Oh dear, it seems that my old friend Giles Hogg Marchmont is dead. He was thrown from his horse during the final moments of the not-entirely-legal Crotchfield Christmas Hunt, and was killed instantly. I have already telephoned his delightful daughter Celestia May, and have offered to come and stay with her and her young friends at Hogg Hall over the festive period.
On the way there I will pick up a case of Chateau Haut Brion Pessac-Lognan 1982. This red 1982 vintage is still youthful and quite spectacular, and holds its own well against the best wines in the world. I’m sure it will cheer up poor Celestia May no end.
While writing this blog entry, I received a telegram from Lord Ingleby-Barwick, who’s estranged wife Portia is still in hospital awaiting an unscheduled amputation. He was going to join us for Christmas at Hogg Hall, but now informs me that he is too drunk to leave the house.
As if all that isn’t bad enough, I have soiled myself again. Bad news always comes in threes, particularly at his time of year.
