I have received some more correspondence from Auberon Cholmondley which, after the deluge of missives sprouting from his original letter, I thought I would reveal to you.

Dear Sir,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I must thank you for your sterling support during my recent ordeal, I have, as a result, sworn off visiting Westminster and the cuisine of the sub-continent. I write to you at this juncture to update you on the latest occupier of my time.

It being the summer and once again the sight of English wickets falling being all too common I have distracted myself by taking up my
hereditary position on the Village Fete committee. This is made up of a number of local worthies, Mrs Haverstock the Postmistress, the Reverend Cleethorpes, the publican and, due to a mistake in dictation during a visit to our parish by Edward III, a large Irish Wolfhound holding the
hereditary title of Lord Wigglesby. I hold the position of chair and have rather gladly delegated the role of Walker Of The Lord to the Reverend.

Anyway, with only a couple of weeks to go we had been hard at work, all the tentage had been ordered, the sides agreed upon for the Estate v Village Cricket match, Mrs Haverstock's brandy hidden and an extra strong lead purchased for the Lord Wigglesby. As a new thing this year we had arranged for a local re-enactment society to come along and take us through the last battle held in the county, when troops loyal to the
King gave those Roundheads a good stuffing. I expected this to really bring in the crowds and hoped to have people from as much as ten miles away.

There was a worrisome moment during the planning when it seemed like the catering might fall through. Our usual caterers have ceased trading due to an unfortunately timed raid by Customs and Excise. They ought to be back in business as soon as they forget about my over-excitable Pheasant bill. That should encourage me to have a word with the Chief
Constable. However this did leave us with a problem which saw me travelling round every local baker and country kitchen in the locale. They all asked sky high prices and demanded such facilities as electricity so we were forced to settle instead for Dave the Barman's idea of extra cucumber in the Pimms.

Anyhoo, the day itself dawned, much to my surprise, bright and clear and, after a hearty breakfast, I hurried down to the Village Green to supervise the hiding of the prizes in the Treasure Hunt sandpit. The Fete started well with the Reverend Cleethorpes in fine form during the flower judging but our luck did not hold. Due to the catering arrangements Dave was doing a roaring trade and our crowd were somewhat
more rowdy than usual. This fully manifested itself during the battle re-enactment. Things were going terribly well for the Royalists and the crowd were cheering them on when Lord Wigglesby broke away from Mrs Haverstock who, it turns out, had spent too much time in the trifle section of the cake stall, and rushed into the melee. This panicked the horses, who charged off through the stalls. The crowd seeing this as
an open invite surged around the Green following his Lordship and pillaging and looting for all they were worth.

Rescuing a large jug of Pimms I hastily beat a retreat to my abode. There I phoned my old pal Chippers at the Barracks who sent down some troopers to break up the fracas in the time honoured fashion. The newspapers are calling it the Second Battle Of Upper Pondlesthwaite but as the only true victims were fifteen of the re-enactors who really should never have surprised the troops in that way I think that is a bit over excitable.

Well here I must end this as I have just spotted the local MP on his bicycle and wish to give him a piece of my mind and a sound thrashing while I am still a Magistrate.

Yours as always,

Auberon Cholmondley,

Behind the hedge,

Side of Cholmondly Grange Road,

With a sound stick.

Next time - 'It can't be a CAMRA pub, there are not enough
bellies.'

My Life as a Boozy Oaf

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