Pip Pip, Tally Ho - Talk Like a Land Lubber

[pieces o nine]

One says, what is the meaning of this frightfully inconvenient snow falling all about the pic-a-nic grounds! One is ashamed  of one's groundskeepers, that they would slack off so egregiously as to allow this shocking floutage of pic-a-nic tradition!

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Cheeves! Get the senior, junior, and apprentice groundskeepers on this, but immediately!  We require removal of all  snow, quaintly rustic firepits dug and ignited to re-warm the environs, and see to it that the household staff fetches umbrellas, laprobes, and warmed greatcoats to shield the guests until the gardens are restored to civilized conditions!

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I am faint  with mortification, my dears! Might the caterers tempt you with cucumber sandwiches while the maids bundle you into the lap robes?

[Pachyderm]

Ai sai, could you get the maids to wear kidskin gloves. Bare hands are so dashed cold when being bundled, dontcher know.

[pieces o nine]

* breaks character in appreciation of ^'s pun *   

[Opsa]

*high-pitched giggling that would give a dog a headache*

Isn't he a darling?

Now Pieces, don't you worry your pretty little head about this snow a moment longer. It's rather jolly, actually. Gives us a chance to flaunt our minks.

[pieces o nine]

Sadly, *my* mink is huddling inside the laprobes, clutching a cucumber sandwich and deploying large, sad eyes to be carried back inside..

[Opsa]

Well, you just go take care of him, darling. We'll wait right here.

We must pardon her eccentricities, gentlemen. She is a fragile genius, and very fashionable, you know!

[pieces o nine]

The little mink has recovered and is frisking about the servant's quarters, such a dear.

I see the help has cleared the snow and brought fresh petits fours. One says, does anyone need a top-off on his or her drink?  Lord Pachy! One must insist that you put your top  back on, sir!

Lud! What a card.

[Pachyderm]

Eh? What's that you say? Good Lord! Some bounder has filched me robe! Ai wasn't finished with that!

One supposes one must explain the state of deshabille. Perfectly acceptable, you see. Got a bit of paper back home says so, signed by the Director General of the Army Legal Services. 

You see, something similar happened at a garden party at Balmoral, once, back when I was a fresh-faced subaltern. Hadn't even grown the mutton-chops, Ai was that green. Well, you see, Ai was having a frolicsome time with a lovely young thing, and the dashed minx decided that nothing but more pink gin would do, and shooed me out the door to fetch it. Glad to, you understand, fairer sex and all, the only problem was Ai was sans garments at that particular time. Unfortunatly, who should decide to walk down that particular corridor, and at that particular time? Well, it was her castle, Ai suppose. Cut a long story short, there's meself, nekkid as a jaybird, not even a decent 'tache ter me name, Her Majesty Victoria, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the Faith, Empress of India herself, and an apoplectic horde of senior officers. Straight orf to the Glasshouse, never even got to say goodbye to me frolicsome filly. Up before the beak, Court Martial, expecting to get cashiered, drummed out of the Regiment and the Army in disgrace etc.

Got issued some legal Johnnie by the Adjutant General's Corp, weedy looking thing. Some damned 3-pip solicitor, Ai thought, never going to cut the mustard against the glittering ranks of the top brass ranged on the other side.

Starts orf badly, drops papers, gets me name wrong, calls the Presiding Officer "Yer Honour" instead of "General", that sort of thing. "Oho Pachy, it's excommunication, and a de-bagging and radishing on the parade square for you for sure" thinks Ai.

Prosecution begins, shame and disgrace to the uniform, service, nation, de-bagging the only option blah blah blah....

Up pops Legal Johnnie.

"Under Queen's Regulations, an officer must be suitably attired for the activity in question. Full Dress for the most important ceremonies, No 1 Blues for  Officer of the Day, No 2 Service for most parades, etc. I contend that, despite being out of uniform, the defendant was in fact "suitably attired" for the activity in question...."

Always got on rather well with Little Vicky after that....

[pieces o nine]

    Pachy, my dear!
It's not crumpets, jam and tea without you, one's old bean. Don't you know?

[Opsa]

What a teddibly naughty story dear Pachy, you've quite negated my need of rouge to-day! Isn't it marvelous?

[Opsa]

While we're waiting for top-offs, let's play a darling little parlour game I just made up. (Well, I'm not sure I made it up really, but I will probably claim all responsibility and royalties on it, anyway.)

Who remembers a song that went something like this:

At a decent hour
She asked "May I please have a bit more?"
With a polite clearing of her throat
She asked "May I please have a bit more?"

[Swatopluk]

Olivia Twist? 

[Opsa]

Oh, you are a silly duck, Sir Swato! Tee hee.

I think the pop star's name was Billy Gainfully-employed, or something like that.

[pieces o nine]

Lud! Who can keep up with these "Pop" "Stars" ?
But a frightfully good game, Lady Opsa. Let's do have another...

[Opsa]

"You seem to be in need of refreshment
Dearest, I dare not present a falsehood,
I suppose you ought to return to prep school
Far, far away within, Sweetie, you require it
I shall supply you with affection
I shall supply you with affection, oh

Requesting ample amour
Requesting ample amour"
etc., etc.