Shakespeare’s birthday

I have to confess to – and apologise for – becoming invariably unbalanced whenever forced to contemplate the modern age, or society, or youth, or so-called popular culture. However, a quiet morning spent dipping in and out of Shakespeare’s later works restored my calm and equilibrium until I was quite looking forward to Elevenses.

‘Talking of Shakespeare’, I resumed, checking my pocket watch and noting there were still two minutes to pass before Mrs Spelling’s arrival with tea and buns.

‘Were we?’ enquired Mr Bennett.

‘Indeed, some hours ago we were. However, we have been remiss not to note that today is the Bard’s birthday’.

‘And St George’s day to boot’, added my esteemed colleague, swirling his brush in water.

‘Quite so. I fancy some celebration is in order’, I posited. As if on cue, the Scriptorium door opened to admit Mrs Spelling bearing a steaming pot of tea, which she had dressed in a red and white tea-cosy, and a heap of buns lovingly iced with the patron saint’s emblem.

‘Thank you, Mrs Spelling!’ I exclaimed. ‘You are indeed blessed with the powers of telepathy!’

‘I don’t know about that, sir. The tea and tea-cosy was on special at Lidl, and these buns were BOGOF at Aldi’.

‘Ah, Mrs Spelling, as self-deprecating as ever!’

‘I wouldn’t say that, sir…’ the good lady muttered as she retreated from the Scriptorium, the echoing bookstacks absorbing the remainder of her sentence – although I did catch the words ‘pittance’ and ‘housekeeping’ and ‘modern day slavery’.

‘Well then, Mr Bennett, let us toast with tea and buns, courtesy of cut-price German supermarket chains, the swashbuckling knight who is our patron saint, and the great Bard Shakespeare!’

‘Great’, said my artistic confederate, alighting from his drawing stool. ‘I’m parched’.