Black and white
I was surprised when my promotion came through as I had been Princess of Shovels for so long that I had got comfortable in the role, used to shopping in Sainsburys etc. Coming from the superior Spades family I was used to being treated well, even though I did do some of my shopping in Lidlaldi.
I was now Queen of Spades, not the top of the suit, that belonged to Ace of course. I think the main thing that took me a while to get used to was shopping in Waitrose. It wasn’t just the general obsequiousness of the staff or even the ridiculous prices, it was mainly the other customers - what a stuck up pack! All court cards and the occasional Ace. I quite fancy some of the Aces but that is another story - do you really think I am a bungalow?
As I had nearly filled my twee little trolley with gazpacho, halloumi, Italian black olives, smoked salmon, freshly baked Focaccia, Manuka honey and few other essentials, I headed for the checkout, looking very smart in his apron printed with black and white squares. It must have been cold sitting there among all those draughts and he looked a little board.
He beeped all my purchases before packing them into my trendy hessian bag. I handed over my card. It was the Queen of Clubs, one of the lower suits but I am broad minded. There was to be no cashback for me today. We now had a pear, avocado of course, so I took the complimentary partridge from the tree, collected my little green tokens and dropped them in the box for the undeserving rich - one of my favourite charities.
The game had been set for that afternoon, poets and peasants alliteration at the Peardrop, so we hopped aboard a chicken. I made small talk with the other Queen, well, one has to make an effort with one’s social inferiors doesn’t one?
I chose my cue carefully as it doesn’t pay to get there too early. We did the usual test to see who would break, it was the other Queen of course, she had more experience. She potted a Spot with the break so I helped her out of the pool and then repaired the break. It was a Gloucester Old one so I had the choice of the piglets. I picked up a couple because we were having bacon and egg for supper. I had only decided this on the ride up the hill. Luckily the chicken decided to cooperate. She would probably dine out on that story for donkey’s years. ‘I laid an egg for the Queen of Spades,’ making a right ass of herself, as no one then believed her.
I managed to get the piglets in the Waitrose bag and got a lift from the donkey back to the castle. I had tried to get some ham from the Gloucester Old Spot but she wasn’t committed enough to contribute. The piglets were feeling cold so I wrapped them in a duvet and put them in the oven, Gas Mark 7. The donkey started to ‘Eee Aaw’ very loudly so I went to see the Vicar of Bray. He suggested that I paint its fur, then hide it on a zebra crossing. This didn’t work as I got the stripes the wrong way round and so the donkey looked like a draughts board - all black and white. Luckily a woman from Waitrose Human Resource department was passing at the time and offered it a job on the checkout.
I checked on the piglets. They were now crackling nicely so I stuffed an apple in each of their mouths ready for the table. The cat was by now looking interested and stared at me. ‘A cat may look at a king,’ I said, ‘but I am a queen so you’re out of luck.’ The cat smiled and slowly faded away to Aintree, leaving its smile behind.
I left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the castle’s parapets, which were kept on the roof. It was unusual to have so many disabled animals to care for but I suppose if you are a dog, a tortoise or a goldfish and fall off a castle, there is a good chance that you will get injured. One tortoise, ‘Falling George’, took so long to climb the steps back up again that, as soon as he got there, it was time for him to fall off again. Because of all his injuries, he took to drink and now has the hare of the dog each morning after his porridge. The dog wasn’t too keen as he was going bald but George was usually too quick for him and if he didn’t quite make it, the hare would pluck one for him.
I headed for the counting house where my husband, the King, had the spreadsheets open on his iMac. As usual, he ignored me at first, engrossed in his calculations.
‘Did you have a good day, dear?’ I asked
‘Not three bad,’ he said, but I’m having trouble thinking because I’m hungry. ‘ I hope you’re making a blackbird pie for my supper tonight.’
‘I couldn't get any blackbirds in Waitrose so I got two dozen frozen robins instead. They won’t have time to defrost so we are having to share an egg tonight.’
‘I don’t know, what is the world coming to? Did you complain?
‘Yes, I saw the manager and they are flying 144 blackbirds in next week.’
‘Good, but that will be too many for us, gross incompetence if you ask me,’
‘Yes, dear,’ I murmured placatorily as I backed out and fled to the parlour where I knew my Focaccia and Manuka were waiting for me.
I decided to retrace my steps to see if I could find the miniaturisation reset button so squeezed through the bars of the portcullis - I didn’t see Falling George come hurtling down towards m…
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