Blanche Hunt Put Downs

Eulogy for one

Just because we live in a glorious, sunny mountain retreat in the SE of France, in the Hautes Alpes, doesn’t mean we’ve abandoned all that makes blighty great: Branston, chedder, right hand drive and of course the culture epitomised by Coronation Street, a true insight into some of the finest minds writing in this England today.

In true concert with our kin on that sceptered isle we sat down to watch the valediction of a true great Blanche Hunt, a lady known to sink a few gin and tonics. In honour of this fact we thought it a fitting send off to drown our sorrows with the very best London Dry Gin money can buy at Aldi all the way from Ukraine.

There were tears in our eyes all right as Blanche Hunt was ushered off this mortal coil. Oddly she’d kicked the bucket in December last year and was only now being interred for slumber eternal. Oddly enough #2 the etymology of “kicked the bucket” is sometimes given as a translation of the French for what a pig does in death throes when it’s strung up and slaughtered – and they speak French in Serre Chevalier, talk about six degrees of Bacon to get back to the valley.