The sun at the start of the week was so strong in nature as to quite keep the Countess in the shade. I dared not venture out for fear of burning my delicate English skin (....part Scottish also, and possibly part something else that has yet to be ascertained and has no doubt gone to the grave of dear Papa).
And then there is the problem of a regal purity of the skin on the face and neck. One is minded not to look like a navvy, a traveling tradesperson or worse still, a relation of Donald Trump.
As a woman seen so oft in public I have a duty to show the proletariat the way that a lady of breeding should appear: neither as a skivvy nor someone from the Essex county.
Thus I chose to be housebound and free of liquor for the entire Easter break to avoid the sun beating down through the palace gates and my private beaches. But this suited me well lest my will to avoid the vodkas and the champagnes in the borough be consistently weakened under the seduction of friends and acquaintances. Why, even the Lady Pembleton-Fraser, remained at home and free from the temptations that presented themselves beyond the castle walls. (More or less, there were two weaknesses of will in a wine bar in Hove that the Lady chose to forget). But life is short and particularly a life spent in Brighton or Hackney where the pitfalls of temptations are etched on the faces of its residents.
What pleasure it was to sit with Mama and to reminisce of more pleasant times before the infiltration of the C(o)unt and the fall from grace of the Baron. Both these men, once so important to me, have all but tried to cause ruin to our fold and it will take time to recover. I am booked to see Freud yet again to ably guide me through emotional rehabilitation. Self-medication can only take a person so far and I confess, despite my party reputation, I enjoy my periods of drying out.
It must also be said that food and refreshment at the maternal Castle in Hove are most palatable and uplifting. These things are always readily available there as the Lady Pembleton-Fraser has a good solid staff who have been trained well to fit into her simple but sturdy ways.
For the moment readers, may God bless Britain as I wait expectantly for traders to arrive with parasols made of fine English lace.
From the Diaries of a Countess
first published 05/26/11 11:03 AM © 2020 Sarnia de la Mare