The missing spectacles

I arose at 6.30am to find the day blustery and wet. I had struggled to sleep much during the night. Not only did my hand continue to ache (some call me a hypochondriac, but that is ridiculous!) but I had also mislaid my reading glasses, and was worried about not finding them. I found it rather difficult to read in bed as I normally do to wind down after a day's work. There is nothing more annoying than curling up with a good book (in this case, a book about the cricket commentator Brian Johnstone) only to find that the print is unreadable. Like a small child I could only look at the pictures! The mystery of the missing spectacles was solved this morning when during the serving of breakfast I noticed them on a side table. I discreetly retrieved them with the dexterous slight of hand that would have made a street conjuror proud.

The family left for London at 8.45am for an engagement. They are not due to return until Friday evening. A cousin is celebrating a 21st birthday and the planned festivities are set to be lavish and rather splendid. It is at times like this that I sometimes, for a fraction of a second, envy my Master's valet, Mr Copeland, who accompanies him on these trips; but then I gaze out of a window onto the magnificent formal gardens (Mr Barton does a good job for all of his indifference to cricket), or maybe I wander around the state rooms, or maybe even just settle back in my comfy chair in the Pantry, and I realise that for all the delights elsewhere, it is here that I feel most comfortable and happy. When I am away from this House, for even a few days, I find myself worrying about a million and one things that might have gone wrong in my absence.

It is only 8.15pm as I type this, and all, rather unusually, is quiet in the House. I am in my flat at the top of the building, and perhaps I will now have the opportunity to tell you a little more about this place, to set the scene, as it were.