Hens – The Ultimate Mayfair Accessory for Hons. Everywhere.

Nancy Mitford & her siblings talk of Hons & frightful anti-Hons was a reference to their hens not their Honourable titles which came much later. I’m a terrible Hon & abhor the counter hens ie: roosters & other panjandrums of this world with puffed up bossy ideas.

Hens lend a larkiness to any situation & confined to my sick bed as I am, my Hens are finer than Veuve when it comes to bucking a gal up.

Don’t leave home without your hens. You’ll be ridiculed on Mount St if you try! They fit in a Crocodile Birkin & while Spaniels are heavenly, hens are far better for intellectual discourse. When you’re undecided on the Angelica Kauffman or the Fragonard ask a Buff Orpinton – though be warned they’re predisposed to favour The Angel.

King Charles II never took his Mayfair peregrinations without his ducks in tow. I never go anywhere without my hens.

Do beware of foxes though as they’re getting bolder & bolder & brazenly sallying forth at lunch time now, nabbing your Fortnum Hamper before you’ve spread your tartan picnic rug. With the rich pickings of the bins of Berkeley Square, Mayfair & St James’s foxes have grown terrifically arrogant, lording it over all & recently demanding membership to the Arts Club & publishing their own undergrowth magazine, Fox & Fortnums.

The Cheek!