On-Side

H here in reasonably crowing mood.

You may have gathered from dear PP's earlier that he felt a certain underhand - if not actually illicit - tactic had been adopted by myself last night in securing dear, dear Cathy's vote for Mildred to the Parish Council in tomorrow's election.

Whilst not dissenting from the view that there was a certain 'spinning' in the line taken to prise Miss Shanklin away from the false party of Mrs J. into the true faith of M (perhaps not much far short of Shane Warne's bowling of Mike Gatting that very first ball so many departed years ago), the cause was most worthy and the deceit quite within the established parameters of local politics.

Dear PP is far too the dove to comprehend the necessary wiles of the counter-balancing serpent. This innocence has been - I believe - the fundamental cause of the failure for his Church career to blossom as it ought. Do not mistake me, I am not wishing I had married my way into the Bishop's Palace - great draughty thing that it is - though I've always felt he would have made the finest of Cathedral Canon's with myself holding some vital, if unofficial, role in conducting the business of the place to the discomfort of any (and they all are) overbearing Dean.

But 'twas not to be and anyways we seem to be rather good at managing the front-line the pair of us. Parish life does mirror the world and The Wolds is its microcosm. (My God, I'm beginning to sound as Pooterish at my dear husband! Must just nip down to the polling booths to ensure that young Betty is true to her promise and brings her essentially dotty sister to vote for the cause! Voting ceases at 9.00 p.m. tonight. The count we are told should take no more than a few hours. Mildred and I are quietly confident.)