Ring my bell...

I'm writing from HMP Holloway this evening...

Well, of course, I'm not, but after the day I've had out with the mother, my day might have ended very differently

As you know, our lovely mum has been sprinkled with fairy dust.  This is my preferred description of her rather than using the dreaded 'A' word which always sounds so final.  As some of her time is spent in her own magical world, I feel that the fairy dust explanation is far kinder, and quite cute actually.

Today we made the best use of her National Trust card, and hit Hughenden Manor, the erstwhile home of Benjamin Disraeli.  We normally go at this time each year as the lovely volunteers there dress the house up in all its Christmas splendour about now.  (Actually, we were a half a day early, but it didn't take any sparkle off our baubles).  The thing with being sprinkled in fairy dust is that you don't remember the last time you visited, so for my mum, every table, chair, picture and antiquity is seen through first time eyes.  This makes my day very easy, as she never says, 'I've seen this already.  What else can we do?'

Wandering round the rooms, my mum touched this and stroked that (there was an unfortunate few seconds with a very flirtatious elderly gentleman in the Dining Room, but less said about that the better) and it wasn't long before touching and stroking turned to holding and lifting. I heard a bell go off as we wandered through the Drawing Room but didn't think much of it as the volunteers were in the process of decorating the Christmas tree, and I just assumed it might have something to do with that.  

In the Office, I heard a bell again, and watched as the mother inspected a beautiful antique letter tray (very closely).  It went off again in the Boudoir (a silver hand mirror) and the kitchen (a set of scales) and then in the WWII rooms (a radio, two maps and a newspaper).

By the time we got to the now festively decorated Library (not a bell in sight) I did start to wonder whether the bells might have something to do with the mother picking things up.  On closer inspection, I noticed that every object was connected to another with something which looked like fishing twine.  I'm assuming that there was a bloody large bell at the end of the twine which would ring out if someone tried to 'alf inch one of Dizzy's relics.

The mother was just about to launch herself at a beautiful piece of china, when the flirtatious gentlemen from the Dining Room reappeared in the Library.  'Could madam please not touch everything?' he asked ('you've changed your tune', I thought). 'You are making all the bells go off throughout the house, and I'm having a bit of trouble keeping up with you.  He then went on to say that if they see someone who looks like a wrong'un, the volunteers remove all the antiquities to a safe place.  

Looking at the mother in her Where's Wally bobble hat and sensible coat, I did wonder what they looked for when designating the 'wrong'un status to someone.  As every person there today was over seventy five (except me), I imagined that if you were spotted coming into the stately home wearing a balaclava and carrying a small pair of nail scissors and a large hessian bag, that might be a start.

Of course, the alternative would be to have a security guard who hasn't seen the wrong side of eighty yet.

As least he would have caught up with us in the Drawing Room...