So, who wants to help ... to rattle on in the cellar?


If you come in through the door with ‘Never say no to a Medicinal’ written on its lintel, past the warning notice beside it which says


you find the convivial little club called The Cellar, which is down a flight of stairs from the inside porch.

The weather is getting warmer, but is not yet warm enough for sitting about outside even though there was that warm week a month or so ago; we are playing it safe and there is still a fireplace, with toasting-forks and a kist full of warm shawls near it so that any chilly tart can wrap herself warmly if need be; the Other Cupboard is near it, over the Chatelaine’s chaise. When summer comes (if it does) the succession pools and the croquet lawn outside will come into service, but at the moment huddling is mostly the order of the day. The gin-lake is already in place.

This cellar is painted in encouraging fire colours, oranges and reds and yellows, with occasional snatches of purple just because.

The aga, the other stove, the freezers and the food-cupboards are in the room which is behind the velvet curtain, off the corridor leading to the hot-tub and jacuzzi.

There are various pub-games: the shove-ha’penny board, the dominoes and the Nine Man Morris table are all present and correct, and there is a cupboard with cards and dice and board-games in it.

The On Sweet has a re-repaired metal mirror and has been re-feathered.

There is a glitter-ball as usual.

Darrington the butler, Ewbank, Honoré FitzMichael the pantler, The Page Three Pages, The Underfoot Men, and the re-upholstering lady Gwyneth with her team of seamstresses have moved here.

So have the Fancy Italian, Luigi to make us tea, Antonio the coffee-maker, and Fritz the chocolatier.

I am hoping that we may get a garland made for us, and a kissing-bough…


That Other Dunnock has got in again! Soon see you off, you tattered old bird.


Ooooooh, shiny.


Morning All

The Kissing Bough is being polished as I speak, Fishy

I feel that we need Champagne this morning


I do…



Ooo nice warm colours

I shall start making bread for bacon butties

And hot buttered crusts forra chatelaine

The I shall SPLODOOSH in the gin lake

I have a squeakwinned giraffe bikinki to wear in


I’m getting Mos Eisley Cantina crossed with the bar from Plebs.


Too many places to hide in The Cantina…

There are Sossinges to be had here - they are in the oven

There may be Cold Sossinges fer later …




(Tune: “The Old Bazaar in Cairo”)

Welcome strangers, come and have a look,
Our displays are guaranteed to hook,
Bargains lurk in every little nook
In the market at Mos Eisley.

Everything you see is up for sale
We’re adept at telling you a tale
Most of us are freshly out of jail
In the market at Mos Eisley.

Nowhere in the Outer Galaxy
Will you find such spontaneity
You had best be ready for the fun
A knife, a gun,
Or something full of nitric acid

For your stronghold, fortalice or keep,
Top class watch beast, constantly asleep
He isn’t too efficient but he’s very very cheap
In the market at Mos Eisley.

Would you like some very pretty rugs
Woven by the Tarianni slugs
Impregnated with interesting drugs
In the market at Mos Eisley.

(Instrumental: optional sand dance, cf. Wilson, Keppel & Betty.)

Body servants, small to extra large,
Bathe you, dress you, give you a massage,
Other talents run a higher charge
In the market at Mos Eisley.

Weapons gain you status and respect,
Ours are individually checked,
We threw away the manual, it wasn’t quite correct
In the market at Mos Eisley.

We get traders from the Inner Core,
Some Corellians, a triple-breasted whore,
Forms of currency, we can take them all,
They rise, they fall,
Economies go crumble crumble,

We get Nyronds, but they never stay,
Something always summons them away,
One sold me the planet yesterday–
In the market at Mos Eisley!


That has cheered me immensely

Just sayin’



Good-oh. I have somewhere the rare copy of that which didn’t make it onto the tape because of copyright.


I have heard occasional rumours of this strange and alien phenomenon.


The Darlings used to request that Extra Sossinges were cooked, as they grew to prefer the cold ones…



I think maybe I shoudl try that. D’you think thirty extra might be enough?


Yes, Fishy

They tend to be inhaled in an absent-minded manner…

They could be minding their own business in the oven during the barbecue



Ha! Thought you could lock me out, did you?

And what’s this nonsense?

  • Does your reply improve the conversation in some way?
  • Be kind to your fellow community members.
  • Constructive criticism is welcome, but criticize ideas, not people.

Bolleaux to that. You won’t kick me out - you’re nothing without me!


I am aboard
My hammock



There is brown soda, straight from the oven. And (sorry Gus) eggs…

Lots of eggs…


You’re going to have to develop a very good, written, version of that horrible sneering laugh to convince me sonny-boy.

Fancy some crumble & custard ?


Isn’t that where the Dopeys were meant to be going?


Brown Soda


Glass of Summat Nice


Thank-you Joe



That would be the hammock outside near the succession-pools?