'They were out gallivanting,' says Primrose. 'Which is why it was so easy to sequester these here Hobnobs.'
'That's a good word, isn't it?' says Daisy.
'What, Hobnobs?' says Primrose.
'No,' says Daisy. 'Sequestered. In fact, I shall add it to my writing note book.' For she has read that ALL good writers ALWAYS carry a notebook with them wherever they go, in case the muse should strike. Daisy's notebook is especially hefty, so she can give this muse a good wallop back in case it strikes her.
'Apparently,' says Primrose, 'they went to Margate, which is an odd thing for a Lord and Lady to do because by all accounts it is a bit rough these days. Certainly not the cheerful centre of innocent family fun it used to be in the Fifties, anyway.'
'Nowhere in Kent is like it was in the Fifties,' sighs Daisy. 'It's all concrete business jungles and housing estates and massive traffic jams. Apparently, the air pollution in our town is one of the highest in the county.'
'Hack, hack....cough!' says Primrose, to prove a point.
'So why did they go to Margate?' says Daisy, wiping a blob of cough spit from her tankini.
'To see Paul Hollywood in his baking show,' says Primrose.
'Paul who?' says Daisy.
'That is what I said,' said Primrose. 'He is also known as 'The Silver Fox.'
'Ooooh, we don't like foxes,' says Daisy, doing a bit of a shudder.
'No, we don't,' says Primrose. 'But he isn't a real fox. Just has a bushy tail and the habit of emptying dustbins all over the road in the middle of the night.'
'Well,' says Daisy, 'I can't see that travelling all the way to Margate in the middle of the week to see someone emptying dustbins all over the road is a very entertaining proposition.'
'They went to see him bake stuff,' says Primrose, patiently, and thinking if it wasn't so hot she might have the energy to get off her sun lounger and bat Daisy round the noggin with cocktail umbrella. But as it was, she didn't, and peace was sustained.
'They went to see someone bake stuff?' says Daisy. 'They could stay at home and do that for free.'
'That is what they are planning on doing,' says Primrose. 'The next time Heather has a baking evening, they are going to station themselves in the kitchen with a bag of popcorn and STARE! And probably make helpful comments. And demand an interval with icecream.'
'Aaah,' says Daisy. 'That'd be Extreme Danger Baking then?'
'Anyway,'says Primrose, 'this Paul Hollywood chap is a bit of a TV celeb. So part of going to see him last night was to exorcise a ghost for Andy, because Andy is just as good at baking but has neither a TV show nor great wodges of cash nor a massive house in the countryside. And Andy must not become a bitter baker because he has other talents as well, including drawing. I bet Paul Hollywood is pants at drawing.'
'But Andy could become a better baker if he used a bitter butter,' says Daisy, and promptly enters the alliteration in her writer's notebook.
'Bitter butter?' says Primrose. 'What ARE you waffling about? You don't want butter to be bitter, you Muppet.'
'When I say 'bitter,' says Daisy, carefully, 'what I really mean is a cunning play on words, or pun, on the phrase 'bit of.'
'Well saved,' says Primrose.
'Thank you,' says Daisy. 'So was it worth their trip, do you think?'
'I think so,' says Primrose. 'He was quite entertaining - kept making double entendres about nuts apparently, and holding up his floppy dough so it made comedy shapes of an 'oo-er, Missus' variety. But they were late back and are thusly tired and crabby today because they are both working PLUS Denise has lost her voice which she thinks is a chakra thing and Andy thinks is a germ thing picked up from school.'
'Best stay out of their way, then,' says Daisy, looking wistfully at the now empty packet of Hobnobs and wishing they could do another raid on the Manor kitchens this evening for some Jaffa cakes, maybe,or even a spot of toast and marmalade.
But then we can't always have what we want, can we?