Cigarettes, Sex and Red Wine with Chicken. Perfect.

What fantastic company Henry and Walter were.
They arrived on time, were real and proper gentlemen and even laughed like drains when I accidentally spilt red wine over Henry's trousers.

The lunch was a corker even if I do say so myself. Roast chicken with glazed carrots and peas, sage and onion stuffing, good thick gravy and redcurrant jelly. This simple meal was followed by the most perfectly baked apple and blackberry crumble and a big jug of custard. And more wine.

And as we tiddled our way into the front room I knew this was one of my better decisions. Henry is a star performer at the best of times but he truly shone this afternoon dishing out sharp banter with me, his partner in crime. He chuckled as he told John about how bad I am at: Dusting. Hair removal. Gardening and waste disposal. But it was I, he said, that had helped him through some of his darker days. I was, quite simply, almost the perfect cleaner.

And as I dabbed at his trouser leg I mumbled to him about how he'd promised to behave himself. To which he laughed and said "Just keep dabbing".

Walter, bless him, looked quite bewildered by the onslaught of these carry-on type innuendos and as I sipped my coffee I wondered how on earth he would cope with this type of total Britishness for ever more. Because for ever more he will stay. He will remain on this saintly soil propping up bars drinking wallop whilst chatting up girls in The Anchor pub. He will forever complain about the 'cold' weather whilst we all sit in shirt sleeves saying how mild it is for October.
He loved his lunch by the way and thanked me continuously for it, it was "Very tasty indeed ma'am" he said.
"Not at all like monkey meat"...:(

After pud Henry asked if he and Walter could go outside to smoke. I said "No, you will stay inside".
They were surprised by that.
But I wasn't going to have my guests, even one who smokes like a chimney, standing outside propped up against the wall like a couple of pissed gnomes. They were my guests after all and it was my place to make sure they were happy and comfortable. So I rummaged around for something they could use as an ashtray. I gave them a pretty pale yellow tea plate. "Thank you ma'am" said Walter.
And then puffed for three hours.

The banter went chaotic as Henry and I discussed slipping straps, duvets, slave labour, harvest festivals and the demise of the British Royal family. It descended into a darker place though when I croaked on about hellish neighbours and what I'd do if someone upset a daughter of mine. (Apparently one of Henry's neighbours is upsetting the kid...)
"Only one way darling" I said "To deal with bad neighbours, kill them".

"Blimey" Heaved Henry, shifting from one cheek t'other

"More tea dear ?" I asked, straightening my dress like a lady.
"Yes thank you darling".
He was sweating you see, and so clearly suffering from the after effects of a thoroughly decent South African wine.


Walter on the other hand was a picture of composure, looking very smart in his crisp snow white shirt and black trousers and as he and John discussed rugby, machine tools and jobs I made the tea. And as he sipped his sweet tea (good man) I think he was almost lost for words as John dropped in joke after joke showing off his skill as a stand-up comic.
But the one about the Essex girl was unforgivable.


My guests were fabulous company and they each said what a pleasure it really was being invited round for lunch. And me, I lapped it up, I loved fussing around the boys in my flowered pinny being the very epitome of a happy hostess. But I am also very selfish, so as I kissed the two men goodbye I was secretly planning...