‘Chrysanthemums!’ says Mrs Slocombe, who has been detailed to make cheesy baked potatoes for dinner along with an obscenely large trifle.
‘In celebration of the Hunter’s Moon,’ says Mrs Miggins, pointing to the large orange full moon that is hanging low in the dusky sky.
‘Hunter’s Moon?’ says Mrs Pumphrey, who is sitting by the Aga sewing sequins onto a pair of dungarees, because if ever there was an item of clothing that needs jazzing up, it’s dungarees. ‘Is that after Hunter from ‘Gladiators.’ He was a bit of all right, wasn’t he? All curly blonde hair, beefy muscles and dimples in all his cheeks…’
‘Phwoar, I should say so,’ giggles Mrs Slocombe.
Mrs Miggins frowns, and begins to arrange the chrysanthemums in her second best vase. ‘Certainly not,’ she says.
‘Disappointing,’ sighs Mrs Pumphrey.
‘The Hunter’s Moon is the first Full Moon after the Autumn Equinox,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘It was first recorded as such in 1710, but has, of course, been around since the Universe exploded.’
‘The Universe exploded??’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘That sounds rather dangerous.’
‘I’m glad I wasn’t there,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘Big bangs always startle me,’ and she sniggers and giggles until Mrs Pumphrey is sniggering and giggling too and the atmosphere turns a rather blue shade of smut.
Mrs Miggins huffs. Here she is trying to introduce a bit of folklore culture into the evening and all she is getting in response is a wave of fruity chicken hormones. She continues doggedly.
‘It is called thusly because it is supposed to signify a good time to go hunting game in preparation for the Winter months…’
‘So it IS about Hunter from Gladiators, then,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘Gladiators was a very good game, wasn’t it, Mrs Pumphrey?’
‘I should say so,’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘All that Lycra and rippling muscles, and swooshing hair and testosterone….’
‘Hush!’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘The Hunter moon is the traditional time to activate our inner warrior…’
‘See! He was a gladiator, too - Warrior!’ says Mrs Slocombe who is growing ever more pleased her initial point is proving correct.
‘…and we stand up for ourselves, and regain control and power over situations using skill and patience…’ continues Miggins. You’ve got to hand it to her - once she decides to deliver a lesson, nothing short of spontaneous combustion is going to stop her.
Unfortunately, Missus Slocombe and Pumphrey are at the point of childish hysteria, and are joined now by Mrs Poo who is searching YouTube for clips of the Gladiator TV programme.
Mrs Miggins decides to call it a day. The Hunter’s Moon is also a time for letting go of things that weigh you down, which in her case is a bunch of bonkers hen friends. She takes the arrangement of chrysanthemums into the drawing room and places them gently in the window.
‘There you go, Hunter’s Moon,’ she says, looking up at the night sky and sending a little wish up to the stars…
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