January 2023

Lady P - January 2023

Greetings and salutations my ravishing readers!

I am honoured and thrilled to be the travel correspondent for the global phenomenon that is emmaheaven.com. My name is Lady Perdita Fitzwilliam Tudor-Croft, Perdy to friends, Ditsy D to family and Dirty Dita to my unsavoury exes, but you can all call me Lady P.

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My darling darlings - happy new year to you, one and all!

One is ready to start this year with a bang, more so after one’s spectacular overly-optimistic, tentative foray into the world of celebrity calendars last month was unfortunately shot down in flames.

According to the marketing experts Daddy insisted on hiring before I made ANOTHER costly balls up, necessitating yet ANOTHER bailout, we reluctantly concluded - or rather, ‘little ol’ moi’ concluded - that it was waaaay too late to capitalise on the calendar-buying market.

Apparently NOBODY buys a calendar in March/April, and there was no way we could possibly photograph, edit, print and distribute one in the space of 48 hours. So that little project has been put on the back-burner for now; but fear not my darlings, Dita will be ready to be hung on and draped across your walls in 2024!!

Lorks! I wonder what other ingenious and imaginative poses one will come up with in the intervening months?! Especially if those darling gals at Team Heaven HQ act on my countless, not-so-subtle hints about being sent to a yoga retreat…

So now that that particular money-spinning idea isn’t going to manifest anytime soon, one needed to come up with another plan.

Daddy did suggest I pawn my engagement ring collection, seeing as they were not going to be yielding a wedding or lucrative pairing in the foreseeable, however, when I took those glistening baubles out of their pouches, tears sprung to my eyes, with memories of past lost loves deluging me, thus rendering me powerless to give up my precious evocative treasures!

Not surprisingly, one was feeling more than a tad melancholy after this meander down memory lane of one’s suitors and paramours. I needed cheering up pronto, especially as Christmas day and the unwrapping of gifts had flown by. One was in need of a fun fix.

Not even an invite to the pantomime could rouse my jaded spirits. Although to be entirely candid for a moment, I’ve never really felt quite the same way about pantomimes, well not since I performed in our university amateur dramatics society’s adult X-rated ‘panto crossover’ of Aladdin and Cinderella; or as they billed it - A Lad In Sin De’rella...

Let’s just say, what with Baron Hardup and Widow Twankey - and I’m FAR too much of a lady to spill what their ‘adult panto’ names were; and with the unrelenting cries of “he’s behind you”, I really don’t think I’d be in any fit state to boo and hiss with the best of them to let off some steam. And heaven forbid, don’t even dream of asking what this gal had to rub to make the genie come out of its hiding place…

Anyway, I digress. And then some…

Now normally one would take to Bond Street and relieve Daddy of some serious cash via the many credit cards he has so generously bestowed upon me, but, in light of recent shopping bans, epic screaming matches etc, throughout 2022, suffice to say one really couldn't be bothered to wind him up - again - and unleash the bloody brutal beast within.

For once I would show some self-control, by curtailing my spending habits to keep the peace on the homefront. But what is a fed up gal to do, and how could I inject some much needed excitement into my life?

Thankfully one’s cogs hadn’t entirely rusted up, so to speak…And one quickly deduced that a party was the answer to my melancholic quandary. And not just any old party…a full-blown, so to speak, Dita-extravaganza to celebrate New Year.

One’s heartbeat quickened, my face became flushed, yet my body was simultaneously host to deliciously shivery goosebumps - Schrodinger’s socialite, if you will! I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. It was time for me to get my party groove on! Cue Maria. Step forward my devoted, creative maid - we were to hatch a plan to host the party of the year!

Miraculously, I got Mummy and Daddy (reluctantly) on board to leave me ‘home alone’ by informing them that one was hosting an eclectic little shindig to see in the new year - with particular emphasis on the word ‘little’ - with one’s gal pals.

I thought it wise not to mention I’d also be inviting some of the rugby chaps who have just got planning permission to set up an axe-throwing range at the local shooting club…

The sweetener was telling Ma & Pad that our landowning cousin Hamish and his life partner, Angus, needed someone - aka Mummy and Daddy - to ‘babysit’ their rambling Scottish estate over Hogmanay. Last year the ghillies had got a wee bit carried away’ during their absence, and Daddy was just the chap to keep everyone in check, whilst Hamish and Angus took a break in the Highlands, for some ‘wild haggis hunting’.

Tho the absolute clincher was Hamish allowing Daddy the keys to his valuable, extensive, private Scotch collection…I’ve never seen Daddy move so fast. Well actually I have, but that’s a different story, for a different day; so on this occasion, I shall spare you the details, and spare Daddy’s blushes!

Oh dear. I seem to have digressed a smidge, again…

Anyhow, I thought I’d managed to convince them of my modest party plans, until they clapped eyes on the party planners and caterers, who were arriving in convoy to transform the ballroom into a grotto, to be festooned with seasonal foliage and fairy lights! There were strict instructions to leave plenty of dark corners for doing any ‘dark deeds’! Somebody has been watching Love Actually recently!

Alas, it was too late for Mummy and Daddy to bring a halt to proceedings, and they were having to dash off to hitch a ride with one of their pilot chums, who was heading to Scotland, and had kindly offered them a lift.

Meanwhile, I was on a mission to spare no expense for this festive fiesta, and maximise the opportunity to make some positive changes in my personal and professional life…

At this juncture, I would like for it to be placed on the record, that contrary to appearances - and Daddy’s incessant outbursts - I am not an entirely reckless or useless creature. Furthermore, my hostessing skills are universally acknowledged, are highly sought after, and one has a little black book to die for darlings!.

In a concerted effort to become more ‘self-sufficient’, and my quest to be more supportive of our family’s declining finances, I’m hoping to branch out into some eclectic ‘party-planning’, using our family estate as a venue.

Therefore, I don’t want to blot my copy book, nor the parents’ prized Chippendales*...

*FYI, that’s Chippendale as in the furniture-maker my darlings, not the scantily clad male artistes!

…so if this ‘party to end all parties’ were to be a success - with lucrative future spinoffs - I was going to have to draw up some preliminary ground rules for my eclectic guestlist.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Chez Dita’s House Rules

  • No phones or filming equipment allowed, whatsoever. Safes will be provided to securely store devices, which will be returned after the evening’s festivities and frolics
  • Non disclosure agreement #NDA forms mandatory. No sign - no entry! Those superinjunctions and lawsuits can get so bloody expensive! Take it from one who knows…
  • Use of pre-approved oils, potions and lotions ONLY. The state of Daddy’s well-worn Chesterfield wingback - not a euphemism - is a prime example of what can go wrong, and I’ve never heard the end of it…
  • Mi casa, su casa - however, what happens at chez Dita - stays at chez Dita. Unlike a certain person’s partying in Vegas, but with FAR more discretion…
  • ALL personal spillages must be wiped up. Anti-bac, paper towels etc are discreetly placed throughout the venue. For your comfort, ease and hygiene, designated zones are ‘wipe-clean’. My darling maid Maria shall be in attendance throughout, but in an entirely different capacity. Don’t dare ask her to do your dirty work, unless you want a sound thrashing!

**NO EXCEPTIONS** Any breaches will result in the person(s) being declared ‘excommunicado’, with all privileges revoked for breaking these sacred rules. AND, furthermore, John Wick will not be able to help you restore your status. Plus, he’s way too busy filming the latest instalment. Sigh…such a shame - I do believe Keanu and I have so much in common. Perhaps another time. A gal can still dream, non?!


• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •


One is delighted to report that, despite this last minute, hastily-convened, end-of-year gathering, the RSVPs and guest list were pretty impressive. I guess even the ski-set are having to rein in their spends and aren’t holidaying this winter, tho many are ‘saving face’ by loudly proclaiming a “lack of snow” in the Alps!

And then there is the other end of the jetset spectrum, who say they’re “doing their bit to save the planet and reduce their carbon footprint” by not jetting off to the warmer climes of long-haul destinations. Hmmmm…

You know what? Whatever the many and varied reasons for the high turnout, I was delighted, not least because, by my guests’ very nature, they’re adventurous, inquisitive, broad-minded souls, and this party would certainly quench even the naughtiest nomad’s wanderlust, so to speak…

One also had the good manners and presence of mind to invite those darling gals from EH HQ. Without exception, they were all able to attend, as they were visiting their respective families nearby in the Home Counties, eagerly welcoming the respite of a decadent invite, allowing them some time away from their nearest and dearest, and a fantastic ‘cure’ for festive cabin fever!

I do hope this pays off in so many, many ways, as one could not only wine and dine those darling gals to make a good impression, but one would hopefully secure the most fabulous assignments in the months ahead.

I do think that I might have finally found my vocation, and maybe I’m a natural-born entrepreneur! After all, one needs to ‘speculate to accumulate’ if one is to gain any kind of return on one’s ‘investments’! Crikey. Listen to me. Do you think Daddy’s ‘pep talks’ have (finally) started to sink in?!?

Oh gosh. More digressions, and going ‘off-piste’. Personally, I blame the excellent vintage Port I’m (helpfully) finishing off, accompanied by the last of the blue-veined cheeses…

Now, where were we? Ah yes. Obviously for legal reasons, and what with Chez Dita’s House Rules being followed to the letter, one cannot divulge anything, other than to say the evening was a complete and utter triumph, with total OTT decadence! My guests are already asking when the next ‘bash’ will be!

Meanwhile, Daddy is still more than a little miffed at the cost - I told him that I would ‘spare no expense’ on this potentially lucrative venture - however, even he groggily raised a glass of Scotch from afar to this enterprising daughter, grudgingly conceding that I just might be onto something!

Oh, and whilst I remember, as this isn’t covered by the NDAs, so it won’t be breaching anyone’s privacy, I can EXCLUSIVELY reveal a teeny tiny nugget of ‘news’ from that party, and that is to confirm that there wasn’t a frostbitten todger to be seen for miles around. At least not on this occasion…

In closing. The party’s over, the hangover has been tamed and brought to heel, it’s now time for one to reflect on the past year and to put in place a list of resolutions - or, as I prefer to call them, ‘intentions’ - for the year ahead. More of those next month, where I shall update you on my progress. Keep everything tightly crossed for me. Yes. Yep, even you there. Sat at the back. Especially you…

Oh dear, this wannabe-party planner/hostess-extraordinare really is getting rather forgetful. What can I say? In my defence, it’s getting late, and my batteries need recharging!

I’ve just remembered that I didn’t tell you the ‘theme’ for my New Year’s ‘bash’.

Let’s just say that there was plenty of bitter ‘on tap’ for the hedonists and masochists, which was totally in-keeping with the evening’s ‘vibe’!

And the theme? Oh yes. That.

The theme was:

‘Spare The Rod; Spoil The Child!’

Make of that what you will my darlings! Tho I can divulge that there were plenty of ‘over the knee spanking’ suggestions flying around. As to whether or not they were carried out, I couldn’t possibly comment…

Mwah and toodles, ‘til next time

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