The Americans have a mule train heading to the Keralan coast. It leaves in the morning, its mission is to collect their most recent shipment of food and supplies, (more bahgurs one would suppose?) I have negotiated carefully and in exchange for some jars of of my highly regarded moustache wax, (the yanks being no stranger to an esteemed growth) I have secured safe passage for our marooned expedition. Hurrah! C.F.
Doled out a ration of my patent Pomade to the men in a bid to maintain the required stiff upper lip!
Obliged to take Pirie to one side and to tell him in no uncertain terms that we cannot let the blessed Yanks see a grown British man blubbing. Its not cricket! I suggested he man up and asked him to desist immediately from this lamentable display of spinelessness!
We have all shared in an absolutely fantastic Christmas dinner, consisting of some flat circular steak type concoction that the indigenous natives refer to as a bahgur! All washed down with lashings of a strange tasting ale called buddy light. This delightful repast has helped raise our collective spirit! I dispel quickly the whimsy of home and the distant memory of pulling a cracker. C.F.
Praise be! Our expedition has happened by pure chance upon the American hill station of Kodaikanal. Here we have been greeted with open arms by General Lee Meriwether and his troops, a ramshackle bunch if ever there were one! Subaltern Brad Semple ensured my party were watered, fed and housed in makeshift tents! Bloody Good Show!
After a quick nap I gather the men together. I am faced with the God-awful task of reluctantly informing them that we will not get back to dear Blighty in time for the Yule festivities and as such it would be unlikely that they are able to share in the family log! C.F.