Spindle Rings…

Gather round my darlings as I have a tale of great personal, bell based peril to tell! 

When I moved into Spindle Towers, I was assured that quiet village life would be a relaxing experience. An existence in which I could kick off the old tattered sling backs and relax into my life as a hound of leisure. I have to admit to you that most of the time it is a peaceful, pedestrian lifestyle which suits me perfectly well.

Well, let me tell you that this bucolic idyll was shattered on this evening’s perambulations. It had been a tiring day, having exerted myself by sleeping in a variety of beds and impromptu Spindle nests. I had also made a nuisance of myself during dinner, so much so that I was rewarded/placated with a wafer thin steak slither at dinner. The steak distribution caused a slight fracas as Muvver and Hector both seemed reluctant to donate any of their succulent cow. Eventually, after several deals to the devil were made between the pair of them, I was allowed some from Muvvers plate. I have no idea what Hector had to do in recompense for this but she seemed delighted, whereas he just looked nervous and most ill at ease. 

It was because of this unexpected meat fest that my belly declared a walk was needed to provide the required oscillation to aid it on its natural pathway bottywards. 

So there I was, tootling about in my lace bonnet and evening pinafore, quite happily digesting away and contemplating what I might have for supper. The evening sun shone on my whiskers and I elegantly twirled my parasol about myself in a jaunty manner.

I was sashaying past the rather pretty village church when suddenly, and rather ferociously, there sounded an unearthly clanging which shattered the evenings peace. The shock to me was extreme, compounded by the unusual sight of two bats which were blown backwards by church bell backdraft. My pinafore inflated to its full volume and I skittered sideways. I hasten to add dear pals that this was also due to the bell backdraft and not the steak. 

Utilising my parasol as a wind break I settled my nerves and rested my trembling paws on a low brick and flint wall. It took a goodly few minutes to quieten my racing heart. Alarmingly the cacophany once again began to reverberate around the church grounds, and quite honestly pals, I legged it. It was mid scuttle that I realised and identified that Monday evening was bell ringing night and it was not a plague ringing call to bring out your dead. I must admit to still feeling a little digestional disquiet as I made my way back to Spindle Towers. 

I galloped into the kitchen to unexpected silence. This was annoying as I was all fired up and wanted to make my complaints known in a loud and vociferous manner to my staff. Perhaps this had something to do with the deal that was brokered over dinner…

Instead I poured myself a rather generous Dubonnet and bitter lemon, and began to wonder if perhaps I might be naturally talented in the way of bell ringing…I mean I am excellent at air hockey and my extreme crocheting has been featured in the weekend Guardian twice! 

Really the problem for me had been the noise which had fair rattled my poor ear flaps, and this was a problem that could be remedied by the swift donning of Hectors industrial ear muffs. 

After a quick phonemail to the church warden, I found myself booked into a taster session the following Monday. Feeling it would be prudent, I spent the rest of the week limbering up my lithesome limbs and performing extreme calisthenics whilst I watched the last episode of Taskmaster on the video machine.

I was determined that my performance would be steadfast, dignified and one of unexpected excellence. Hector was unnecessarily amused at the prospect of me bell ringing and kept showing me video clips of people pinging upwards towards the eaves as they misjudged the forces exerted on the ropes. To counter this Muvver and I spent an afternoon sewing weights into the hem of my tweed crinoline. 

Very soon, Monday evening was upon us again and after a light supper, I climbed into my outfit and was helped over to the church. The weights in my skirt were perfect in every way aside from when I had to move of my own accord, which I could not do. So there we were, Hector and Muvver either side of me, me balanced on a reinforced skateboard, being dragged churchwards.

I must say dear pals that I have high hopes of this endeavour and I shall report the results next time I pen you a missive!

Until then, do take care!

3 thoughts on “Spindle Rings…

  1. David, handler of Evie and Swagger

    Good luck with the Campinology. This could lead to far better things for you. You could go to Oxford University and joining the ‘Society of Change Ringers’.
    Who knows where that could lead. Perhaps a world tour as a performing campanologist. Although you would have to decide between world wide recognition and touring, or staying on at Spindle Towers.


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