Satirical Snapshots Bringing you Whimsy On A Wednesday!
I’ve been told for years that I’m “special” but now I’ve got proof.
After spitting into a test tube and sending it off to ancestry.com the results were astounding.
I am 94% homegrown.
If you got 94% in anything else it would be considered A*
Top of the class. Top drawer.
Ace.
I should be queen.
Thorough ‘born and’ bred
My mother was convinced that there would be some Viking element in my DNA as it’s in the family tree, but no.
No Viking scallywag in me.
No Roman conquerors either.
The only possible dilution is some Norman aristocracy. I like to call that French class.
But on the whole, as you can see, I’m the epitome of English Rose-ness.
Individually Wrapped
Not only that, but I have no DNA matches. I’m a one-off.
I told my mother that she has produced a miracle child and have started calling her Mary.
She laughed. That’s typical behaviour from a mongrel Viking. I merely shrugged my shoulders, sipped on my Saint Émilion and hummed Rule Britannia.
This also explains why I can never take to iced tea. It’s just not British.
Now, please excuse me whilst I execute my own Game of Thrones and see to it that I am recognised as the true ruler of my land.
Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!
Oh yes. There is bison in the Vale of Belvoir.
Buffalo? Bison? what’s the difference? As far as I can tell, those with bearded wisdom live here.
Welcome to ‘The Bouverie’. This is French for cowshed. Bouverie sounds better than cowshed just like Belvoir sounds better than beautiful view. There’s a lot of pomposity in areas voted up by The Sunday Times.
I didn’t know if Ruth was the chief bison or the owner, so I put my Vale of Behaviour in place and entered the classy cowshed.
Deal of the day for under a tenner! And with a proper fire going. You can’t knock that for an A -list area. They could have doubled that since being in Blighty’s best tabloid. Total respect.
Still maintaining rustic charm, the porcelain was outside in a decorated shipping container. With a piano. As my mother sat on the throne tinkling, I tinkled “God Save The Queen” on the old ivories. There aren’t many places you can do that. But you can in the Vale of Belvoir.
What do you need on your bison burger? Cheese. A few miles down the road and there we were at the 
And to go with the famous pork pie from Melton Mowbray, in the very heart of the Vale of Belvoir.
And, if you want to live in the Vale of Belvoir, where bison run free and there’s cheese aplenty, you can reside in this rather lovely Georgian house. Don’t mind if I do.
Where on the roadside, outside another rather spectacular house, stood a little trolley full of homegrown plants. Each with a colorfully printed out description sheet.
