The Captain's Journal: March 2011
Further to my most recent excursion in the Highlands of Scotland, it is with no little delight that I receive notice from George Goldsmith Esq. the reknowned Scottish Estate and Land Agent that he will place in his respected annual catalogue an advertisement for my World famous pomade. How gratifying and very modern! What? C.F.
Blinky Blenkinsop? Queer cove, I had shared Druries house with him at school. Archbeak Pratchett once described him in a school report as the kind of boy ‘Who stood on Mountain tops during thunderstorms in wet copper armour shouting 'All the Gods are buffoons'" By which he meant if there was any trouble to get in to, rest assured Blinky found it!
The rumour abounded that Blinky was once again in the proverbial mulligatawny! What Ho. C.F.
I have a sneaking suspicion that dear Miss Allie Astell late of Bath Spa has somehow become embroiled in some rather strange goings on near Dahab on the Red Sea. Whilst ensconced in the land of the Pharaoh one can only hope, that if faced with adversity the delightful gal will maintain a stiff upper lip and manage to keep the sand out of her sandwiches. What? Toodle Pip! C.F.
By Jove the situation is getting hairier by the minute! C.F.
Awoke with the nagging thought that there is much to attend to in the next couple of days! Note to self: to include 'Pulling Rabbit from Hat'. Must dash. C.F.
So it was with no little trepidation that I made my way to Piccadilly. The restaurant was packed to the gunwales with the bright young things, I espied young Blinky holed up in a corner, back to the wall as was his want. He suffered the notion that the whole world was out to get him and with that he wasn’t wrong! Here goes! C.F.
Hello Blinky. Have you come alone? He rasped. I reassured the fellow that I was indeed alone. He then began to ramble on, incoherent at times, suggesting a fiendish mysterious link between my friend The Sultan, Madame Betty ‘Clairvoyant to the Nobility’, Hassan the Egyptian Magician and Doris his charlady. He ranted on about the Shifting sands of Dahab, the Divine message contained within the great Pyramid, the Riddle of the Sphinx and The League of The Eastern Star. The man was clearly deranged, it grieved me to see such a once splendid fellow reduced to this, a veritable gibbering wreck. Good Lord! C.F.
Blinky abruptly stopped in his tracks, his tirade over, he sunk his head and stared forlornly into his empty teacup. I suggested a liberal application of my patent pomade as an aid to stiffen his upper lip. He declined my offer. I then extended my hand and attempted to reassure him that all was well and with that the man upped and bolted! Rabbit exiting stage right, pursued by all and sundry! A rum do. How very queer I mused. C.F.
With my next polar adventure imminent, I am summoned to a meeting regarding the Expedition at the offices of the Royal Geographical Society in Kensington. On arrival I am fed the jaw dropping news that two of my trusted Arctic team members are for what ever reason obliged to drop out. Bloody poor show. If I am unable to fill their places the whole caboodle is in jeopardy! Ye Gads! C.F.
Glimmer of light. I will invite Blinky to take one of now the vacated expedition positions and although he has had limited experience with dogs, (one should disregard the occasional exercising of Lottie Smith’s spaniel ‘Digger’ on Primrose Hill) I feel he could well turn out to be an excellent musher, keeping the cove busy may help calm his addled pate and remove him from his current scrape. What? Dashed good wheeze. C.F.
And so it was we arrived at Newcastle bound for Bergen. C.F.