The last Duke of Rutland’s Mother in law fell down a lift shaft, suffering a head injury which left her ‘sexually voracious’. Her divorce featured a photograph of the naked Duchess, bar a three string pearl necklace, fellating a naked man widely believed to be the then Minister of Defence, along with a ‘list’ of 88 other men she was believed to have consorted with. Belvoir Castle, the ancestral home, hasn’t been the same since.
The present Duke (the 11th) hasn’t escaped scandal, lists or photographs, finding himself and his home implicated in the trials and tribulations of Harvey Proctor, the MP who has been caught up in Operation Midland, the police trawl to find witnesses who can corroborate a story of sexual scandal, lists and photographs, of modern times. Proctor was the Duke’s private secretary and as such occupied a most desirable home on the Belvoir estate. However, after the police had raided his home, searching for evidence that he might once have attended a party where, it was alleged, Edward Heath had to dissuade him from performing a castration with a pen knife, Proctor says his position at Belvoir Castle became ‘untenable’ and he gave up his home and employment .
Now the aristocracy that inhabit Belvoir Castle are not the sort of people to have an attack of the vapours over a little scandal, so I wondered if there was something more that meant Harvey’s position crossed a line somewhere. Perhaps he had hit the bottle?
Nope, the Head Game Keeper was found to enjoy the odd afternoon tipple with the present Duchess of Rutland, and he seems to have kept his job if not his licence. Perhaps it was the hint of sexual shenanigans?
Scarcely, the 11th Duke of rutland lives in the ‘Shepherd’s Tower’ part of the massive mansion, cavorting with a lady who previously lived on the estate, whilst the Duchess of Rutland lives in the Nursery wing with Phill Burtt, the estate manager…the ‘Midland Farmer’ describing him as a ‘hands-on manager‘. Quite. But then again, ‘Field Sports’ describes him as ‘fond of all game birds‘, and ‘Shotgun Life’, meeting him in the US travelling ‘with his boss – ‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Rutland’ got totally carried away and called him a ‘Grouse God‘. She looks happy enough on it though, and game.
Could it have been Harvey’s politics? Well, he was famously anti- immigration, and anti-EU, and the 11th Duke of Rutland, his boss, is a well known UKIP supporter, so that is unlikely to have caused friction.
The only thing I can think of is that claim that ‘Ted Heath stopped him castrating with a penknife’. Good table manners matter to the aristocracy; for the personal secretary to a distinguished Duke to have to be told by a carpenter’s son not to use a pen knife when everybody knows the proper tool for the job is a Newberry castrator is unforgivable. Almost as bad as taking a knife to the Stilton.
You must suffer for your art. For a trend involving spending more time combing your beard than your hair, stubble trouble is unwelcome. Enter a specialist to set you on your way as purveyor of expensive breakfast cereals, community leader for ‘a peace loving and tolerant community’, or target practice for middle class trustafarians priced out the last decent Georgian houses within walking distance of the Ministry of Sound.
Dr Reddy will spend hours prising hair follicles from the back of your head, one by painful one, and persuading them to lie in the right direction underneath your nose. £2.50 a follicle. In years to come, when old age meets the end of the Hipster trend, you can have them prised out of your dimple and put on top of your head, so that they meet the sparse patch left on the back of your head. I mean who wants to go and have the rest of his hair ripped out of ‘crack and sack’ sporting a bald patch to the left of his twirly moustache?
Dr Bessom Farjo, who hails from Brazil, home of the hairless vulva, performed the world’s first full beard transplant in 1996 – though I cannot find any information on the donor. Had he grown tired of his beard; was he technically ‘beard-dead’ when his pride and joy was donated by a tearful relative? I know not, but given the Brazilian capital’s reputation for scalping vulvas I trust this wasn’t an early example of Hipster recycling…
Who knew? Who wanted to know? ————————————
Anarchists and punks have blazed this trail for years, but now every aspiring model is consulting her fashion oracle and sports a version of ‘My Little Pony’s tail’.
Next week the Heir Apparent’s hair will be as green as his ecological credentials. Perhaps the bald patch will be sporting Kate’s Brazilian cast offs…