Sentence The Onehundredandsixtythird
Daphne and Maude were over the Moon – the day had been a complete success, it was lovely to spend some time with their old friend - well she was actually an Aunt, many times removed, but as they'd both known her all their lives, she was simply Lizzie to them; and heads together they'd gossiped of ships and sealing wax, cabbages and the merits of anchovy toast in the sick-room, and Maude's old favourite recipe for shank of mutton – cooked so slowly that the meat was just falling off the bone and dissolved on the tongue like butter – which she always roasted with a good Chianti, and Lizzie told them about her first meeting their delightful niece Ginger Goldfish, shortly after the General Election in May, when she became Scotland's First Minister, who had been at Waverley
Station this morning, and boarded the train with them all and then they were off: oh, the journey was a delight – they all agreed that railways were the only way to travel with anything approaching comfort and time; Lizzie regretted her children and grand-children's liking for the 'Beam Me Up, Scotty' approach to travel: they really want to simply step through a door and be at their destination and the time spent actually travelling is, for them, time wasted, while for us,” and she waved her hand expansively, including her Hubby, Pip, and the small group of close friends and the Ladies of the Coach, who always accompanied her “it is often the greatest pleasure – just as long as one doesn't encounter that Portcullis chappie and his camera crew; do you know,” and the three heads went together, conspiratorially, “one can't help feeling that anyone born abroad brings a certain – oh, what would the expression be – 'Spice' into one's life; you remember Gertrude, don't you, she was born in Calcutta,” “Kolkata, now,” “thank you, Pip dear, for reminding me of my old-fashioned ways, but it was Calcutta when she was born, and when you and I were young, Daphne,” and she paused, where was one up to, and then remembered, “she came back to Blighty at three months, never went abroad again, yet insisted on wearing saris ever after, and affecting Indian bracelets and hair clasps, and one of those little coloured dots between her eyebrows, said it was her birthright, and I know for a fact that her father came from Donegal and her mother's people were all Kentish, since 1066 and all that; well it's the same with that young crackerjack, Michael Portcullis, do you know he wears a different jacket every day when he's travelling – says it must be his Spanish blood, even though he was born in London, but he's also extremely haptic – rather too touchy-feely for me” - “perhaps it's the wine, possibly,” murmured Maude softly and then sat up: “we met an old Priest in Gullane, Father Finnegan, of The Church of Our Lady of Longformacus, and he tells us that his Cellar there houses the Papers of Griselda of Longformacus – do you perchance have anything in the Holyrood Palace Archives that might relate to the connections between Griselda and Sir Parlane MacFarlane, of whom rumours abound that he was in truth, forsooth, a Bogatyr from the Steppes of Russia?” - “well, more a Satyr from Auchendinny I'd heard,” returned Lizzie, “but just let me give you a note for young Bess, she keeps records on whatever's there – I believe she's a niece of yours, Bess Tillicoultry,” and both Maude and Daphne smiled, for they were very fond of 'young' Bess, who was 45 if she was a day, and Maude asked Lizzie, “do you remember that bit from Monty Python, when someone bursts into a room and says 'no-one ever expects The Spanish Inquisition!' it made me roll-up, you just never knew when it was coming, which sketch it would be, I've always liked that sort of thing, expecting the unexpected, and always being caught out when it comes!” at which point Lizzie gave Maude one of her quizzical looks, as if to express wonder at what nonsense was being spoken in her company, which was so often the case, when, with excellent timing, the Conductor announced that they would be arriving and indeed Terminating at Tweedbank Station in 60 seconds, “that sounds so
Final,” said Lizzie, looking out of the window, as the ladies all prepared to disembark, for Lizzie and Ginger were to perform, on a Platform pullulating with folk of all ages, gathered together from hither and thither, the Opening Ceremony for the New (which is to say, Returned) famous first section of the fondly remembered and much mourned Waverley Line, now reborn as The Scottish Borders Railway!
Daphne and Maude were over the Moon – the day had been a complete success, it was lovely to spend some time with their old friend - well she was actually an Aunt, many times removed, but as they'd both known her all their lives, she was simply Lizzie to them; and heads together they'd gossiped of ships and sealing wax, cabbages and the merits of anchovy toast in the sick-room, and Maude's old favourite recipe for shank of mutton – cooked so slowly that the meat was just falling off the bone and dissolved on the tongue like butter – which she always roasted with a good Chianti, and Lizzie told them about her first meeting their delightful niece Ginger Goldfish, shortly after the General Election in May, when she became Scotland's First Minister, who had been at Waverley
Station this morning, and boarded the train with them all and then they were off: oh, the journey was a delight – they all agreed that railways were the only way to travel with anything approaching comfort and time; Lizzie regretted her children and grand-children's liking for the 'Beam Me Up, Scotty' approach to travel: they really want to simply step through a door and be at their destination and the time spent actually travelling is, for them, time wasted, while for us,” and she waved her hand expansively, including her Hubby, Pip, and the small group of close friends and the Ladies of the Coach, who always accompanied her “it is often the greatest pleasure – just as long as one doesn't encounter that Portcullis chappie and his camera crew; do you know,” and the three heads went together, conspiratorially, “one can't help feeling that anyone born abroad brings a certain – oh, what would the expression be – 'Spice' into one's life; you remember Gertrude, don't you, she was born in Calcutta,” “Kolkata, now,” “thank you, Pip dear, for reminding me of my old-fashioned ways, but it was Calcutta when she was born, and when you and I were young, Daphne,” and she paused, where was one up to, and then remembered, “she came back to Blighty at three months, never went abroad again, yet insisted on wearing saris ever after, and affecting Indian bracelets and hair clasps, and one of those little coloured dots between her eyebrows, said it was her birthright, and I know for a fact that her father came from Donegal and her mother's people were all Kentish, since 1066 and all that; well it's the same with that young crackerjack, Michael Portcullis, do you know he wears a different jacket every day when he's travelling – says it must be his Spanish blood, even though he was born in London, but he's also extremely haptic – rather too touchy-feely for me” - “perhaps it's the wine, possibly,” murmured Maude softly and then sat up: “we met an old Priest in Gullane, Father Finnegan, of The Church of Our Lady of Longformacus, and he tells us that his Cellar there houses the Papers of Griselda of Longformacus – do you perchance have anything in the Holyrood Palace Archives that might relate to the connections between Griselda and Sir Parlane MacFarlane, of whom rumours abound that he was in truth, forsooth, a Bogatyr from the Steppes of Russia?” - “well, more a Satyr from Auchendinny I'd heard,” returned Lizzie, “but just let me give you a note for young Bess, she keeps records on whatever's there – I believe she's a niece of yours, Bess Tillicoultry,” and both Maude and Daphne smiled, for they were very fond of 'young' Bess, who was 45 if she was a day, and Maude asked Lizzie, “do you remember that bit from Monty Python, when someone bursts into a room and says 'no-one ever expects The Spanish Inquisition!' it made me roll-up, you just never knew when it was coming, which sketch it would be, I've always liked that sort of thing, expecting the unexpected, and always being caught out when it comes!” at which point Lizzie gave Maude one of her quizzical looks, as if to express wonder at what nonsense was being spoken in her company, which was so often the case, when, with excellent timing, the Conductor announced that they would be arriving and indeed Terminating at Tweedbank Station in 60 seconds, “that sounds so
Final,” said Lizzie, looking out of the window, as the ladies all prepared to disembark, for Lizzie and Ginger were to perform, on a Platform pullulating with folk of all ages, gathered together from hither and thither, the Opening Ceremony for the New (which is to say, Returned) famous first section of the fondly remembered and much mourned Waverley Line, now reborn as The Scottish Borders Railway!
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