Gloom descends on Bracknell Towers
This year is proving no exception to the rule. When Lady Bracknell's editor types her employer's words of wisdom on to the computing device in the evenings, she currently does so illuminated only by the pale rays of one 60 watt lightbulb. The room grows so very dim, in fact, that the moths which fly in through Lady Bracknell's ever-open windows abjure the light fitting in favour of the somewhat brighter computer screen.
Lady Bracknell prides herself on her modern approach to life, and is pleased to stand up (albeit that an upright posture can only be achieved with some difficulty and by virtue of her leaning hard for support on her handsome walking stick) and be counted as an Equal Opportunities employer. Her butler is generally faultless in his undertaking of his professional duties. However, his restricted stature, combined with his lumbago and with Lady Bracknell's objection to any member of her household climbing on her priceless antique furniture, foils all his best efforts to change a bulb in a ceiling light fitting.
All is not lost, however. Lady Bracknell's part-time chauffeur will be bringing the motor car round to the front entrance next Tuesday afternoon for the purpose of conveying her to her osteopath. Although far from sprightly himself, the chauffeur does possess the excellent virtue of being tall. Lady Bracknell is confident that, in return for only a minor increase in his financial emolument, he will be easily persuaded to apply himself to the task of restoring light to the currently decidedly dark Bracknell Towers.