Lord Bonkers' Diary: Too close to the wicker hare

When I had the idea of Freddie and Fiona buying a cottage in the village, I couldn't resist it even though I sensed things might not go well for them. But never did I dream it would end like this. 

Friday

To the village green for the lighting of the Beltane bonfire. As the kindling catches and dusk falls, I survey the crowd of excited villagers. Why are there so many elves amongst them? No one listened to me! The bonfire is too close to the wicker hare. Oh, the voices of the children! “Sumer is icumen in, loudly sing, Cuckoo! Groweth seed and bloweth mead, And springeth wood anew, Sing, Cuckoo! Sing, Cuckoo.” 

Who are these two on their phones amid the throng? “It’s a sort of rabbit thingy.” “It so quaint! Did you get my redraft of the media relea….” “Go back,” I yell to them. “Get away!” Who has seized the pair? Damn this smoke, I can’t see anything. Who are these imps running through it? “Sumer is icumen in. Sumer is icumen in.” What’s that screaming? “Sing, Cuckoo!” The terrible smoke and crackling of the flames. “Oh God! Oh Jesus Christ!” “If you celebrate him, obvs.”

I disappear into the Bonkers Arms for a gentleman’s measure of Auld Johnston. You need a stiffener after an experience like that.

Lord Bonkers was Liberal MP for Rutland South West, 1906-10.

Earlier this week...

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• In return for a chunky donation
• Drinking gin with Matron
• Bouncing through custard on a Spacehopper