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The collected opinions of an august and aristocratic personage who, despite her body having succumbed to the ravages of time, yet retains the keen intellect, mordant wit and utter want of tact for which she was so universally lauded in her younger days. Being of a generation unequal to the mysterious demands of the computing device, Lady Bracknell relies on the good offices of her Editor for assistance with the technological aspects of her journal.

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Location: Bracknell Towers

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Colour Me Undesirable

The editor, having declined to be depicted as triumphing over adversity in her employer's in-house periodical, has accepted an invitation to be interviewed for the magazine of the union to which she belongs. (She is to be depicted as a "grassroots hero". No amount of arguing that she is neither heroic nor from the grassroots has swayed the colleague who arranged the interview. References to the Trades Descriptions Act have apparently been met with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.)

A professional photographer will therefore be visiting the editor's workplace tomorrow with a brief to capture her working at her desk and conversing with a colleague. Said photographer telephoned the editor earlier today to clarify his plans and to advise her against wearing white or black because, apparently, both are colours which do not translate well into a digital photographic medium. Faced with the threat of giving the appearance of existing solely from the neck upwards (something which even she would consider to be An Impairment Too Far), the editor has promised to wear blue.

The photographer also advised the editor that he will decide with whom she must pretend to be conversing according to which of her colleagues is the most visually complimentary. The editor felt it only fair to warn her team members of this threat, and is therefore expecting them all to be dressed tomorrow with such unwonted and monochromatic sobriety that passing co-workers will suspect them of being about to attend a funeral en masse.

In fact, having had an entire afternoon to consider their options, it is entirely possible that they will all be raiding their lofts and attics this evening for ensembles fashioned entirely in houndstooth check fabrics in the fond hopes that they will thus be automatically excluded from the selection process on the grounds that they would create an undesirable strobing effect. (As amply demonstrated by the visually disturbing illustration to the right. Lady Bracknell apologises in advance for any migraine headaches engendered by this blog entry.)

Only time will tell just how averse to publicity the editor's colleagues are. Should the results of their aversion prove to be humorous, the editor has promised to relay the details to Lady Bracknell so that the readers of this blog will not feel that they have been cheated of the denouement to this anecdote.


Blogger The Goldfish said...

Lady Bracknell's Editor may object, but she is certainly heroic. It is however unlikely that her ladyship would have anyone grass roots on her staff.

The Goldfish once possessed a dress of the finest, and most clingy, polyester in houndstooth check. She was carrying a bottle of wine through a town centre and the plastic carrier bag in which it sat was disintegrating. She was carrying many other items and was destined to drop something should the carrier bag give way entirely.

She was passing through the Littlewoods department store at the time, and being a gal of tender years and feeling unable to simply explain her dilemma to a shop assistant who might have come to her aid, she felt obliged to buy something.

The cheapest thing there was, was aforementioned black and white houndstooth dress, which was on the sale rail, reduced to a mere £3 (for some reason, this dress had not proved a popular item).

Thus the Goldfish bought it, received her carrier bag and a few weeks later, sold the dress on eBay... for ten pounds, as she recalls.

9:53 pm  
Anonymous Dude said...


You will not be surprised to learn that today I am wearing black trousers and a white shirt with random black stripes!
Hopefully this will encourage the editor to look elsewhere for a colleague with whom to converse in photogenic fashion.


8:38 am  
Anonymous Dude said...

Excuse me Ma'am

If I may be so bold as to shatter Ms Goldfish's illusion, I should like it to be known that your Ladyships chauffeur and general factotum is most assuredly "grass roots" and of honest working-class stock. And none the worse for it IMHO.


8:43 am  
Anonymous SphinxQueen said...

I'm all agog to hear the punchline to this story. I _do_ hope Lady Bracknell is in hopes of an early post on this matter. In my extreme youth, I appeared on Opportunity Knocks! to sponsor my poor, deluded father. Stripes and monochrome were out, of course, so I ended up in far from fetching turquoise turtle neck sweater and a fringed suede skirt that was positively ginger. Well, it was the 70s. And I didn't strobe.

9:00 pm  
Blogger Wilf said...

Dear Lady Bracknell
What have you done to make you a hero to grass roots?? Maybe you are an eco-maniac like my mum; she likes to keep the grass long because the lawnmower is 'the enemy of the atmosphere' which is mad because the lawnmower is one of the greatest inventions in the world. I don't know much about clothes but if you want my advice, whatever you wear just make sure it's clean. Mum never complains until she can't tell what colour my t-shirt is.

9:56 pm  

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