#MayThe4th be with you, dears.

It’s the job of grandmothers to interfere.

Isobel: Servants are human beings, too. Me: Yes. But preferably only on their days off.

Susan McClare: Am I just expected to be a good loser? Me: It’s too late for that, my dear, far too late.

You know me. Never complain, never explain.

Isobel: I like the new fashions. Shorter skirts, looser cut. The old clothes were all very well if one spent the day on a chaise longue, but if one wants to get anything done, the new clothes are much better. Me: I’ll stick to the chaise longue.

Me: You weren’t the first drunk in that dining room, I can assure you. Branson: Only the first Republican. Me: Well, you’ve got me there.

Isobel: I think she’s splendid. Me: I think she’s cracked.

Busy day. Luncheon with Cora. Scowl at a commoner. Tea with Isobel. Criticise the help. Dinner at Robert's. Chastise Edith. Home. Bed.

Text from Cora: “It’s National Drink Wine Day, shall we get started early this evening?” Me:

Sybil: Granny, you don't really want things to go back to the way they were, surely? Me: Of course I do. And as quickly as possible.

Rest in peace, faithful servant.

Current mood.

Twitter is rapidly approaching the point beyond which even Lord Grantham could have run it better.

Paying for a little blue check at this point seems very middle class.

What is a parody?

Dear America, A reminder to stay on your best behaviour. One can always recolonise you. Regards, The United Kingdom

Text from Cora: “Are you popping by for Thanksgiving? Mrs Patmore’s making my favorite holiday dessert recipe from the underside of the Cool Whip lid.” Not replying.

Timeline cleanse

This isn't charades, this is the game. Life is a game in which the player must appear ridiculous.