BY STEPHEN PAX LEONARD “She looks well-balanced, racing on her left lead”, says Alfie as he passes Reggie the binoculars. Alfie’s Labradors look approvingly as the fillies enter the final furlong at Fakenham. “Come on girl”, roars Alfie as Smells-like-Treason pushes ahead of Show-me-your-Virginity. There are just five runners today, and Reggie could not resist bit of a flutter: placing 20 pounds on Smells-like-Treason at … Continue reading No Joy at Fakenham
BY STEPHEN PAX LEONARD “Mrs Daddywood”, called Reggie. “What is for supper?” “Oysters, Mr Reggie”, replied Mrs Daddywood. “Oysters! How splendid. Ostend or Whitstable?” Mrs Daddywood examines the packet trying to muddle together a response. “It says sum’thing ‘bout Belgium, luv”. “Oh, there you have it. Ostend. Crikey. They had a rough time of it during the war”, mumbled Reggie to himself. “Now, Mrs Daddywood. … Continue reading Reggie Reads Sartre
BY STEPHEN PAX LEONARD Reggie stabbed at the bell. “Mrs Daddywood!” “Morning, Mr Reggie. There is a letter here for you, pet. I’ll be there in one sec.” “Oh rather, let’s be having it,” said Reggie as he concealed the Hendrick’s and cucumber behind the Edwardian ‘plum pudding’ mahogany centre table. Reggie was still a tad squiffy after last night’s escapade at the Ath., but … Continue reading Reggie goes to Encaenia
BY STEPHEN PAX LEONARD Chewing the cud about something or other, Reggie peered out of the sash window, arousing the curiosity of the last of the ewes. He was breakfasting late. The Biedermeier wall clock reminded him of as much. Reggie was feeling idle, and had no intention of dispensing with the dressing gown just yet. The art of life was to be fancy-free after … Continue reading What?! Civil War?
BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN He is seventy-seven, and he has never missed a Sunday. Let that land. He locks the church at 5:45, unlocks it at 6:00, and in the fifteen minutes between, fifteen minutes of silence, of solitude, of the only intimacy he has ever truly wanted, he polishes the brass as though God keeps score in microns. His name is Geoffrey Thistlethwaite, which he … Continue reading The Sacristan
BY STEPHEN PAX LEONARD Reggie’s uncle, the Earl of Bitchfield, had become a backwoodsman. His days were numbered. The last of the remaining hereditary peers were on the chopping block. Centuries of skilful statecraft, high intrigue, prudence and inter-generational wisdom had been replaced by the get-rich-quick, affluent tom-toms and a motley crew of DEI merchants. Oh, the joys of ‘inclusion’. The doors had been opened … Continue reading Changing of the Guard
BY STEPHEN PAX LEONARD Reggie pranced around the sitting room in old Uncle Teddy’s peignoir. ‘Now, where is that dash rifle of mine?’, he muttered angrily. ‘Enough of this absurd woke nanny-state nonsense trying to consign our innocent school-boy japes to history’, he huffed. The front door clunk shut. It was the housekeeper. ‘Good morning, Mr Reggie’, offered Mrs Daddywood cheerily. She opened the door … Continue reading What Next for the Woke Nanny State?
