Santa goes hunting.

Having seen the array of festive lights festooned across the houses of the estate workers and others of the lower classes in the village one decided that perhaps Fortescue towers might benefit from some illumination, what with the festive season upon us once again. So, over the weekend one instructed ones estate manager and Blenkinsop to brighten the ancestral pile up a bit, a topical but festive tableau was ones suggestion.

Now, not having much experience of this sort of thing and in hindsight one should have realised that things were not as they should have been after the air was rent by the sound of chain saws sometime after dinner on Saturday. One was also rather put off ones brandy and cigar when Blenkinsop plummeted past the study window clutching what appeared to be an armful of puppies. Fortunately the mems' rose bushes broke his fall and no-one was harmed...at least not until the mem' spots the damage done to her prize Floribunda. Must remember to slip a few non-slip patches for wooden legs into the old chaps Christmas box this year.

One really should have remembered Clackthorpes pro-hunting stance as come the grand switching on of the lights in the presence of the vicar, the assembled ladies of the W.I and a select gathering of staff the full horror was revealed. When one asked for topical but festive, one had envisaged a tasteful nativity tableau accompanied by a depiction of the good Saint Nicholas handing small gifts to the poor and needy all presided over by a host of benevolent angels and a banner bearing seasons greetings. Instead, what was revealed was Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer pursued by a pack of cuddly Snoopies (ones niece Joscella assures me this is a popular cartoon character) and a red-coated gentleman whom I believe may have been Santa Claus at some time before a Clackthorpe removed his headgear with a chainsaw and replaced it with a riding helmet. The banner that one had hoped would wish 'A Merry Christmas To One And ALL.' now announced 'Up Yours Blair!' in six foot high letters across the roof of the great house.
The whole lot was illuminated by thousands of fairy lights that caused a distinct glow in the night sky that could be seen for several miles.

In fact, one is reliably informed that this horrific vision could be seen as far away as Biss-Hopp Hall where my dear friend Lady Jacobea immediately took to her bed with a large G and T and a bucket of smelling salts. In the immediate vicinity the silence was only broken by several of the W.I ladies hitting the ground in a dead faint and the vicar uttering something quite un-vicarly.

One fears that one will not be receiving a Christmas card from No. 10 this year.