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Seven rib-rattling yarns chronicling Pendlecur (aka Hangdog) Hall’s first year as a B&B-cum-corporate entertaining facility, from the arrival of Tom’s slippery land agent to Pendlecur Cricket Club’s first ever traditional Boxing Day Players v Patrons Limited-Overs fixture.
Among others, the cast includes the ghost of the 2nd Baronet Sir Tufton and the dog Bogroll.
Think P G Wodehouse  respectfully pepped and prepped with the medium dose of Viagra rather than Mulliner’s Buck-U-Uppo.
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And now, as they say, for something a little different. There can never be enough funny stories in the world, particularly rib-ticklers that sneak under the reader’s guard to inflict more undetected damage on prejudice than a dozen solemn denunciations. Think poor old Admiral Byng being shot on his quarterdeck "pour encourager les autres." Think Sir Roderick Spode’s little storm-troopers in black shorts throwing up their arms to shout "Heil Spode!"  - in 1938.
P G Wodehouse’s “idyllic world” (Evelyn Waugh) has always lifted spirits at the very least, so having moved to North Yorkshire where ancestral piles like Blandings Castle and Totleigh Towers are piled almost on top of each other, I wanted to try my hand.
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