But not for LUNCH By Sandra Aragona

10/13/2020

BUT NOT FOR LUNCH By Sandra Aragona

Further exploits of an undiplomatic Beagle now in retirement with her owners and not even Trying to Behave. Whilst our former Ambassador endeavours to maintain his standards of sartorial elegance and diplomatic sensitivity, Madame revels in the liberty to refuse a luncheon invitation, ditch the high heels and head for the countryside. Beagle, of course, never really tried to behave in the first place, but released from the constraints of Embassy protocol, she indulges in her own vision of heaven, be it exercising young racehorses, chasing cats up trees or simply peeing on the roses.

Sandra Aragona’s latest book of priceless anecdotes covers topics such as the delights of Italian bureaucracy, of grandchildren and how to survive them, of travelling purely for pleasure and, of course, the latest outrageous activities of the now famous Beagle.

“Beagle and I had a serious talk the other day. Look, I said, I am prepared to take you horse riding with me on two conditions.

She rolled over in the approved “Save me, I’m only an innocent Beagle” position. One, I said sternly, you stay right away from the muck heap and two, you do not eat anything at all, neither alive nor dead nor pre-digested. Got it? Got it, she said, and made straight for the front door. Deaf as a post but understands every word you say.”

Travelling:

“You have to respect a camel. Anything which can look so damn supercilious and make you feel so damned inferior whilst looking down at you from the top end of an S-bend has to be admired for its sheer aplomb.”

Grandchildren:

“I suggested we might all go to the Zoo. Grandfather, (his former Excellency), set the tone by getting lost before we were even through the turnstile. He finally caught up with us after I had put out a lost child announcement and requested that he should make his way to the restaurant where his mummy would be waiting for him. He was not at all amused.”

House parties:

“Bathrooms were right at the end of a long and very draughty corridor and To Be Shared. Our particular group of spoiled rotten house guests had not considered this possibility when packing their monogrammed luggage, and not one of them had had the foresight to include a dressing gown or slippers. The scene in the early hours was worthy of an old Brian Rix farce. Guests wrapped in towels, bedsheets or raincoats stumbled desperately through pitch dark ghost-ridden corridors to seek relief in bathrooms already occupied by other guests reluctant to emerge and reveal their nocturnal sartorial inadequacies.”