As mentioned earlier, I am Angharad V. Setherwood, known as "Bunny". In between competing at archery and fencing competitions, I paint scenes of bohemian life. Artists and writers turn to me for a little stability in their lives; which is fortunate as I only have a little of that commodity - maintaining a large rambling house in the country (Setherwood Grange), and being a breeder of prize ferrets, is somewhat taxing. But I relax by swimming in the River Cam and researching the witchcraft traditions of rural Cambridgeshire. My greatest chums (apart from Blossom and Dauntless of course) are dear Rafe and Jessie.My esteemed colleagues on this august publication are Isobel G. Sissinghurst, otherwise known in her set as "Blossom", and Chalmers Z. Vanderbilt, my delightful American cousin.
Isobel acquired the moniker of "Blossom" from her interest in garden design. She can often be seen pottering about with her chum Gertrude J., discussing the finer points of lavender, lovage and whatnot. She rides a large penny-farthing to suffragist meetings, and lives in an artists' colony in rural Gloucestershire with her collection of Houdan hens. Her other interests include amateur operatics and dismantling clocks.
Chalmers is a gossip columnist of some distinction, but he has a shocking propensity for wearing quite dazzling tartan creations at odd hours of the day (hence his nickname, "Dauntless") - and with a green carnation; would you credit it? His collection of monocles is unrivalled, and he also plays a mean hand at euchre. He will recite Betjeman poems at house parties, especially if the hostess summons her guests to the piano. He is accompanied everywhere by Cuchulain, a large Irish wolfhound, and a young gentleman who rejoices in the name of Temerare K. Marchpane; both are devoted to him - the dears.
So, pull up a chaise longue, top up your glass with port, and settle in for an evening with the bluestockings.
Crimson V. Havercroft here. Lovely to meet you all. I say, Dauntless, you look rather Dashing. Now pass the Port.
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ReplyDeleteAngharad, darling, where ever did you find that photograph? I specifically instructed Temerare to destroy the negatives.
ReplyDeleteThe poor dear. He blinks like he understands. Much like Cuchulain.
Crimson! I confess to having a weakness for colors-as-first-names. In fact, I once spent a fascinating evening with a sporty young man from the outskirts of Manchester, who preferred to identify as "Cobalt Blue."
ReplyDeleteAlas, just as the sun rose, he remarked that Gail Trimble could do with a makeover, so I had him arrested for solicitation. Was that wicked of me?