Call Security: Dreaded City Wife Is On Her Way

Sparks are bound to fly and you might get a rocket as our sophisticated friend from the capital takes her life in her hands to descend on the Chilterns.

DESPITE the sleepy routine of village life – such was the excitement over the recent installation of a hand sanitiser in our Parish Hall, ladies on the tea rota decamped to the pub for celebratory Babycham – the proximity of nearby Chequers makes security a regular feature. Motorcycle cavalcades accompany visiting dignitaries and on more than one morning walk it’s taken a chunk of Cheddar to lure Pickle (our Golden Retriever) away from the PM when she strides across Hundred Acre Field with a couple of plain clothes officers in tow.

That’s nothing too intrusive, of course. Though I suspect the nation’s defences have finally met their match.

I’d invited CW and her husband for seasonal festivities: a few early evening fireworks followed by a hearty roast. Well, I couldn’t risk them hosting another outdoor event, not after the last fireworks fiasco. Even now my friend bemoans the stains on her suede boots after sinking into a squelchy lawn. More importantly, the fire brigade’s caution following her husband’s over indulgence in lighter fuel (don’t try it) and neighbour’s scorched shrubs still rankles.