin, staring at us. We are dreaming of jelly.

This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We are reading a medieval catalogue of fishes; among the pike and bream lurk mermaids, and dolphins who cry piteously when caught. We are about to eat an impractical amount of mince. We are falling ever more in love with Fanny Cradock. We are waiting with baited breath to learn how to use an industrial floor-polisher and we are sick with excitement about the new series of Britain’s Got Talent. We are contemplating summer outfits, or at least the rolling up of trouser legs. We are regretting not sneaking out in the dead of night to claim the zombie hedgehog, as we have always quite fancied teaching ourselves taxidermy.

This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We are dining out like a Fancy Lady and sneaking the leftovers into our bum-bag. We are stuffing pink frogs with cinnamon and cloves and sending them to live elsewhere. We are perambulating in the park like wot they did in history. We are looking up the frothy underskirts of the blossom trees. We are slowly realising that everybody gets the pet they deserve. We are reading The Reader’s Digest Book of Strange Stories and Amazing Facts. We are amazed.

This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We are hankering after meat fruit. We are dressed as a Dalmatian again, now that we have got the bloodstains out of the costume. We are still smoking too much, but we are largely unrepentant. We are drinking a concoction of caffeine, taurine, guarana, ginseng and B-vitamins. It’s called ‘Rock Star’. We are jittery to fuck. We have nearly finished the first draft. We can sense spring, about to come all over winter’s face.

This Week at Sack Posset Hall

We are wearing other people’s underwear. We are fattening our associates for the pot. We are thinking about cabinets almost all of the time. We are learning facts from the Children’s Encyclopaedia in order to better ourselves. We are sad to hear about Peter Tork. We are still watching How Clean Is Your House?, two episodes a day, Monday to Friday. How much longer will we be trapped like this? We still have not bought bicarbonate of soda.

This Week At Sack Posset Hall

This week we are wearing makeup, but only where nobody can see it. We are sitting on the sofa in our squatty living room watching How Clean Is Your House? and getting off on the irony. We are having mucky thought about Kim Woodburn. We are reading magazines with headlines like ‘My Grandma Ate My Legs, But Now I’ve Found Love’ and ‘My Dog Is Possessed By A Paedo’. We are doing the puzzles. We are eating mainly meat.