Meanwhile, Mrs Pumphrey and Mrs Slocombe, having made their
way to the vast, cavernous room that is the Palace Kitchen, have decided to join forces in
the preparation and management of the staff puddings, staff gifts, and the Not
Forgotten Christmas Party. They are both slightly miffed that Mrs Miggins and
Mrs Poo have made their own exclusive gang to solve the ‘Who Kidnapped the King
Phantomime?’ plot.
‘We’ve always done things together,’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘We
are like the Magnificent Seven Minus Three. Or The Three Amigos Plus One.’
‘I know,’ says Mrs Slocombe, who would rather have tested
out her detective skills than been stuck in a kitchen making several hundred
individual Christmas puddings. ‘But let them get on with it, that’s what I say.
We’re going to have a lot more Christmassy fun making food for a party and
wrapping Christmas presents, aren’t we?’
She looks hopefully at Mrs Pumphrey who considers the proposition.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Yes, we are. That’s what we shall do – have lots of
Christmassy fun in Buckingham Palace!’
Mrs Slocombe sits at the kitchen table. ‘Now,’ she says, ‘we
need to get the puddings mixed up first. Once they’re steaming away, we’ll be
free to tackle the catering for the party.’
‘Shall I start on the staff gifts whilst you are pudding
making?’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
Mrs Slocombe nods. ‘What are you going to give everyone?’
she says. ‘Eight hundred and fifty individual presents are a BIG ask. Although
I suppose the staff folder Mrs Miggins gave you with all their preferences will be helpful.’
‘Oh, I’ve already ditched that,’ says Mrs Pumphrey, airily.
‘I have neither the time nor inclination to come up with eight hundred and
fifty individually-tailored gifts. Everyone will get the same thing, although I
might use different wrapping papers, you know, for variety.’
‘I’m not sure…’begins Mrs Slocombe, knowing that there are
Royal standards to be maintained here.
‘It’ll be fine,’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘I shall follow the
advice of my cousin Araminta. She says a good Christmas present should include
something to eat, something to read, something to wear and something to think
about.’
Mrs Slocombe daren’t ask but knows she has to. ‘And what
conclusion has cousin Araminta’s advice led you to?’ she says.
‘Chocolate bow-ties!’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘Etched with the philosophical
sayings of Socrates. You can wear the bow tie, you can read the sayings and
think about them, and when you’ve had enough of thinking, you can eat it!’
Mrs Slocombe can feel her left eye beginning to twitch,
which is never a good sign. ‘Is that a good idea?’ she says. ‘I mean, I can
appreciate the sentiment but…’
‘I know what you’re worried about,’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
‘I bet you don’t,’ says Mrs Slocombe.
‘You’re worried about the ladies,’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
‘You’re thinking that bow ties are all very well for the male staff members,
but are they suitable for the ladies?’
Mrs Slocombe, who is a huge fan of reality television shows,
is thinking that nowadays anyone will wear anything regardless of its
stereotypical values.
‘For the ladies, then, I’m opting for chocolate
fascinators,’ says a triumphant Mrs Pumphrey. ‘The perfect hair accessory for a
Winter social event!’
‘Marvellous,’ says Mrs Slocombe, because what else can she
say when her friend is so excited about a plan coming together? But she is curious about one aspect of this
Christmas gift idea.
‘Can I ask’ she begins, ‘and it’s probably just a minor
consideration in the grand scheme of the mess we currently find ourselves in,
but how does one go about purchasing chocolate bow ties and fascinators etched
with the sayings of Socrates? Is it something to do with 3-D printers?’
Mrs Pumphrey laughs. ‘Don’t be daft, Mrs S,’ she says, ‘I’m
going to make them myself!’
She knows she’ll regret asking, but curiosity has got the
better of Mrs Slocombe. ‘How?’ she says.
‘With my Deluxe Chocolate Crafting Kit for Chocolate
Crafters’, of course,’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘I bought it ages ago and now I get
to test it out. Isn’t that brilliant!?’
‘Indeed,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘Nothing like taking a new
piece of culinary kit for its maiden voyage in the midst of an emergency
situation, that’s what I say. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?’
Mrs Pumphrey looks very pleased. ‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘I’ll
get cracking then, shall I?’
There is, of course, no choice. The Christmas calendar is
ticking away. There are jobs to be done and boxes to be ticked. The chance of a
Royal Warrant for her cooking is fading rapidly before Mrs Slocombe’s eyes.
Many hours later, the air in the kitchen is thick with the
scent of Christmas pudding and chocolate and neither Mrs Slocombe nor Mrs
Pumphrey want to see another pudding nor chocolate ever again, or at least not
until next Easter.
‘We did it though,’ says Mrs Slocombe, looking at the pile
of eight hundred and fifty individual Christmas puddings stacked at one end of
the kitchen like a mountain of over-sized golf balls.
‘We certainly did,’ says Mrs Pumphrey, admiring her pile of
chocolate bow ties and fascinators, all boxed up and ready to be wrapped.
‘But we’ve still got to manage the catering for the Not
Forgotten Party,’ sighs Mrs Slocombe. ‘I was thinking of something along the
afternoon tea theme – a variety of sandwiches: egg mayonnaise, ham and pickle,
cream cheese and salmon, and some scones and miniature cakes, a few cheese
straws, crisps, plenty of tea and coffee, maybe some sausage rolls and those
little pork pies…’
Mrs Pumphrey raises her wing, which is flecked with melted
chocolate. ‘I have a better idea,’ she says. ‘One that will save us a lot of
time and effort, especially as Mrs Miggins and Mrs Poo appear to have abandoned
us in our hour of gift-making and catering need.’
Mrs Slocombe is very open to time-saving ideas. ‘Fire away,’
she says.
‘We order in a load of fish and chips,’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
‘What better than fish and chips to celebrate the heroes of the British Armed
Forces? I bet they’d ALL love some fish and chips.’
Mrs Slocombe looks at her friend. ‘Sometimes, Gloria, you
are a bloody little genius,’ she says. ‘Fish and chips, or battered sausage and
chips. I can cut up a load of bread and butter for chip butties.
And I’ll make an enormous jam roly-poly for pudding, and we can finish with tea
and Hobnobs.’
‘I’ll alert the local chippy,’ says Mrs Pumphrey.
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