So, who wants to help... to perpetuate the cellar?


The new cellar has been dug out and furnished and is ready for occupation when the old one is so full of empties we no longer fit into it.

Never say no to a Medicinal
is written above the door, on which there is a thoroughly indiscreet notice which says


The cellar itself, accessed down a flight of stairs with ornate metal balustrades and very highly-polished dark-wood bannister, is decorated in dark and pale pinks, and purples, and dark blues, in swirls and circles and curves. The paintwork is white.

The weather may not be as cold at the moment as it was this time last year, but it is bluddy miserable and raw and rotten, and the wind can cut you to the bone just as Hannah reckoned to when we opened the last cellar, so we need to have long forks for toasting bread or marshmallows, and a spit for large roasts, and a shovel for roasting chestnuts, all near the huge fire round which there are chaises and footstools and a kist full of warm shawls so that any chilly tart can wrap herself snugly. There are bowls of punch in the inglenook just waiting for the tarts to got round to them, and more mulled wine in a large pan, with slices of orange and lemon cooking gently in it as well as cloves and other good herbs.

In an alcove off the main cellar is the aga, and also the other stove; there is where the freezers and the food-cupboards are to be found.

The Other Cupboard is of course in the wall near the Chatelaine’s chaise, and she holds its key.

The trapeze is outside, as is the trampoline, but the hot-tub and jacuzzi are at at the end of the corridor past the piano and behind the velvet curtain; near the piano is the box with various pub-games: the shove-ha’penny board, the dominoes and the cards.

The billiard table and the astrolabe are to the other side of the lounging area with chaises, and the gin-lake is beyond them, past the racks with the wine…

The On Sweet has a re-repaired metal mirror, and has been re-feathered for the comfort of That Bird; the glitter-ball is turning gently and throwing flecks of light around the ceiling.

Darrington the butler, Ewbank, Honoré FitzMichael the pantler, the Page Three Pages, the Underfoot Men and the re-upholstering lady Gwyneth and her team of seamstresses are all to hand as needed; so are the Fancy Italian, Luigi to make us tea, Antonio the coffee-maker and Fritz the chocolatier.

All we need know is a kissing-bough and we are set up for the next few months of occupation.


One Kissing Bough with Garnets of every hue, & Pearls is in situ

Prescription Champagne, methinks

Happy Sigh



'S’all very tasteful and atmospheric and comfortable. But a clove is not so much a herb as a spice. Darrington gave an almost imperceptible cough at that one and Honoré did one of his irritating little shrugs. Still, he pantles nicely…


What are the rules on baccy? I’d dearly love to settle down with a fill of Latakia in a favourite pipe, and let the rest of TheWorld slip into the background! (…no ciggies or cigars, though!) …and I’d even share all my baccy! …and even let anyone borrow from my collection of pipes! :smiley:


Since (like my father) I regard cloves as An Abomination In The Sight Of The Lord, Not To Mention His Nostrils And Tongue And Tonsils, I don’t really care what they are so long as they are it far away from me.


I think we can probably arrange seriously good aircon which draws the smoke upwards away from at least part of the room, as they used to be able to do in motorway service stations which had smoking and no-smoking tables next to each other such that my friend Pat who was made to feel genuinely sick by cigarette smoke was able to sit a couple of feet away from me as I smoked a cigarette and not smell it at all.

There are a fair few smokers here: the Chatelaine smokes, and Gus, and me, and That Bird smokes a pipe … We could colonise one side of the hearth among us.


…how about a VirtualSmokingRoom? (…hurries away to change into VirtualSmokingJacket) :roll_eyes:


Virginia-Latakia blend for me, wiv a soupçon of Burning Manure Pile.


I have a number of blends with which I’ve experimented over the years. When I lived in Blighty (pre-1983) my favourite baccy was “The Balkan Sobranie Smoking Mixture” and was mortified when I learned that it disappeared sometime in the mid-1980s, and so I’ve been on a (seemingly) life-long quest to find a replacement, with a certain amount of success, I might add! I think you might like “Wil’sBalkanBonfyre”! :wink:


And me. The aircon would be splendid.

It all sounds perfect, we should be very comfortable in here.


You are as one with the Ma on that front, then. I quite like them, so long as I don’t accidentally bite one that has been lurking in the murkier depths of the curry or whatever. They hurt.


I don’t smoke. Never have, though mum, dad & brother did in some considerable scale.

I’m non-too fond of smelling smokie after a night out, nor breathing in old fumes. But I’ve never been a fan of extreme restrictions and banning it always struck me as an unreasonable reaction.

So a dedicated indoor room has my approval. I’ll just stay outside of it.

Puff away. (Can I say that ?)


Meanwhile here’s the datime view of the Cheshire Plain. Showing the volcanic outcrop, which became an iron age fort &, in the 1200’s a medieval castle. Beeston Castle in fact. Terrific views from there. Including of Cholmondeley Castle and the pub named zfter it, which serves 365 Gins (& a guest one is arranged for this Leap Year) and meals with portions so large they actually hurt ! Mrs. Armrest surprised me by suggesting it wasn’t necessary that finish it !! (Ehh ?)

&, as it’s a refurbished cellar, here’s the dark version again.


…mmmm, nice! (…although I would have liked to see the beer-engines in greater detail!) :wink:


Wotcha folk

I approve of the bread oven in the inglenook with the Aga

May I please have my hammock in the cellar?

It’s a metal frame with the ends attached to the long sides of the hammock itself so it is not a swinging hammock more a recline upon jobbie


Are you perchance a dung beetle, dere?



Were I a beetle I would have to be a scarab that was worshipped



You know the Rules

You will Bluddy well fall out ovvit again



Wottan week

Big Hugs fer Soo, who has an week this week




I am sorry to hear that but not entirely surprised, given the relative absence of Beely burblings.
{{{{{hugs}}}}} to the both of ye.


Well I have given up on you permitting my spinny round barstool