Some Excellent News PLUS Mrs Finnegan’s List of things and people not to be trusted.

There is great excitement in Brunswick Square at present.

Laughter can be heard tumbling from humble garricks and bubbling out of palatial drawing rooms…

and there is a smile STUCK on the lips of every titled lady and kitchen skivvy…

because

O! be still my beating heart!

Because

This coming weekend (August 15th and 16th for exactitude) is the Brunswick Festival. The very thought makes me want to FLING my bonnet in the air.

And yet this morning the butler’s face wore the kind of waxy pallor I have always associated with the work of cut-price embalmers. Mr Cubbage approached me snail-slowly and told me in funeral tones that he had grave news to impart.

With my chin held high I stood in front of him, full five feet tall, and prepared myself. While outwardly I appeared as calm as Mrs Pickles taking a cake out of the oven, inside my mind raced though wild and feverish fears:

The mistress has been seen with my book of household accounts in her hand.
OR
She has discovered the yard of Honiton lace I had put aside (for emergency collar making).
OR
The French have invaded.

NO.

The great tragedy was that Mr C has been called away on a PRESSING matter so personal and private that not even a considerate housekeeper was allowed to pry out the details. Therefore he would NOT be attending the festival. My bonnet was off my head and in my hand before he had finished the sentence. If ever it was going to be FLUNG that was the moment, but he added a curious aside. His identical twin brother was due to arrive shortly after his departure. The two men had not met in many years.

“He is unlike me as it is possible for a twin to be but I had hoped to put our differences aside and renew our fraternal acquaintance.”

You can imagine my anxiety to meet this EXTRA Cubbage and discover what manner of man he is. If you come to the festival (and if you live within an hour’s horseback ride why would you be anywhere else?) you may meet him. Let us compare our observations afterwards, but I ask you to CURB your language. Those of you who receive The Regency Town House’s newsletter (an erudite and august organ that is unaccountably free of charge) will know that the word Cubbage has entered into the local vocabulary to wit:

Cubbage (noun) annoying personage

to cubbage (verb) to hide or secret away
(especially information pertinent to housekeepers )
Also
to go cubbaging to reveal/blurt out (that which is detrimental to housekeepers)

Be mindful not to prejudge the new Cubbage in our midst. He may YET prove to be a pleasant gentleman.

ooOOoo

I cannot end this missive without issuing a SEVERE warning about the use of foxgloves* (also known as fairy thimbles and dead man’s bells).

I have heard of a group of ladies (ancient enough to know better) intent on making foxglove tea. They hope that it will be a pleasing mood lifter and CHEAPER than a pint of gin.

Desist! Foxglove is a deadly beauty. Admire it in the hedgerow but leave it well alone. It is unlucky to bring indoors. It especially unlucky on board ship or boat. It is horrifyingly unlucky to drink.

You will understand my strength of feeling when I tell you it is the CUBBAGE of the plant world. In the language of flowers (known to most women and few men) it represents insincerity.

If you MUST make foxglove tea pour it into a vase. I am told that it will make cut flowers last longer, but do not blame me if they wither and die.

*Many are the stories told about how they got their name. I have been assured, however, by a MOST reliable source that it is quite straightforward. Fairies slip the flower cups on the paws of foxes so their feet make no sound as they approach a hen house. It is no surprise to me that fairies have such a devious nature.

They are on MY list.

Brunswick Festival is an exultation of music, food and extraordinary things to purchase, among which will be Mrs Pickles glorious cake creations to be digested with a cup of tea in the kitchen of The Regency Town House

And, as it happens, you will also find Mrs Finnegan’s Guide to Love, Life and Laxatives on sale. She may be willing to sign copies if she is in a good mood and Cubbage the butler (not the brother) stays away.

For those otherwise engaged, or not living within easy carriage ride of Hove in East Sussex, you can buy your own copy HERE

A recent review said: Delightful...A visit to The Regency Townhouse is the perfect accompaniment.