dulwichmum

I definitely think we need a ducking stool. Mr Mikewbate looks to me like a good candidate for it - if he can bear to sit on a stool after Mr Batdog is finished with his bottom...

Marches into quiet room - points out the window at Mr Mikewbate ... Mr Batdog springs into action once more impaling Mr Mikewbates bottom on his long pointy fangs. Summons Ana, and disappears out the door to chastise au pair. Waits outside in Audi Q7 for special dog...

Mr Mikewbate, control yourself... First Martha Stewart, and now Mr Batdog - to the ducking stool with you!

Dear Chartwell, thank you for pointing that out, I have now addressed my above post appropriately.

Dear Hillcourtcouple, Perhaps you should take your fox trap and return to North London, poor disillusioned darlings...

Dear Hillcourtcouple, That really is the most dreadful story. I am sorry to say this (but you sound so very proud of yourselves about this), it really is quite shameful. I come out with some hurtful trash on this forum - but I am sure most people by now understand my sense of humour. I do believe you are serious. Please tell me you are joking?

Stands up and stretches politely. Gathers up Blackberry and purse, pops sunglasses into case and snaps closed. Gazes at Mark who so effortlessly and energetically entered the room earlier. Picks up Mr Batdog and kisses him on the nose before tucking him safely into handbag. Turns to leave... Trips over enormous pile of pornography next to Mr Mikewbates chair and almost gets carpet burn on nose. Observes in pain while Mr Batdog leaps onto Mr Mikewbate and savages his bottom with sharp pointy teeth. Giggles into hand in nervous horror as legal papers fly in all directions. Pats of dust marks from white jeans, picks up bag, flashes apologetic look to Mr Keef, Mr Huguenot and Mr CrystalClear for disturbing their peace. Collects pet - leaves...

Dear Hillcourtcouple, That sounds barbaric! How could you?

My Darling Mr Batdog!

But no darling man, I am not British because I was born in a foreign land!

Dear Mr CrystalClear, He has tired of us, and does not love us any more!

Dear Mr CrystalClear, I shall send Ana around immediately to do your manual tasks. You poor boy, clearly you need looking after. I thought you had a new lady friend. Is she not looking after you properly darling?

Dear Mr Mikewbate, Thank you for your kind encouraging support. However, my mother informs me regularly that I am not British - although I may as well be since I married a Protestant!

Ha, ha, ha. No, I am undeniable 'drawn' to Mr Batdog, and concerned for his whereabouts in a friendly way.

Ah well, it was a nice dream when it lasted. I am keen to find out all about this character now. Does this mean that Mr Keef has plans afoot for me? Thanks for warning me Mr Ant.

Takes a deep breath of clean sun shiney air. Reaches into bag and takes out box containing large white rimmed Stella McCartney sunglasses. Summons serf to bring glass of fresh orange juice...

Dear Mr Keef, thank you so much for explaining that to me, I am rather "a silly", as the children would say! So I am your wife now, am I my darling?

Dear Mr Mikewbate - you sound like my mother! I am a broken woman, Mr Batdog doesn't care for me anymore. He is the milk in my latte, the cream in my cake, the dog in my bag... He cares for me not (sob)!

I most certainly am not a human trafficer as per your accusation. I would keep Ana forever if it was not for her damn Visa. However, if you get yourself a donkey I shall hand her over to you on the 31st September in exchange perhaps for a new designer handbag and a large gift voucher from Lesley Lille Green in the Village (shall we say worth approx ?500?)

Fair point well made Mr Bald Marauder. I cannot even think of poor Martha and my fav wedding magazine now without laughing out loud.

Because dear heart, Mrs M is not telling you the truth! Mothers do this type of thing in order to ensure that fathers feel inadequate - or is that just me? Ho hum!

The sound of scampering can also be heard in a neighbours house, as they run for the telephone and summon the police! You would need a license to distribute that "noxious" substances from the Dulwich Estates if you lived on the right roads around here I can assure you! Even if it is organically produced. Mr Bald Marauder, you really are quite a scamp!

Dear Mr Batdog, I am a broken woman, you don't love? You just enjoy food from who-ever fills your bowl! You are just another man afterall!

I warn you Mr Mikewbate, there are few crimes considered to be quite as henious as the poaching of good 'help' in SE21. Do not even consider the purchase of your donkey until the beginning of October, when Ana was scheduled to leave us anyhow. Dulwichmums are very protective of their 'help', I will have my eye on you until then.

Who is Papa Lazarou? Clearly you mistake me for a lady of intelligence... I am completely lost now!