By whom the bell tolls?

There is nothing in this whole, wide world quite so civilised or

quite so quintessentially British, with the exception perhaps

of Harvest Festival, than to participate in the glorious ritual of

Sunday morning deep in rural England.

It's even better if you're a house guest!
 

Long Dog HQ somewhere in the country.

 

 Let me walk you through it.  A quick boost of the lekkie blanket to

ensure the bed is still nice and warm for your return, barefoot,

from the bathroom.
 

Only a rare Lady Amherst's long-pheasant is good enough for our lawn.

 

 That brief glimpse of a cock pheasant on the lawn and a family

of distant deer grazing in the back field as you open the

curtains - unhurriedly - then back into your pit.

Let the day commence.
 

Where's the marmalade?  Whatever next.

 

 Moments pass in silence, then there's the sound of footsteps on

the landing, a knock at the door - the breakfast tray has arrived.

Porridge just right, toast, Oxford marmalade and a steaming

hot mug of Twining's finest Earl Grey tea.
 

Rodney often plays cameo roles as a chameleon because he blends in so well.

  

All this accompanied by my chum Rodney, the stunt double cat,

who seamlessly blends himself into the duvet taking up

half the bed in so doing.
 

Ah yes - I remember it well.

 

 There are jolly voices coming from the lane - an almost

obligatory group of horsey mum's and their noisy sprogs out

for an early hack before Morning Service.  All kitted out from

top to toe in the finest riding apparel Harrods has to offer.
 

We've got a new paper boy - he takes it very seriously.

  

The newspapers arrive - all three stone of them - accounting for

the loss of at least a small copse of trees at even the most

conservative of estimates.  They're heavy to manoeuvre but

light to read and a pleasant hour simply drifts by filled with

international news, fashion, celebrity gossip, sport and

gardening tips in abundance.

 

I like a woman who's not afraid to get down and dirty, don't you?

 

Have you completed your double digging yet Charlie dear?

Don't leave it too long or Easter will be upon us before you know it.

 And then the moment I've been waiting for all morning .......

just before 11am comes the sound of church bells drifting

across the meadow on the breeze.

The Parish Church of All Sins, Hadem-on-the-Hill if I'm not mistaken.

 

 I lay back and, being in England, try not to think of France

and what may, or may not, be happening in my absence.

All that can wait.  This is a moment to savour,

to puff out my chest with pride, to shed a small tear

when no one is looking .........
 

Hold tight, help is on the way!

 

 Why all this unaccustomed emotion - because there's a member of

Clan Long Dog dear reader high up in the belfry hanging on

for dear life to the rope of that very big bell which goes

"BONGGGGGGGGGGGG!"