29 May

Posted on May 29, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Good morrow chortling chums,

Well, by now you you will have read the extracts from my journal which hopefully will have shed a little light and offered some insight into the events that led up to my most recent profound Polar predicament.

Our doughtiness had taken a severe dent and, having been obliged to eat our boots as it were, we returned despondent to dear Blighty. I am sure that you will have gleaned from the Illustrated London rag the fortuitous news that the expedition's young buck returned home in time for the bally wedding - an event, of course, that, sorry to say, I was obliged to miss!

25 May

Posted on May 25, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Excerpt from 10 April:

On behalf of Captain Peabody Fawcett: I have just received news from The Geographical Society that Fawcett’s expeditionary team is stranded approximately 78 degrees north off the coast of Norway. The unseasonably warm weather has resulted in an early melt and has left them marooned on ice floes. Victims of the fierce gulf stream they are drifting at the behest of the current.

The last message received delivered by carrier pigeon, assured,

“All well and in good spirits despite having run out of reading material. Men maintaining stiff upper lip with aid of liberal dollops of my trademarked moustache wax, although one member of team appears quite delirious blithering on about getting back to Blighty for a wedding or some such nonsense! God help us all. C.F."

Miss Allie Astell, Expedition Organiser, Camberwell.

31 March

Posted on March 31, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

And so it was we arrived at Newcastle bound for Bergen. C.F.

24 March

Posted on March 24, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

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.

21 March

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

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.

19 March

Posted on March 19, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

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.

9 March

Posted on March 09, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

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.

8 March

Posted on March 08, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

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.

4 March

Posted on March 04, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

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.

27 February

Posted on February 27, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Received a telegram from Blinky suggesting we meet for lunch at earliest opportunity. Haven’t come across the fellow since that blurred evening at Ciro’s some months back! Replied to the effect ‘Most eager. stop. 1.pm Wednesday next. stop. Criterion Brasserie. stop. Regards Fawcett. stop. Maybe he could shed some light on to the recent mysterious goings on?

25 February

Posted on February 27, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

On descending the main staircase this very morning, I notice an envelope on the hall mat, I quickly open it and read:
"Salutations Effendi, I am the Egyptian magician and I should like to be considered and audition for the recently vacated domestic position. Inshallah, Hassan"

How so? Queerer and queerer! Porridge calls, what. C.F.

21 February

Posted on February 21, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Gentleman Explorer seeks trustworthy, teetotal, domestic companion to assist in running of home in Camberwell. Ability with a typewriter and an aptitude with regards to modern telephonic apparatus would be deemed an advantage. Apply with references to Captain Fawcett, c/o The Lady, 3 Southampton St, London WC2 That should do it! C.F.

20 February

Posted on February 20, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Having arranged accommodation for Levitt at a secure institution for the feebly inebriate in Brooklands Surrey, my thoughts turned to on how to fill his now vacant position. I resolved to place an advertisement the very next morning. What ho. C.F.

17 February

Posted on February 19, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

I led the troubled soul looking like toad bedecked as the washerwoman, from the dank cell and onward to the cold light of freedom. I had come to the unfortunate conclusion that there was little alternative than to place the poor confused fellow in a home for distressed gentlefolk. C.F.

16 February

Posted on February 19, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Poor old LevittEventually arriving at cell no 1957, the warder glances through the spy hole inserts a key and opens the heavy door with a stomach churning creak.

There sat on the cot, head in hands was Levitt dressed in the gaudy livery I can best describe as that of an end of pier pantomime dame. Levitt raised his head, tracks of tears visible through his slapped on pancake makeup.

Good Lord Levitt I quipped I thought that course of treatment had put an end to this nonsense more than twenty years ago. C.F.

15 February

Posted on February 19, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

The gaoler led me along endless dingy passages all lined with rows of closed steel doors. Echoing sounds of discordant far off voices coupled with banging and distant door slams befuddled my thoughts. The awful pervading stench vaguely reminiscient of the upper fourths dormitory in Harrow. Poor old Levitt. C.F.

9 February

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Awoke to sound of hammering on front door, I stumble downstairs somewhat dishevelled and opened door to reveal ruddy faced local constable. The rozzer goes on to inform me that my faithful old retainer Levitt has been arrested in Belfast! 'In Belfast' I splutter 'but the coves in Margate visiting his poorly sister'? Struth CF

8 February

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Having given Levitt the evening off to visit his ageing sister in Margate I am on the Great Western Railway journeying to Bath Spa to have supper with that old twister Capsey. Little hope of getting the money I am owed but I am sure a convivial evening will ensue. What?

31 January

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Egburt's pile!

Egburt's pile

28 January

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

It has taken two days to reach dear Cousin Egburt's digs on the south bank of Loch Ness. It’s a small affair, a gothic castle with nigh on 500 acres containing some of the best fishing, shooting and stalking to be had in Scotland.

The black sheep of our family had laid on a veritable spread, following the Haggis, a bowl of Cullen Skink broth after which we delighted in fine venison steak the donor of which had been felled earlier that day. The Piper played and we drank Whisky late into the night, Egburt suggested a game of cards, knowing him as we all do, we declined to a man.

I staggered up the stone staircase to bed. A top knotch evening, a Burns night to remember, I‘d say, What! C.F.

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