When eager saleswoman Laura ignores a No Cold Callers sign, she soon discovers that door-to-door marketing can be a perilous profession. Upended over a stern gentleman’s lap, she learns the hard way that clothes-brushes have more than one practical use. Cold Caller Hot Bottom is a saucy suburban frolic of misplaced confidence, simmering embarrassment, and the rueful consequences of a thoroughly spanked bottom.

There were several signs along Victoria Avenue which Laura felt she could manage without. Mind the Step, Please Close the Gate, No Junk Mail. They were common sense, although a nearby electricity distribution box bore a Keep Out – Danger of Death sign, which she grudgingly admitted might be justified.

At number 42 the commandment No Cold Callers caught her gaze, but she dismissed it with breezy indifference and pressed her finger to the doorbell. It was a decision she would soon look back on with a rather different outlook. A hot and smarting bottom would be a salutary reminder to take proper notice of such notices. But of course, she didn't know that yet.

Confessions of a Vicar’s Daughter is a tale of toasted buns, exposed hypocrisies, and one young lady’s intimate education in accountability. When the vicar’s golden-haired darling engineers a scorched teatime scandal, she anticipates a delicious view through the keyhole. But, what follows is a brisk turn of events, an unflinching lesson in consequences, and the most unwelcome use of a hairbrush.

Act 1 — Through the Keyhole

At first glance, Tabitha Bloom seemed like the very embodiment of virtue, a beacon of sweetness and light. As the beautiful, twenty year-old daughter of the vicar, her smile could make the sternest of hearts melt like butter on a warm crumpet. She was always ready to lend a helping hand, whether it was arranging the flowers for Sunday service, handing out scones at vicarage garden parties, or assisting her father in his duties. Her halo shone so brightly, no one noticed the horns hidden beneath her golden blonde curls. In every way, she should have appeared to be the perfect daughter.

At second glance, those who looked beyond her angelic façade might discover a more complex and intriguing personality, one that belied her initial purity. Perhaps slipping an occasional stinging-nettle into one of the flower arrangements, or contributing a splash of hot chilli sauce when spreading jam on the scones, or even replacing her father's sermon notes with a recipe for currant buns. Tabitha's fertile mind was like an iceberg: smooth on the surface, treacherous beneath, and always drifting toward someone else’s misfortune.

When an ill-timed remark, and a cheeky glimpse of red silk delicates, cause a stir at the most respectable event of the parish calendar, Clara Pimm finds herself under the unyielding supervision of Miss Rosalind Fairleigh — a governess with a reputation as polished as her hairbrush. A tale of lace, lemonade, and lessons delivered with impeccable form.

Act 1 — Miss Pimm's Mischief

The vicarage garden party, highlight of the parish's social calendar, had reached its fragrant, bustling peak. Under a marquee adorned with bunting, the ladies of the district clustered like brooches on a pillow. Lace parasols bobbed gently as teacups clinked. The usual uninspiring raffle prizes, from toffees to a mechanical egg-whisk, were displayed on a linen-draped table.

At the centre of this meticulously arranged scene stood Miss Rosalind Fairleigh, a renowned governess known throughout the county for her stern demeanour and unyielding discipline. Tall and composed, her sharp blue eyes constantly assessed her surroundings, missing nothing and forgiving even less.