Lately, my darlings, my little blurb has attracted a teensy bit of negative feedback. I’m assuming from peeps I have dished or offended in some way.

So with that in mind, here’s this week’s column.

Things got highly out of control at Ms Candee’s palatial home the other day. A few of her besties popped round for tea and scones and the gorgeous Lucy Loosebox had one too many cucumber sandwiches. Things ended in a right pickle, naughty! Ohh, ladies. Behave!

Some of the girls around town tried a shandy or two the other night and found themselves involved in a three-legged egg and spoon race down Commercial Rd. Oh, the scandal. My goodness. You girls are the limit! Never in my born days have I known such outrageousness.

The lovely Anita Beer was in quite the quandary the other night when she found she had forgotten her lipstick.

Heavens to Murgatroyd, what to do? Luckily a sissy had one she could borrow. My goody two shoes, I have no idea what I would have done in such a sticky spot. Thank goodness for our kindly lady friends.

The gorgeous Polly Filla got herself into hot water the other night at the beautifully appointed Commercial Hotel. While entertaining on the mic, Ms P let slip the worst of profanities. She uttered “damn” on the talking stick! My sainted aunt, how could you show your face again, madam? All in attendance would have been horrified.

Things got completely out of control the other night at the GH during the weekly poetry appreciation/ prayer meeting. Ms Millie Minogue found she had arrived without the required white gloves and bunch of violets. My lordy wordy, how to survive such social suicide? Luckily Laura Gravity had a pair and order was restored before Mother Superior arrived.

The goodly folk of Prahran were aghast the other day to find the usually demure Destiny Forbidden was wandering about without a gentleman escort and — horror of horrors — wearing a skirt above the knees and showing off her undergarments! Honestly, what is this world coming to?

I do hope I haven’t offended anyone this week with my opinions — or salacious gossip! Heavens to Betsy, I couldn’t bear it if I had.

Until next week… remember… camp can mean only one thing.

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