Sometime I wish I could be invisible. Now, sometimes in this house I DO feel invisible, but that’s not what I mean. It’s just that Mother and Father, despite their good intentions, are rather protective and want me to do certain things at certain times, and I simply cannot wait until I am grown and can make my own decisions. I’m allowed to explore the grounds, but as large as they are, I have traversed them all, and I find the prospect of being observed by security cameras dull and limiting.
Oh, just imagine the trouble I could get up to if I were invisible! I have a school chum who got in on a scholarship, and she tells all the most wonderful stories. For example, her father recently took the car into their local Ringwood mechanic for brake repair and replacement. I know OF Ringwood, but it’s not the type of place Mother and Father would allow me to visit. And even if we did go there for a ball, or a gala, or a grand opening, they wouldn’t let me near places that do car servicing. Imagine if I were invisible, so I could sneak out and find a mechanic, then go into the workshop and see exactly what they do to get by. And also, I would be a fly-on-the-wall for what mechanics talk about while they work! I have very little idea what that might be, but research has led me to indicate that it might be about parking spaces, water coolers and who ate the sandwich in the fridge that did not belong to them. That seems to be what a lot of people have talked about on the very rare occasions I’ve been into work with Father. Surely if there are car mechanics available in Ringwood, they talk about more or less the same types of things? I wouldn’t know. I will possibly never know. Father always flies in his personal mechanics from the Netherlands to service our cars, so we don’t even have the ‘mechanic-visiting’ experience.
Cecelia seems to terribly sad to see Miguel go. He was her favourite footman, after all, and she seems to think there’s going to be an unfillable gap in the household now that Miguel is going back to Guatemala to help with the flooding of his home village.
I keep saying that we need to hire more local help, if only because you avoid this sort of thing. Just last month we lost Jetta because she had to return to Albajeria for a ceremony involving her son being accepted into a monastery, and she hasn’t returned because the celebrations continue for 46 days. Jetta is the only kitchen servant we’ve ever had who’s ever managed to properly prepare my Consommé Turducken, so imagine how I felt!
I should do something to help raise Cecelia’s spirits. I have been meaning to contact some Melbourne professionals in timber window replacement to do something about that eyesore we have in the autumn bedroom. Quite what possessed us to sample aluminium window frames is quite beyond me, and Cecelia is always talking about how it doesn’t mesh with the Ukrainian silk she chose for the drapes. We may only employ that bedroom for part of the year, but that’s no excuse to let such a thing stand. Timber windows it is, and I’ll be sure to keep it a surprise so that she has no knowledge of it until it’s finished.
I have noticed from my business trips that timber windows are rather in right now. Why stop with the autumn bedroom? I’ll send Cecelia away on a day trip with one of her tea-and-scone chums, and when she comes back, Whitehall will be entirely timber window fitted. I’m thinking one company won’t be enough, however; we’re going to need every single well-rated timber window fitter available in Melbourne, for the greatest act of window frame fitting ever seen in this fair city.
And then perhaps I’ll feel better for having been robbed of the chance to taste a perfect turducken.
-Percival Clancey V