By Joves,
I say, have we managed to partake in a discussion like complete upper class twats in this here monastery?
I believe we have not, and therefore we shall.
Fetch my cigars at once Jeeves. For there shall be landed gentry guests and their lady folk arriving shortly.
JOLLY GOOD OLD MAN ! ,
Forgive me manners , will tea and scones be served shorty ? The voyage here was frightfully long , we are simply famished . I daresay we will be falling faint !
I say old chap, do you think that once the ladies arrive we shall be able to indulge in some upper class ribald witticisms?
I say! Anyone up for a leisurely game of lawn tennis?
I just need to duck upstairs and change into me lawn whites. Oh dear I do hope the bath water is not too tepid at this establishment, I do so enjoy a nice hot bath.
Quote from: Bluenose on March 07, 2008, 11:57:51 PM
I say old chap, do you think that once the ladies arrive we shall be able to indulge in some upper class ribald witticisms?
Indeed old chap. I shall adjourn the men folk to the reading room, where we shall discuss all manner of topics.
Let us wait until tea is served and the ladies are settled before we shall indulge in such wantonry.
I do believe a game of lawn tennis shall be forthcoming. To the courts lads.
(Bt the way I have started a 'Talk Like A Land Lubber Day' Facebook Group. Do come over if you must!)
What ho! Terribly sorry for the unpardonable delay. The butler's young son was taken ill, you see. Well, we obviously couldn't pack our own cases, could we? I mean, what if the other fellows at the club heard? So we simply had to wait for the replacement butler. The kitchen boy stood in in the interim. Damned good effort, really.
Would there be a spot of tiffin? Haven't seen a hint of a vittle since we left Shropshire, and Gwendoline is feeling a bit faint...
One of m' valets has just mentioned that there appear to be several (possible indigent) families, claimin' to be 'Society' or 'Upper Class', wandering around the public rooms and askin' to be fed. (One of the chappies apparently asked for 'Tiffin'!). I suppose they might be returned Indian officers or some such... Or possibly some minor county. Not the right sort at all. I told the butler to send some of the footmen in to socialise with them for an hour or so (I authorised porter but not any wine or spirits), and send them on their way...
I blame those damned germans who took over Buck House in m' grandfather's day. Country's not been the same since! The current one even married a damn penniless greek 'prince'... No sense of family at all.
The rain in Spain falls hardly on the plain.
Why is there a book stuck on my head?
'Strordinary thing! According to a report from one of the footmen, some of these chappies are in trade! And one appears to be a seafarin' feller. Not in the Royal Navy, I'll be bound, the chappie brought his own rum!
I was thinkin' of telling Jenkins to wash orf some of the stable hands and have them toss the blighters out, but her Ladyship expressed some concern for some delicate items around the old place, an' I don't really approve of using horse whips in the house ('cept for the bedrooms, of course).
Bit worried they won't be gone when Connaught stops by. He's only an Irish Peer, but a decent sort of chap nevertheless, and I wouldn't like him to get engaged in conversation with these chappies, or their women (bit of a Lady's man, Connaught, d'y'see.).
Bit of a puzzler, what?
You there good chap. Can you fetch my handlebar moustache trimmer for me. Awfully good of you old cheese.
Well, y'see, it all happened at the club. A sherbet or two had been consumed, and there was a wager. Young Featherstonehaugh, the one that's disgraced the family, absolutely joined the Bengal Engineers, don'tcha know. And six generations have been not only in the Guards, but the Grenadiers! Uncroyable, as they say in Gay Paree. Came out with some rot about every man bein' equal, some piffle like that, anyway. makin' his own way in this world, he claims. All very noble and an' all that rot, but the Bengal Engineers? Dare say Pater might have forgiven him eventually had it been the Lancers, or even Sloane's, but the Engineers? They carry stuff, you see. Almost like bein' in trade! He's said goodbye to any chance of bein' Lord Woofleston, and no mistake.
Ah, yes,the wager. I was coming to that. Let a chap tell a story, won't you? *ting*
Ai say, there's the bell! Better dash, only three hours until cocktails. Got to change, old boy. If you're down first, whisky and soda fer me....
Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.
(sorry just had to do it)
EEE-hee-hee-hee Anthrobella darling, you're jist so inCREDibly naughty. Let's go out to the garden arm-in-arm and see if the fellows aren't titillated by the rustles of our bustles.
I swear I can hear the rustling of bustles, and her Ladyship is not even 'at home'!
Rather jolly, what?
Now then gentlemen shall we retire to the study for some Port...the ladies can join us for a quadrille later.
:: Little do the gentlemen realize, that the ladies are also smoking cigars and enjoying a fine port in the ladies' solarium. ::
But they are dainty little lady cigars dipped in BRAWNdy. And Niney's port has me quite knocked onto my bustle! There's no TELLING what we might do! There's even some talk that we might remove our bodices and run amok in the petunias!
Oh my chamber pot!
Reverend Wilson shall be attending our little gathering. Can you ensure that his brandy glass remains replenished at every opportunity. If the lady folk are spotted in such fashion, we may get a stern lecture at this Sunday's hymnal.
:offtopic:
In real life, in my younger days, I used to attend dinners where the Ladies were invited to the powder room and then ushered into a special parlour to await the Gentlemen. The first time it happened, I felt like Alice through the Looking Glass and wanted to jump up and down and shout rude things. It actually took several minutes for me to appreciate what was being asked of me when the discrete whisper in my ear impinged on my consciousness. I assume it still happens in some circles.
(http://cache.viewimages.com/xc/3418200.jpg?v=1&c=ViewImages&k=2&d=6D80FA23B50A7A1464F883616B406089A55A1E4F32AD3138)
Would you care for more...tea...my dear friend?
Why yes, thank you most kindly. This is the best...tea...I've enjoyed all day.
La, the petunias are looking most lush this year, are they not?
Faith, they are. Perhaps we might adjourn from the solarium and take a turn amongst them.
'Twould be most restorative. Do ask the maid to bring the...tea...out for us.
Yarrrr...sorry...Good Heavens
That haircut belongs in a Vengaza Pirate thread. Something to do with Gits and Silly Haircuts, I'd say.
I say, my good man! I must take umbrage at that slight upon the latest coiffures, as immortalised by such notable gentlemen artists as Charles Dana Gibson.
It took years for me to grow my own auricomous locks to approximate the mode of the day, and more hours than I can bear to relate to master the proper massing and pinning-up of them, even with the help of a talented maidservant. Proper posture to set off my décolletage to best advantage, a certain je ne sais quoi with the tea service, a most pleasant and intelligent expression, a certain skill when asked to play upon the instrument, and my crowning glory were instrumental in my never lacking for proper attention from the young nobles of the better families in my district.
Faith, sir, one of my most flattering portraits was immortalized here:
(http://www.geocities.com/gibsongirls2001/paarticle1ban2.gif)
Quote from: Griffin NoName on March 12, 2008, 11:41:48 PMIn real life, in my younger days, I used to attend dinners where the Ladies were invited to the powder room and then ushered into a special parlour to await the Gentlemen. The first time it happened, I felt like Alice through the Looking Glass and wanted to jump up and down and shout rude things. It actually took several minutes for me to appreciate what was being asked of me when the discrete whisper in my ear impinged on my consciousness. I assume it still happens in some circles.
Of course. Some of us still have the Loyal Toast, and "Gentlemen, you may now smoke". You're doing the ladies retiring bit wrong though. The hostess is supposed to catch the eye of the second lady in precedence and they are supposed to rise as one.
Here's what happens afterwards:
[youtube=425,355]uHo8kqdRpLs[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHo8kqdRpLs
I say good show there old boy!
It would seem that those colonists across the pond are beginning to absorb some of the culture so necessary for a genteel society as evidenced by this lawn bowling tutorial made in the gold rush fields......
[youtube=425,350]<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/II_FRVw15Wk&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/II_FRVw15Wk&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>[/youtube]
Quote from: beagle on March 13, 2008, 07:41:00 AM
Of course. Some of us still have the Loyal Toast, and "Gentlemen, you may now smoke". You're doing the ladies retiring bit wrong though. The hostess is supposed to catch the eye of the second lady in precedence and they are supposed to rise as one.
No, they were doing it right. I had no idea the first time why all the ladies were standing up so someone has to whisper to me as I stayed seated. I thought they'd all suddenly got food poisoning or ants on their chairs or something.
Oh dear. I wonder what the female equivalent of being handed the loaded revolver is. Being quietly dropped from the church flower arranging rota, probably.
revolver you say
boy toys
now girl toys
[youtube=425,350]<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_kly-fVUi1I&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_kly-fVUi1I&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>[/youtube]
That's it, I'm off to the petunias without my corset! And I'm taking my ...cigar... with me!
I say! That young hoyden is in grave need of lessons in deportment, corset wearing, and the pinning-up of her hair. Perhaps then she will be just tolerable in polite society.
Nice shorts though.
And I don't believe 20 year olds play lawn bowls anywhere in the world.
What's so different bewteen lawn bowls and boule !!
I was referring to the civilised world. Isn't it boules anyway? The Frenchies would be offended by the implication they only play with one.
I say, sir, if we are talking about the civilized world, we should leave the Frenchies out of the discussion.
Gracious, I'm glad you stopped me, sir. I was going ro mention camisoles, but that's a ... an "F" word, isn't it? *Rather irritating titter*. I'll just say "loose fitting underwaist", then, shall I?
No wonder they won Stalingrad!
Teddibly naughty, Bartie dear. I say: that reminds me- I wonder if we could bother Clementine to bring out a tray of vodka and tonics. It must be four-o-clock somewhere in the world.
Quote from: beagle on March 14, 2008, 07:49:49 AM
Isn't it boules anyway? The Frenchies would be offended by the implication they only play with one.
It was a typo, but then I thought leave it, how nice to offend the French.
Would anyone be interested in a tour of my vast tobacco estate? Morganthrop will saddle up the horse and cart at once.
The tobacco leaves are in full bloom and my forced labourers are in good cheers, since I increased their rations by half a slice of bread.
We shall conclude with a picnic by the river.
Capital idea there , old chap ! Capital ! The weather is most agreeable for it .
A little post-prandial constitutional is a wizard wheeze. Just the ticket for the old digestion. I'll just fetch me gun, you never know what you might find lurking in the hedges. Got a left and right of peasants, the other day. One was diggin' a ditch, t'other was puttin' up a fence, or some such. Gave 'em sixpence each afterward, and jolly happy they were with it. Salt of the Earth, the old British peasant.
"Bartie, we must not hire beaters that look like grouse!"
Blast those Scottish Gillies, they all look like Capercaillies on a bad day!
Not quite, old bean. Those jolly old Highland outdoor types look like a capercaillie on a good day. All bare, chapped knees and red hair, don'tcha know. Deuced handy to have when a fellow is out and about potting deer, though.
I dare say Lady Chatterly had a penchant for associating with the lower classes.
She used to pay a Gamekeeper in the woods a visit for a chat and a cup of tea.
:-X
Indeed. Her laydship was always telling us how keen she was on John Thomas. Odd really, because we could have sworn the gamekeeper's name was Mellors.
A gamekeeper? Ai thought the fellow was a politician, or something of that ilk? One learns something new every day...
The ladies would love to join you on your tobacco estate romp, but only if you remark on the pixie-like nature of our noses.
Prithee gentlemen, do not forget to remark favorably upon our limpid, doe-like eyes, our shell-like ears, our swan-like necks, nor our 'most excellent bosoms'.
OY! You! Big Knockers! Come over 'ere be'ind ther Pertunyas! ;) ;) ;)
*** a green clad ghillie is forcibly removed by several strapping stable hands.**
Horrors! Who was that crude creature and when can we have him back again? He quite brough roses to my cheeks. (Lifts bustle to expose rosy cheeks.)
It's the vicar ma'am. He's often to be found amusing himself in the grounds, or in the library with a Trollope.
Don't be misled by the costume, it's camouflage so he can pursue his bird-watching hobby without causing them undue alarm. He's most highly regarded in the parish, and is said to have saved more fallen women than even his predecessor (who himself possessed quite a collection).
Would all ladies who are interested in the jaunt round the 'baccy lands please report round the back of the pergola? The exact nature of noses, eyes, ears, bosoms and rosy cheeks must be checked before we set off. Wouldn't do to let imposters in, see. Ai'll be the chap with the big grin.
Oh, very well then, the ladies consent. But we do ask if there might be refreshments behind the pergola? They are in the mood for something quite silly: a gaily-hued aperitif, perhaps. Or two. ;)
And do bring the vicar.
And the strapping stable hands.
Just to assist with the carrying of picnic gear and the like, and the adjusting of parasols and the like, of course.
The stable hands are unfortunately occupied dealing with the sudden crisis at the stables, *drops match* and the Parson's been dragged off by the Bizzers. Apparently, the nun's complained. They were feeling left out, so it seems.*puts notebook away* Anyway, refreshments have been arranged, in a variety of colours, and I have arranged an escort of cavalrymen for parasol-rearranging.
*noise of marching, occasional horsey neighs*
Ladies, say "hello" to B Squadron of the 10th Eunuch Hussars.
*big grin*
I say, old bean, you do realize it's the horses that are the eunuchs, what?
Absolutely. I'm sure you know what they say about the cavalry, it's the horse which is the smart one of the pair...
My word, I hear the Hussar Eunuchs are initiated by sword. Did they fight with Lord Kitchener by any chance?
More a case of fought him off, in some, but not all cases, as I understand it.
Not just them, but their ladies as well, I'd heard. Fellow seems to have a bit like old Julius C. in that regard. Any port in a storm, what?
Alexander, Caesar, Kitchener. Must be something they put in the rations.
Lady Westfartin: "Did you hear Joan's married an officer in the First West African Rifle Regiment."
Countess Cramp: "Good Lord! I thought they were black!"
Lady Westfartin: "Oh no dear, only their privates..."
Countess Cramp: "Oh my! How exotic!"
*tittering from behind lace fan*
I'm sure I have no idea whatever to what that might be in reference !
But thank heavens we stopped talking about those dreadful eunichs. I find them so depressing. Don't you?
Can't seem to improve their morale much, I know that. Can't get 'em 'up' at all, poor blighters.
I could explain that larst joke, m'dear... If you'd like.
Probably best to explain it over there behind the privets... Don't want to scare the horses, don'cher know.
Eau, we shant scare the horses, they're geldings... oh bother, another eunich reference again.
I have it on good authority that the Eunuch Hussars are a yet another band of wild-eyed monkish warriors, poor blighters who took to Matthew* a bit too much to heart, eh?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
* And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out; and if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off; and if...
Oh my stars. Lord Kitchener doesn't just want you, he wants you. Now I know where the Village People got their costume ideas.
(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2a/Kitchener-Britons.jpg/250px-Kitchener-Britons.jpg)
*sings along* "Jaaaaay Y C A ! (God save the King!) Jaaaaay Y C A !"
[edit] Here are the dance moves for those playing at home. [/edit]
(http://www.sacdelta.com/images/flags/signal/sem-j.bmp) (http://www.sacdelta.com/images/flags/signal/sem-y.bmp) (http://www.sacdelta.com/images/flags/signal/sem-c.bmp) (http://www.sacdelta.com/images/flags/signal/sem-a.bmp)
Can't understand a word in this demned thread.
It's very simple. We're off on a cavalry accompanied tour of the tobacco fields. His Lordship won't be joining us because his love of displaying his antiques means he's preparing for an exhibition by stripping a tallboy. Her Ladyship is concluding her afternoon in the herbaceous border by debriefing the gardener, and I fear our rather outspoken parson is once again bashing the bishop.
So far we've avoided helmet and shag references, but precedent suggests it can only be a matter of time.
I say,chaps! I think this dog faced little chappie needs debagging and throwing in one of the fountains, what?
Tradititional treatment for the little blighters, eh?
Quote from: beagle on March 22, 2008, 07:54:56 PM
So far we've avoided helmet and shag references, but precedent suggests it can only be a matter of time.
Indeed, our innocent minds would not contemplate such wanton discourse. Well that is unless someone else starts it of course. ;)
Quote from: beagle on March 22, 2008, 07:54:56 PM
So far we've avoided helmet and shag references....
Probably merely the wrong period. Shag carpets were a 1970's fashion. I think my rake got lost in the house move. Talking of rakes...............
"Me, the 13th Duke of Wybourne, in a French maid's finishing school at three in the morning?
With my reputation? Ding-dong!"
I say old chaps, my monacle appears to have a faint scratch on it. Awfully uncomfortable.
Will one of your servants please take it to the village repair shop for me?
I recommend the local shop old chap...it's run by a delightful couple:
(http://www.cbc.ca/arts/images/pics/league2.jpg)
My goodness both of those lovely people appear to have an excess of snuff up their noses. Perhaps I could send Snidley about with a few clean hankerchiefs for them. I believe I also have a fresh box of snuff in the sideboard that just came off the ship from the colonies- it is said to be good stuff that doesn't clog the nostril as more inferior types. I should send that round to them as well.
Gracious, Captain Dave's monocle should be veddy veddy well polished indeed after all that snuff. I do hope they'll leave enough lens for him to squinch upon his handsome, ruddy cheek.
It's a delightful Local Shop and just down the road from it is a quite splendid eatery called 'Burger me'.
I do hope that this 'Burger Me' place has proper place settings and table linens. I'd so detest my dainty fingers to be marred by foodstuffs.
I assume they employ enough punka wallahs to keep the air fresh.
One does cordially detest perspiring whle masticating.
Do they do a good cucumber sandwich? With the cross-cut on the diagonal and the crust cut off?
And served with the proper presentation, one trusts?
(http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/76/77/23037776.jpg)
One so despairs over cucumber sandwiches mass-produced and stacked in the icebox on plastic trenchers.
Don't forget the doillies. And the anti-macassers.
Jolly good thinking. Nothing worse than having one's afternoon tea disrupted by macassers.
I find myself wondering whether the "Burger me" establishment is related to this (http://www.noburestaurants.com/) restaurant group?
:ROFL:
Prithee wait the carriage whilst I fetch my gloves.
At the risk of dashing your expectations, I fear the ladies are not generally invited to participate in the boxing. Not since that unfortunate incident between Lady Florence "Psycho" Widgerley and Lord Trumpton-Riott.
Well, I never! Perchance would you change your mind if we did this:
:sportsred: :sportswoman: :sportsbrunette: ?
I say! Those young harridans seem to have misplaced their Corsets, their Corset-Covers, their Blouses, and their Outting Jackets (although they seem to be rather 'out' already).
Quote from: Opsanus tau on March 29, 2008, 02:14:25 PM
Well, I never! Perchance would you change your mind if we did this:
:sportsred: :sportswoman: :sportsbrunette: ?
Well...., since you asked so nicely. Not often you see three bouncing with such synchronicity. Not since Eccentrica Gallumbits retired, in fact. Puts me in mind of the introduction to an old colonial theatrical entertainment, which I believe was called "Baywatch".
Indeed. I find it raw-theh charming how they manage to not be in complete unison. The tummy-bounce is quite engaging as well. I would say that these three come from good, healthy, child-bearing stock and should round out our otherwise water-veined and thin-lipped family line in a very jolly way. I mean, I hate to mention it, but young Reginald is ...erm, how should I put it? Rather a delicate lad, wouldn't you agree?
One rather hopes that these jolly three might even convert Reginald from his 'confirmed bachelor' state. ;)
Hmmm, you're right, Ducky. It may not be possible in Reggie's case. But at least if these three prompt no effect in him, we can begin a search for some husky male stock to tempt poor frail Beatrice. I daresay though, she'll need a bit of padding in order to tempt him back. I'll have to show her the proper applications of bustles and gay decievers. (And no, by that I do not mean Reginald!) (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Sorry...wot wuz all that...I seem to have lost me concentrashun mateys...
budoing, budoing, budoing...
Oh Bartie do put away that pogo stick!
...erm, that wasn't a pogo stick? :-[ Oh dear. Well, put it away, put it away all the same. It'll never all fit in the carriage. Ahem. By the way, what do you think of dear little Beatrice? She's really quite clever at tatting. Just think of all the lovely pillowcases she could decorate!
Charming bright-eyed girl, Beatrice. And one of the few women I've met who really enjoys snuff. A curious white brand she inhales from a charmingly ornate little silver spoon. One has asked one's tobacconist to procure some, but he claims to have never heard of a brand called "Grade A Colombian, dude".
Think you're being a bit premature about Reggie. He's very sporty. At the annual village Toffs versus Yobbos cricket match I was assured by the village people that he was so keen on it he actually played for both teams, as befits an old Harrovian. His brother Ronnie is a little strange though. Only chap I know who shoots clay pigeons with a sawn-off shotgun.
I say I really must apologise, I quite forgot my manners then...it reminded me of the time I was at Balmoral and Her Majesty had a state visit from King Shaka of the Zulus. There were so many naked gals I almost dropped my port!
(Edited by Ops, sorry Bartie old chap, but we gots ta be socially aware.)
... and I'm sure they were all tremendously healthy at that. We must have them back again. And this time, Bartie- just wear your Port-bottle hat with the darling little tubes that deliver the beverage directly to your dainty cupid's bow lips! There's a good fellow.
Hopefully that'll keep yuh quiet and passed-out enough to remain diplomatic!
Now, about Ronnie- I hadn't noticed his peculiarities until you pointed them out just now, Master Beagle. But then again, I usually hide behind my huje hat when he comes around. Christian Dior rahlly is a genius of convenience.
Quote from: Opsanus tau on April 01, 2008, 07:01:06 PM
Now, about Ronnie- I hadn't noticed his peculiarities until you pointed them out just now, Master Beagle.
[off-landlubber-topic]
I used to work for a company that had access to two Cray computers. The U.S. folks could never understand why we called them Ronnie and Reggie (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kray_twins).
[on-landlubber-topic]
A couple of darling fellers from the East End...there is no way you'd catch one of those fine characters saying anything politically incorrect.
That Jack the Hat McVitie really has got alot to answer for.
Spot of larceny anyone?
Met Ronnie on a train once. Odd chap. Kept fiddling with his monacle and looking over his shoulder. Nervous tics can be the devil. Recommended my physician and got a very rude reply. Won't offend the gals by repeating it.
Fiddling with a what?
Monacle, old chap. It's like a binnacle, but it only has one side...
Were you thinkiing monocle? Couldn't fit one in his squinty little eye! :)
Well I say old chap...all that fiddling makes a chap go blind don't cha know!
He was fiddling with his moniker as well. He was writing a note to someone. All I could see was a few words....
Hand over the... and Ronie Ronny Runnie.......
Eau, now I'm all atwitter. Who was writed a note to whom? And were they using black ink on white stationary?
My word, did someone mention stationary. Those quill pens just ain't what they used to be.
Those cheap imported feathers from the colonies are making my hand writing look positively dastardly.
It's back to calligraphy classes for my entire estate at once!
Personally I utiliise gold tips.
Dare I ask where? But before you answer, have Nanette bring in a round of brandies in case we feel faint. To reduce risk of injury, everyone position her or himself in front of a divan!
Usually on the veranda.
Where would yuo use them?
Nanny had some gold tips.
They were rather like a cigar tube, but buzzed in the most extraordinary fashion, what?
She used 'em for our weekly enemas... Rather fun, don'cher know.
Never used 'em on an a verandah, though.
Oh how delightful!! I fear all this cold weather may give me influ-enema shortly.
Quote from: DaveL on April 04, 2008, 02:14:41 AM
My word, did someone mention stationary. Those quill pens just ain't what they used to be.
Those cheap imported feathers from the colonies are making my hand writing look positively dastardly.
It's back to calligraphy classes for my entire estate at once!
At this very minute, old chap, I am engaged in the construction of a 'Stationary Village'. So far I have only got as far as establishing a Postcard and Pen Corner:
(http://www.glenfoerd.org/store/100_1131-penset-288.jpg)
But I hope to introduce a sticky label and ink avenue soon.
Veddy pretty, Bartholomew.
Well, I guess I'll put away my fainting cushion for now. Everyone out onto the veranda for gold nibs and a chuckle at the commoners.
Quote from: DaveL
Oh how delightful!! I fear all this cold weather may give me influ-enema shortly.
My good man! There are
ladies present.
Somewhere...
I flush at the very thought!
:irony:
Guffaw Guffaw, look at that old villager collecting pine cones to burn, to keep his family warm in winter. How quaint!
Takes off Land Lubber hat.
Yarrrr...!
I found this and put over on the Facebook TLLL site.
http://www.britishinvasion.co.uk/fun/engnamegen.php
I'm 'Lord Barquing Madd of Bush'
Speaking of Bush, here's what I got when I type 'George Bush' and selected working class.
'Don Sapless the cucumber grader '
Blimey and top ho...it's as if they know me personally:
Baron Carrot-Topp of Melton Bottom
I feel I would be very much at home at Melton Bottom...they must have a cheese shop.
Aaaaaaaar! an Oi be Lady Grace of Upper Snotsbury
Saints preserve us! I yklept "Lady Hum The Blessed".
Uncanny that a single site could generate both English Upper Class Names and porn names in one go...
James Wheeeeeeeeeeeee of West Legover, apparently.
Seems odd they mention me title...
Quote from: DaveL on April 10, 2008, 09:45:43 PM
http://www.britishinvasion.co.uk/fun/engnamegen.php
Grace Smythe of Windyside.
Must've been that beer I had yesterday.
Viscountess Nether-Parts The Pointless here.
Well I'm very pleased to meet you Viscountess, may I present my card:
Baron Carrot-Topp of Melton Bottom...
...we have a very fine cheese shop in the village if you would care to partake of our produce.
We don't allow chavs anywhere near the grounds...shoot them on sight don't cha know. Why I read in the Times only today, a young chav girl tried to order herself a cab but having said "I want a Cab innit," They delivered her a:
(http://www.comparestoreprices.co.uk/images/pi/pine-bedside-cabinet-3-drawer-caledonian.jpg)
How absolutely spiffing.
Top drawer, I say!
Fine woodworking there on that picece of furniture.
I say old chap, I have discovered a large X marked on my lawn with round rocks, would you happen to have an idea as to what it might mean?
I do, my dear. It means you have pirates. I would suggest moving, and not leaving a forwarding address. But dig up the X first, you never know...
Zounds! An infestation of pirates! Tis indeed the bane of immaculate grounds at this time of year, although seldom spoken of so forthrightly in polite company. I will confide that I instructed Alan Tishmarsh, the Head Groundskeeper at Cor-Blimey Manor, to liberally sprinkle the grounds with Cronanite to eradicate any infestations before they reached a toehold.
I have been entirely satisfied with pirate-free lawns, gardens, mazes and tennis-courts on our entire holdings since. I cannot recommend this scientific breakthrough to you highly enough, and would even consider sending Tishmarsh round to supervise your own grounds-keeping staff in its proper application.
Frightfully naughty creatures those pirates, Lady Hum.
If one of those chaps ever come near my estate, I will give them a darn good punch up the hooter!
My boxing training I've undertaken with Seargent Major Kettlesworth will settle the matter.
How reassuring to know that not everyone is giving in to the unfortunate craze of allowing the classes to mix. So distasteful, is it not?
While one decries physical violence on principal, one must commend you, good sir, upon your vigilance in dealing with these vermin.
I have been considering sending my own dear boy, Percy, to Her Majesty's Service for proper finishing and launch upon society. Pray tell, are there other officers of this Seargent Major Kettlesworth's mettle providing discipline and training for officers-in-training in the Greater Portsmouth Regiment?
I say, have a care old chap, I hear 'The Greater Portsmouth Light Foot and Mouth" have been lined up for a spot of duty in India. Dear lord I hear it's absolutely as hot as a Vindaloo out there and ye'll come back with a dose of the trots....if ye come back at all, what what.
A friend of mine at The 'Pall Mall Gentleman's Club' tells me he was stationed with 'The Khyber Rifles' last year. Sounds absolutely dreadful...one is continually shouting at one's punkawalla just to keep cool!
One has sent the younker off to serve the old country as well. Naturally, one has obtained a spot for little blighter in a suitable regiment. He is serving with the 1st Royal Regiment of Slavers, in the Caribbean. Keep getting mail postmarked Dahomey, but I can't find it on any of the Islands. Deuced strange. Must be the Fort he's based in.
Oh Jolly good, a bit of miltary experience amongst us.
How about I get my fine collection of muskets out and we let off a few rounds over a nice port, eh chaps.
My elephant gun hasn't had a good workout, since my trip to the Cape of Good Hope. I may as well fetch my 'pith hat' collection and we'll all pretend we're on a tropical hunt together.
How awfully exciting!
Are you taking the pith old chap?
Guffaw!
Do be sure to have Bentley pack a proper luncheon, with linen napkins, monogrammed silver and proper china. I say, a tropical safari is no reason to throw civilisation to the winds.
I'll have my estate send us along a couple of cases of champagne as well, in case we have a thirst.
Oh goody, I'll get to wear my pretty new pith with the the freakishly enormous mosquito veil and my fetching little safari frock which shows off my ample bosom to great advantage!
I hope the gentlemen wear their jodpurs. I just love a man in jodpurs. Balances out his silhouette so exquisitely, wouldn't you say?
Oh yes jodhpurs by the bucket load and all khaki in colour! You can always judge a man by the cut in his jodhpurs I say!
Rightyo then, I'll just ask the villagers if they'd like to donate a few of their livestock. We can paint them up to look like Tigers. I won't be compensating anyone of course, which is awfully charitable of me!
Let's go chase those ghastly Bengals! Tally ho! *clumsily blows bugle, signalling a charge*
I am moved to lyric poetry:
Tiger , tiger, mooing bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could paint thy fearful symmetry?
Peasants hovel, Peasants hovel burning bright
Just with his Lordship's sight
That will teach em to pay their taxes
Or next time I'll send men with axes
Scotsmen, Scotsmen turning to fight
Sent them away as is me right.
Packed 'em off, wouldn't let them weep,
Ai needed the land to graze me sheep.
Sink me!
I had no idea that I kept such literary company. Good show, all.
Oh! don't sink! That could taint your frock.
Love the Blake-isms.
Terrorist, terrorist, burnin bright
In Glasgow airport t'other night
What fool targeted the hard Scottish city
They really do deserve our pity
Oh how quaint, I love a good Terroir. Particularly for managing my vast vineyard estate.
Be careful how you douse those flames. Could be awfully painful!!
Ireland, Ireland, burning bright,
Just what is potato blight?
Up the gangplank, off to sea
They need policemen in Boston, you see.
Oh nice work there Viscount Pachyderm. I love our colonials being utilised in such an industrious fashion. Heaven help us if those blighters ever gain independence!
You'll find this amusing old chap...in one of our quiz questions this week we had to identify a photo of Mr Blobby!
Mister Blobby who made thee
Shalt we hang who made thee
Gave thee spots & bid thee grin
like a beige-hued terrapin;
Clothing that doth make me heave
Polyester doesn't breathe;
Gave thee such a grating voice
Heaven knows it doth annoy us!
Mister Blobby begone ye!
Mister Blobby begone ye!
I say! I have never heard mention of this "Mr. Blobby" chap at the Club. Are you quite certain that he is a personage of any importance, old man? Who is his family? Do they have any connexions at court?
The Clangers (http://www.clangers.co.uk/), now, under the sound headship and firm discipline of Major Clanger, and the gentle guiding hand of Mother Clanger (who has the sense to embrace traditional roles and not go making a public spectacle of herself over Women's Suffrage!) are another matter. Harrumpf! It's most lamentable that some nouveau-riche upstart snobs -- recently in trade -- are fomenting discrimination against them as small, funny-colored, and possessing of quaint habits and odd speech. By Jove, they may be foreigners and in need of civilizing, but they are just the sort of peaceable, industrious citizens we wish to annex as the Empire gloriously expands! Hail Britannia!
Excuse me, chaps, but I see the Clanger help is laying a table on the verandah. A bit clumsy with the silver, what, but I daresay she'll soon get the hang of it, if she doesn't want her wages docked. Would you care to join me for tea?
I heard Mr Blobby was a cad.
You are quite correct old chap...a cad and a bounder...or was it bouncer?
Quote from: pieces o nine on April 29, 2008, 10:46:41 AM
I say! I have never heard mention of this "Mr. Blobby" chap at the Club. Are you quite certain that he is a personage of any importance, old man? Who is his family? Do they have any connexions at court?
The Clangers (http://www.clangers.co.uk/), now, under the sound headship and firm discipline of Major Clanger, and the gentle guiding hand of Mother Clanger (who has the sense to embrace traditional roles and not go making a public spectacle of herself over Women's Suffrage!) are another matter. Harrumpf! It's most lamentable that some nouveau-riche upstart snobs -- recently in trade -- are fomenting discrimination against them as small, funny-colored, and possessing of quaint habits and odd speech. By Jove, they may be foreigners and in need of civilizing, but they are just the sort of peaceable, industrious citizens we wish to annex as the Empire gloriously expands! Hail Britannia!
Excuse me, chaps, but I see the Clanger help is laying a table on the verandah. A bit clumsy with the silver, what, but I daresay she'll soon get the hang of it, if she doesn't want her wages docked. Would you care to join me for tea?
I once had the very great honour of meeting 'The Soup Dragon'...
...no hang on a minute...it's me school bully days coming back to haunt me don't cha know...that was the dinner lady I'm thinking of.
There was a Blobby Blobby Blobby
Who Blobby Blob Blobby
When the Blobby Blobby Blob
The Blob Blobby Blob
And couldn't Blobby Blobby...
Chorlte Chortle...I do find that punch line rather amusing!
Awfully funny that one!
Gracious, are you sure that limericks of that sort are proper among ladies?
I'm blushing, I'm sure.
And it isn't true what they say about me and Mr. Blobby. We were only inspecting that hotel on the Riviera because Daddy was thinking of buying it as a retirement home. Mr. Blobby and I stayed in separate suites, I can assure you. We only had breakfast together because the chef sent up eggs benedict for two and we didn't want to waste it and if he's saying otherwise, then he certainly is a cad !
Indeed Lady Opsa!
I have but only the most honourable of intetions for you. My words only speak truths...come to think of it, the only thing I can actually say is "Blobby"
So...Blobby!
Well... since you put it that way... *titter!*
Oi I say!
I was in the village today with my chauffer collecting land tax and noticed some poor blighter locked up in the stocks.
He looked awfully like Sir Bart.
Again so soon?
But surely the chafing has barely gone down from the last time? What did he do to warrant another stint? Actually, don't answer that, one isn't sure one wants to know...
Odd, that; one doesn't recall an announcement that the poor bloke had ever been emancipated...
Is this a case of "again" or "still" in the stocks?
"Again", I fear, as it seems he emancipated himself under cover of night. One witness distinctly heard sounds coming from the stock area that sounded like "Blobby".
Eau... my quotation mark quota is used up for today.
By joves,
I thought stocks were things that flavoured my ridiculously expensive soup.
My word but I am all a titter over this talk of Blobby and stocks. I believe that I must retire to my sitting room and have Missy loosen my stays a bit. My bosom heaves with the thought of it all.
Take care Miss Haveranthrobabesham...a heaving bosum is temptashun to good god fearin young men...keep drinkin the tea and control your breathing by resitin the 43rd pslam don't cha know.
BOSOMS!
I suggest the ladies retire to the conservatory for a tea-and-camisole break. Our bosoms seem to be distracting the gentlemen.
But, dear lady, if you retire to the cnservatory, then daydreaming about those lovely bosoms will then be distracting the men...
I suggest you simply remove your camisoles and let us simply drool a little. If we're going to be distracted anyway...
:sportsred: :sportswoman: :sportsbrunette: :selfhug:
Have the grounds been inundated by the riff-raff from the Sturgis Rally? One cannot imagine how why such indelicate suggestions are being bandied so casually in mixed company.
One is feeling so faint that one almost fears her bosom has stopped heaving...
Eau, I'm sure you're right about that, Penelope. Must've been all that burly talk of safaris and stockades.... always gives me the vapours! *fans herself furiously with impossibly tiny lace fan*. Dear, dear I am beginning to glow. I need air. Shall I put my arm around your eensy waist and have you guide me to the booze divan?
Oh dear oh dear...my word, the bosum to waist ratio is not what it was in the old days...indeed tis time the ladies retired to the drawing room whilst the...er...gentlemen take a glass of port and perhaps indulge in a rubber or two...er...of whist!
O I say, have you seen my snuff power around here? I'm in awfully good need of a good snort ole chap.
Terribly clever of you to pop in and wake us all up again, Ducky. Herm, yes... snuff is probably just the thing needed to primp this party.
Ah, the old nasal tobacco! What a damned fine plan, sir. Can i tempt you with a nostrilful of "Ramses the Great"?
Why thank you kindly, but I'd much prefer a bit of Nefertiti...
(I shant ask which bit!)
Does everyone have their hankies at the ready?
KER...CHEEEEEEEEEEF! Terribly sorry old chap...tis the Hay fever season y'know.
Great heavens, Sir Bartholomew, I believe that one knocked over Dabney, our ninety-year-old butler!
Ah yes, Dabney, I remember him well, an old retainer indeed...one always blamed his flatulence on the dogs...mind you he shared his living quarters with the dogs as well.
Herm, yesh. Nowadays he can't even manage flatulence, so it all works out in the end, so to speak.
Croquet, anyone?
Croquet...is that as dangerous as invading France?
Eau, it can be frightfully dangerous, particularly depending on whom you are bending over in front of! (Dear dear, I am sew naughty!)
Lacking dactyls, I shall have to hold the blessed mallet with me trunk. I hope this is alright with the other players? Used to play with the Moderator of the Church of Scotland at Balmoral. That's where I got the blessed mallet....
WHOAAAAAAAAAHH! Madam, that is not a croquet hoop! Oh, it's you, Your Highness. Pray continue.
I say, I am having difficulty in managing my flamingo; this "croquet" is a very difficult game indeed...
(http://www.edinburghcroquetclub.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/Alice_par_John_Tenniel.jpg)
Make a face like an alligator. That usually gets my flamingo to behave.
(PS: please note Downtime alert http://toadfishmonastery.com/index.php?option=com_smf&Itemid=32&topic=1440.new#new)
I say chaps...we do live in strange times what what? First one is playing croquet with Flamingoes for mallets and then one is inhabiting a blessed moving monastery...tis like 'Howl's Moving Castle' don't ch'ya know...
(http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcfour/cinema/images/howls_moving_castle_gal.jpg)
Isn't it cunning? And the flamingos can fly alongside. But whatever shall we do about the hedgehogs? Maybe put them in a twee gondola with a hot air balloon?
What the deuce is goin on with the markets? I really shouldn't have left my portfolio with a load of bankers!
I hope it isn't the same load of bankers that I just saw driving your Bentley.
By joves, the thread keeps telling me we've had noone here for 120 days. I bet those pirates are reponsible.
Ere, even when we dun nuffink, us is gettin' th' blame! Tain't hordly fair, now, is it?
Roight, lads an' lasses, cutlasses at the reddy, we'em nut standin' fer it no moar!
Eau, Pachy Dear, put down that horrid thing at once! You're making my lapdog tremble so violently that I'm starting to enjoy the sensation! :blush:
"Ai say Ma'am, one blushes divinely. 'Tis most becomin' dontcha know."
Twiddles the ends of his moustache in appreciation.
*Tee hee*
One does have to admire a rogue!
One would prefer "rapscallion", or even "rake". The problem with using the words "rogue" and "elephant" in the same sentence is that people start fetching guns to save their crops, and Ai don't have the figure to carry off the bullet-riddled look.
Dear me, I didn't mean to offend. "Rake" sounds like a tool, and I wouldn't want to risk another crestfallen Pachy with that. "Rapscallion" is, I agree, a better word. I'm somewhat less than enthusiastic about "rap" I'm afraid (though technically it is music and poetry and we approve of that), but I do love a sprinkle of scallion on my curds and whey, don't you, Ducks?
No offense was taken, Opas my dear. No crests were fallen :D
One merely gets twitchy when those two words are combined. And a nervous elephant really shouldn't be indoors, dontcher know.
Would "scamp" do?
Yesyesyes, "scamp" is simply splendid. It causes me to imagine happy elephantlings scampering through the picturesque veldt while "Born Free" is performed by the London Philharmonic.
"picturesque veldt" sounds so much nicer than "scrubby desert covered in ants and gazelle shit" ;D
Ah,the joys of cynicism and twenty years in Africa.... ::)
Oh yes Africa! Awfully nice place. I acqusitioned several boat loads of plantation workers there last year.
The Okobongo Delta is just full of insects at this time of year. You must remind me to wear a mosquito net over my pith helmet, next time I return.
Sola topee, dear boy. Pith helmets are so last expedition...
Dear, dear, however shall we keep up? I just had a new gauze bow put on my pith helmet. I suppose I shall have to throw it on the rubbish heap, now. Pity. *sob*
Yes, I have heard about the sola topee idea from an old chum in the club the other day. I couldn't help feeling, however, that he was taking the pith.
Oh how rude! You should tell that buffoon to 'pith-off'.
Mind you, I do enjoy the odd gigantic leech from Okobongo. It's awfully good for treating the off bruise - does nothing for my circulation though!
How jolly! I wonder if I could use leeches to bring roses to my cheeks? It might be so much less tawdry than Chinese rouge.
Best not to, m'dear. The problem is that the little blighters leave a mark that looks uncommonly like ringworm, which would get one shunned in polite society. Also, ones handmaiden would probably be happier handling rouge than leeches....
Ah yes, Prudence is sew squeamish she can hardly comb the lice out of my powdered wigs without emitting perfectly horrid under-breath squeals. Really, you can't get good help, nowadays.
Well I've had trouble getting a good false beauty mark to put on following a good powdering by my house slave.
How can one attend fine social gatherings without one?
Lord Puffington Marchmont III is most ostentatious and will often wear 2 false beauty spots. What a show off!
Yoss, that would account for his false beauty!
*Titters in a little too abrupt and high-pitched fashion from behind lace fan*
Gabrielle, my hand-maiden has taken to smoking my wigs to reduce the louse population in them. I think. Or maybe she enjoys the smell of the natural hemp fibres from which they are fabricated. I can never figure that girl out. She is lazy and silly and eats too much and is squeemish, but I keep her on because I am so veddy soft-hearted after all is said and done. Plus, men seem to be more interested in my charms after my hemp-wigs have been fumigated. I am oft told I have that little je ne sais quoi. Then they follow me around until I wail "Quoi, quoi?" at them.
ALLOOOOOOOOOOoooo!
Duz enybuddy haz eny toyzzz?
I say, chaps! One hesitates to broach this topic in mixed company, but there appears to be a mannerless urchin running amok in the drawing room. And with a full nappy, too, unless my wits have utterly failed.
Quick, man, send for a footman -- or an upstairs maid -- or a stable boy! Have the verminous creature removed from forthwith before he casts a pall on the assembled company.
Fank ye. Ye welkum.
Ai do apologise. It was not intended for the Good and Beautiful to see one in one's *ahem* "evening wear".
Well, I think it's peh-fectly charming, as long as Somebody Else takes care of it and puts it away when it becomes tedious.
HOBOY !
LOOKIT ME !
LOOKIT ME !
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
ummmmmm
warr iz alla candy ?
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ah, the joy and folly of youth. Now climb up that chimney and clean it properly. If you do a good job, Ai shall give you this shiny ha'penny.
Yer harrrght be in thee roight plaice, Pachy, but Nef Yoo dun wont no ha'pennies. Orfer 'im a noo lollypoppe, or a shynee button, or a prittee rock.
...n' if that won't work, perhaps a threat to send it off to military school...
(Edited to correct spelling. Apparently finishing school didn't help with that!)
My dear lady, the last thing we need is it trained to kill. Simply not the done thing. As in my day, commissions should be bought, it keeps the riff-raff out.
Yesh, quite right. Maybe just boarding school then. Finishing school was certainly the finish of me. Particularly since the finishing school they sent me to was in Finland. I've never been quite able to face pickled herring since.
ALLOOOooooooo........
Why yes, how can I help you?
;)
Do you suppose he' saying "aloe", perhaps? Hazzums got a naughty bad boo-boo? Nursie, be a dove and take the poor widdle ting off to the infirmary.
Woozle, woozle woo. Tut-tut. There, there.
(Dear me, I seem to have echoalia or some such dreadful repeating syndrome .)
I though he was just picking up the phone...
Gracious, I thought we had a butler to do that sort of thing. I wonder if he's gotten into the brandy and fallen asleep in the potting shed, again.
Quote from: Opsanus tau on June 05, 2009, 09:56:31 PM
Yesh, quite right. Maybe just boarding school then. Finishing school was certainly the finish of me. Particularly since the finishing school they sent me to was in Finland. I've never been quite able to face pickled herring since.
HOBOY HOBOY!
BORDIN SKOOL !
an den i wull i wull be teeched how to bord a shup juss lik tha big piewits !
an i wull pillyij wots ove stuff !
Certainly the rope thing has its technique... ;) :mrgreen:
Rope,
Lovely stuff, except when you try to smoke it like a cigar!
That depends on whot it's made from. Tee hee, snort, oh I am sew naughty!
yrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
i comane ya ta fetch me sum sconz Jeevers !
pwez
fank ye
yer welkum
yrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ai sai, Jeeves old man, clip it round the ear would you? Ai am outwith arm's reach.
Thank you.
Ew dyuh, whatever is Jeeves doing with those scissors and that scone?
My lady, no-one likes hairy scones. Let the chappie work, there's a sportin' gel.
Whilst one cannot help but to be awed by the magnificence of nature -- whether on land or beneath the briny waves -- and one naturally wishes to collect as many specimens as one may, one yet harbors grave doubts about the wisdom of permitting sea urchins to run amok on the grounds.
Indeed Lady Pieces, there is absolutely no place for sea urchins on my vast estate.
I've just acquired another vast estate, which I shall be naming in my own honour DaveLshire. And I'm not the least bit vain or proud in coming to that decision!
By joves, I do love a huge tract of land!!
i not wun amuk !
dis b sandee beech !
Now, now- no need to get all prickly about it. (Eau- I do amuse myself so- *snort*).
Oh, Sir Dave, none of us would ever accuse you of the slightest conceit in naming your latest huge tract of land (*leaning forward just a bit too much*) after yourself. After all, you've earned it, what with signing all those tedious papers and all.
By the way- we'll be in that area for a fortnight or two, and won't it be jolly fun to take over visit the east wing with you. I take it the wine cellar is well stocked? (*leaning over again*)
** Repeats the word 'spathic', and shudders gently **
*Snorts with laughter*
*Adjusts his monocle*
Well there is nothing better than a "huge tract of land." There is also nothing better than getting a large property!
*Snorts with laughter again*
*titters appropriately, but a tad too loudly and obnoxiously (as per usual)*
Shall I go fetch my spathe suit?
*(shrieks with laughter, making a sudden sound like a peacock so loud it audibly cracks the ice in Lord Mero's gin and tonic)
snort, snort, snort, eau...*
Ai sai, folks, the croquet mallet chappie has just been. Anyone for a game?
Smashing idear! May one employ one's own mallets, Lord Pachy?
(http://www.wickedlocal.com/hamilton/archive/x1180659298/g25825844e4e580d09c9f0b7f4ae3d91dd73caadd24fb63.jpg)
Eau goodie, we're to play croquet with the queen!
One should perhaps have one's people put one's affairs in order first...
(She's worse than C-WORD* doncherknow). ::)
Gently censored by the management to avoid flying mallets.
*and no, not THAT C-Word. Lord Mero would never say that.
Not to my face, anyway. Please don't think very long about that. Oh, I am putting my foot in it, aren't I? No, not in that. oh, help...
My dear Lady, the handling of one's mallet is a matter of utmost concern to all true aficionados of the game. One simply cannot let just anyone get their grubby mitts on it. A mallet must be treated with love, regularly oiled and wiped down, and only given to those you know will treat it with the respect such a fine piece deserves.
Knew a chap, Bengal Lancer he was, let anyone play with his mallet. In a very short period of time, it was in an absolutely disgustin' state, all the wrappin' comin' orf, chips and funny marks all over it. He had to give up croquet when he made the mistake of takin' it to the Worcestershire Club.
Quote from: The Meromorph on August 10, 2009, 07:59:06 PM
One should perhaps have one's people put one's affairs in order first...
(She's worse than C-WORD* doncherknow). ::)
Gently censored by the management to avoid flying mallets.
*and no, not THAT C-Word. Lord Mero would never say that.
Not to my face, anyway. Please don't think very long about that. Oh, I am putting my foot in it, aren't I? No, not in that. oh, help...
Ahh... Errrm. Hhhhm... Aahh... Aahh!...
** sinks slowly to the ground, wearing a growing beatific smile, and occasionally twitching certain limbs in a disordered manner. Two husky young grooms appear, strap him to the usual 'tack rack' with silk scarves and velcro, and gently submerge him in the Monet pool to cool off for a few hours. Afternoon Tea is served. **
*Peers down his nose*
*Adjusts his other monocle*
*Waves his servant to prepare a milk bath*
:ROFL: :ROFL: :ROFL: :ROFL: :ROFL: :blush:
I hear there is a rather wild tea sitting in the garden coming up.
Are we all attending?
I hear they are lashing out with something rather wacky this year. They're called 'Cucumber Sandwiches'.
How awfully exciting!
Ai do hope that Cook knows to cut the crusts off, and they simply must be cut on the diagonal. Can't be doing with square-cut sandwiches, don'tcher know.
Ooohhh yes a completely beastly way to cut ones loaf!
Might I also add, that this years garden party will have something even more wacky than cucumber sandwiches.
They are called 'Olives.'
Egad! How bohemian!
Perfectly swarthy! I do hope they come with little toothpicks with frilly cellophane on one end, so we don't have to actually touch them. Honestly, I might swoon.
I hear they shall also have the hedges trimmed in something completely wild, wacky.
It's callled a 'Maze'.
One has been training up one's croquet mallets to maintain good posture, no matter how wildly exciting the match becomes.
Where's the chappie with the Pimms? One is parched.
One says! Perhaps one or another of us could hire this "Nef Yoo" creature to fetch a round of refreshing beverages and cucumber sandwiches, in exchange for a shiny pebble or two.
He certainly does not appear to be engaged in any other useful occupation...
* discreetly takes discreet, ladylike pinch of snuff *
I love a good trimmed hedge row. I must ensure that I get my eastern section reshaped as a set of zoo animals.
No where's that Pimms?
*Wanders over to Lady Pieces, drops to the table, cuts a line of snuff, snorts it with a dollar bill*
*wonders in from the other side of the tennis courts*
I say old chaps, how have you all been? It's awwwfully long since I've seen you all together like this. Does anyone fancy a game of tennis, what?
Oh Goody! Just give me a min to change into my tennis costume. It's awfully expensive!
Righto, I'll get some of the staff to rig the court.
*Spies one of the gardeners assistants planting a floral border around the fountain*
I say boy! Yes, you over there. Do be a good chap and run over to the grounds managers workshop and tell him we want the tennis courts prepared for little tournament.
*Turns to Sir DaveL*
I say old bean, your man there seemed a tad slow to get moving. I know its dreadfully difficult to get good staff these days what with all this bally "egalitarian" tommy rot, but there are limits. I mean he barely stood up when I spoke to him, and nary a sign of standing to attention! What's the world comming to? I say, you don't think I could have one of those Pimms, do you?
*flouncing back*
Gracious heavens, Blue- was that you talking to that statue just now?
Err, yes, trying to get the tennis court rigged for our little match you see. I had to actually ask one of the gardeners to summons the grounds manager. I mean, fancy that, eh? Bally fellow didn't even stand at attention.
I say, Lady Tau, that's a frightfully fine tennis costume you're wearing there! I don't think I've seen quite so many frills, buttons and ribbons before. My word, those aren't diamonds encrusteed over the bodice as well are they? Jolly fine show!
** starts quivering again **
Bodice! Encrusted! :heartbeat: Oh! Think of the Kittens!
** strapping young grooms appear again "Oi thinks he needed another day or two in the Monet Pool..." **
Oh stawp it- you make me blush, you naughty, bad boy! ;)
*pouting* Nobody noticed my sickeningly pricey racket. I practically had to sell one of our summer homes to afford it. Belonged to Venus Williams, don't you know.
I say- fancy tennie-runners you got there, Lord Meromorph.
Oh I say, do stop all that naughtiness at once. The servants are serving Robinsons Barley Water after the 12th game.
I do hope you are suitably parched, as I urge you to stay hydrated in this simply beastly weather.
Y-e-e-e-s, One of my chaps told me I ought to try diamonds on the soles of my shoes for a change.
I thought it a dashed good idea, doncherknow!
The chappie did give me a funny look whan I showed him, I do wonder why...
Are we playing doubles? Mixed, I hope! Lady Opsa?
Well, that's settled then. Lady Opsa and Lord Mero you make a damned fine looking team team I must say. Now who should I play with?
*Looks around, spies a remarkably unattractive woman, standing where Sir DaveL had been a few moments before, dressed in a pink tennis frock*
*Looks further afield, discovers that there are no other more agreeable prospects anywhere in sight*
-sigh-
Erm, Err, Ah, mylady... perchance you might do me the honour of partnering me in this little tennis match?
Now, now... I wouldn't call her unattractive... she might smite you! I mean- look at her biceps! They're remarkably sinewy. I'll bet you she can whack some smashing lobs.
(Should I tell her pink isn't quite her colour?)
(Probably not. She seems to have quite a lot of teeth and is not afraid to use them.)
"What ho!
Is that fellow growing the Pimms?
Honestly."
*Monocle pops from eye*
"Ai sai!"
*nudges Carruthers (a damn fine name for polo)*
"Some damn fine fillies here, what? And Ai do believe Lady Opsa has got her hands on a genuine Williams. Good show!"
"Need an umpire?"
Oh yes, Pachy, please! It would be ever so much fun to see you seated on the high throne pointing all this way and askance.
"Why cwertainly, Lady Opsa, twould be my pleasure"
*climbs up little ladder*
"Lovely view from up here..."
*Plays cracking forehand winner down the line*
*Pink hooped dress flowing in the breeze*
* Wipes sweat from forebrow and pumps fist in the air*
Take that old man! That willl be first set to me!
Golly! What a cracking shot milady!
*turnes to umpire Pachy*
[sotto voce] I say, Pachy, old fruit, she's certainly a strapping young thing, don't you think?
I say, she certainly has a cracling good first service, what? I'm rather glad Lady Opsa is my partner or I wouldn't have touched a ball all set!
Oh goody, we've changed ends. I'll just hold up the diamonds on the soles of my shoes to that rather bright sunlight, and we'll see how we do this set, what?
Teddibly clever strategy, M'Lord Mero! Let's see what damage I can do holding up my diamond encrusted bodice, which took simply scads of man-hours to construct at the cost of great wads of dough, dontchyer know.
* falls out of stands, struck suddenly and inexplicably blind *
* hopes dreadfully that no one makes a fuss *
Eau no! *making a fuss*
*runs up to stands, ripping a fistful of diamonds from her bodice*
Lady Pieces! Do accept these as my apologies and as a down-payment on a set of corneal transplants! I'm so sorry! Please do not sue me, as I am now destitute following the loss of some precious stones!
I sayI Please don't sue me, either! I'm an orphan you see, having just shot my aged parents in order to obtain my rightful inheritance, long delayed.
* sits up muzzily *
* blinks eyes as environment swims slowly back into focus -- albeit with slight aura-esque halos *
*graciously -- and firmly -- refuses all crystalline offers *
Good gracious! One wonders what came over one!
One is terribly embarrassed and apologises profusely to have disrupted the match! One insists on pressing the name and number of one's dressmaker upon you both, to have your garments re-bedazzled at one's own expense. Do carry on with the match, it was most invigorating!
* returns unsteadily to seat in stands, slips on très fantaisie designer sunshades *
* sips surreptitiously from petite silver flask of cognac *
*Looks inquisitively at the crowd wondering what had just happened*
* Smashes a cracking serve down the line, which is forcefully returned by Sir Bluenose for a winner*
Oh poppycock, I knew I should have gone for more serving lessons with my tennis servants.
Nice work there my Lord!
*somehow manages to get the racket onto the ball, inexplicably served across the court by his partner*
I say there, milady, jolly good practice serve, fire off a few like that at our opponents, once they have attended to their apparrel malfunctions, and we shall win this jolly match in in quick smart time. What oh, eh?
Well look, old chap. you already knew she was a little ah confused, eh?
Had a few like her at my old school doncherknow. Very good for the theatricals, and such...
Good chap to know on those cold winter nights, what? At least that's what Matron used to say.
*Looks at the court and discovers that his opponents are actually across the other side of the net*
Good-o. Carry on then shall we?
"Erm, have we started? I didn't fire the starter pistol yet!"
*BANG!!.........BANG........BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!!!!*
"Dammit, I missed! You there, gardener chappie! Please be so good as to fall to the ground screaming, and clutching your leg, I don't want them to think I can't shoot, I'll never be let back on the grouse moors."
"Eh, what's that you said? Blanks? BLANKS! Where's the fun in that? Get me shotgun!"
"Ai sai, there appears to bodice-ripping going on. Capital! Didn't realise it was half three already..."
Almost tea! No wonder I was so thirsty. Oi say, Jeeves, fetch the Tangueray, would you?
Good lord! Who put those six dead grouses on the tennis court? They're bleeding all over the place.
Did somebody say Tanqueray? I do feel I'd rather like a pink gin about now! Lets's stop all this bally running around in the sun and playing at tennis, after all, it is just a game - not something important, like cricket...
Make mine Tangueray a Rajpur Gin, Jeeves, my palate needs some relief after all that Devonshir tea. Chop chop man!
Oh, hello Sir DaveL, I say, you didn't happen to see what hapened to my former tennis partner did you old boy? I never did find out her name, pity really, I was rather planning a little assignation with her later on down in the folly by the lake. *nudge* nudge* *wink* *wink*
Yew are naughty, old thing!
I wonder, could we have the pool boy run these grouses down to Cooky? They'd make a right smashing supper, provided we still have truffles and that amusing little Viognier I picked up in Nice last year.
Oh dear, Lady Opsa. I'm afraid my cook wouldn't even pluck the grouse until they've been hung by their tailfeathers for at least a week. Dashed bad form to eat fresh grouse, doncherknow?
I think we have a few ptarmigan I shot at his highness's earlier this month... They should be good garnished with little robins, and larks. Very pretty, too. I'll break out some crusted port, if it hasn't escaped again.
Oh dear, I'm afraid you're correct as usual, Lord Mero. Perhaps my blue blood hasn't quite made it back up to my aristocratic skull after all that exercise. The ptarmigan would be quite appropriate for this season, I should think. But I still haven't the faintest idea what we shall do for pudding. Advice?
If I may be so rude as to interupt there my lady Opsa, but there can only be one pudding to have after ptarmigan. Nanny always said there's nothing quite like a bit of spotted dick after a good stuffed bird. She always tittered when she said that, for some reason...
Excellent suggestion, Lord Bluenose! Your nanny was spot-on with that one! Spotted dick helps settle the digestion and is a sovereign sleep-aid, indeed.
Will there be custard with the Spotted Dick?
And, if there is...
Can I have two lumps, please. :fireworks_smile:
...and what about rum-balls?
*** after several attempts - I'm not touching that one! ***
Oh goody, did someone utter dessert? My it's been such a busy day, laying about in leisure, while my servants work my vast estate for the 'smell of an oily rag'.
I've got a hankering for a nice big bannana split myself! Awfully novel those bananas. They brought them in from the colonies you know. Unfortunately, they are a tad over ripe by the time they reach England. Darn things are nearly rotten, but they taste delicious all the same! Very exotic!
One of these days they'll invent cold store refirgeration and I'll get ripe fruit from The Indies from a large containerised ship!!
"One of these days they'll invent cold store refirgeration and I'll get ripe fruit from The Indies from a large containerised ship!!"
Egad, what a droll idear, my dear Lord DaveL! One shudders to think of the lower classes thrown en masse into unemployment, what with so much additional time on their hands from not running back and forth to the hill country for blocks of ice. Entire economies might collapse, eh what?
When one's occupation is being a Lord, can one actually be 'unemployed'?
...Oh my goddnes no, Lord Mero, the very idea! I rather think lady Pieces was talking about the lower classes. You know, those ones who work for a living. I'm sorry, I feel sullied by the very thought...
<looks around for a servant>
I say! You there!
Go get me another pink gin to wash this bad taste out my mouth. That's a good fellow!
And could you ask Cook if the trifle is set? Can't be having afternoon tiffin without a trifle.
...and remind her about the capers. We don't want another incident.
I would really like to be sure the squidlings are in the moat this time, and not in the trifle...
I spilled a bottle of crusted port last time!
Oh Huzzah! I do believe September 20 is TLALL Day!. Have a most most joyous day speaking in a fashion that seperates you from the masses.
Eau confound it all, I forgot. And I was going to be so clever.
My word one's seen dreadful goings on in the Shrubbery...Lady Chatterly's Lover's got nothin on it!
Oooh, quick, Jeeves, run and fetch my opera glasses!
So nice to see you, Lord Bartholomew. And how was Greece?
Greece?
I thought John Travolta was rubbish!
Yes, well, he always is though, isn't he? But rally, I thought you might have taken your yacht out for a whirl around the Grecian Islands. I was hoping you'd brought a drop of Ouzo along with you. In which case I was going to suggest throwing a little fennel in with the roast.
*emerges from behind the bushes, walks nonchalantly towards Lady Opsa and Lord Bartholomew*
*one of the servant girls emerges a few moments later and scurries off, looking rather flustered*
Oh, I say Lady Opsa, where have you been hiding me old school chum Bartie?
Bartie, so good to see you! Did you manage to sort out that thing with those lawyer fellows? Bit of a rum affair, if I do say so myself.
Did some-one say RUM, what?
I'd like a shot of that in some IPA, please...
Naturally, we've just had some flown in from Inja.
Not too much before dinner, gentlemen- don't want anyone to get "Inja'd"!
(Snort, snort) Eau, how I do make myself titter...
Anyway the youngest is orf to Hogwarts for his heducashun don't cha know...he's very good at physical heducashun so I henquired how much they charge for sport there...they said a Quid each.
It's highway robbery, I tell you. Certainly they can make an exception for Little Lord Bartholomew, III. A scholarship ought to be available to those owning less than three castles. I mean really- the little one you have on the Riviera could hardly be cawled a castle. It's only got seven bathrooms.
Quite rightly Earl Tau one chose to ignore one's little Quidditch joke there...oh well...Not everyone's familiar with the High Octane adventure of Harry Potter, preferring, as does Lady Bart, the soothing tales of romance from the likes of Barbara Cartland and Stephen King.
Awfully romantic Lord Barty. I do hope Lady Bart reads such novels to reinforce her class status. We can't be reading about riff-raff now, can we?
Oh- a quid each... I get it, now. Haw haw!
Rahlly, I can be so dim. It's the over-breeding, you know. But Mumsy says it's awl for the best. Meaning us, don't you know.
Well Sir Opsa whilst I've tickled one's ribs so to speak...I have another hilarious jokette...
What does one call a US President who loves to listen to Vivaldi?
Baroque Obama... ;D
*titter* *wheeze* *clutches chest in slight convulsion*
I say, Old Man, your jokes are quite the giggle. But I hope you're not calling me "Sir". I mean, just because I wear tweed and a monocle, which I think make me look rather sophisticated and scholarly, and Pater says that it doesn't matter if I dress in an eccentric manner, because someone's going to marry me for all his cash, anyway. So there.
Oooh, I say! Has your Pater got a lot of cash?
<rubs hands gleefully>
I've always been attracted to ladies of an independent mind, don't you know?
Eau, he's quite filthy with it, and I admire your candor. Pater says everyone's sew affected these days.
Oh yes, well one has always found that there is nothing quite so attractive in a woman as very large bags of filty lucre. I had been rather blind to your charms, but now I find myself all quite bedazzled! And may I say you do look remarkably intelligent not to say attractive in your monacle and that tweed suit certainly looks quite becoming. My kind of woman indeed!
<gives leering wink>
I'll have to introduce you to one of my gundogs, young Bluenose, she's got a trust fund, as I recall, and very bohemian ways, when she's not 'working' of course. Well documented family tree, they say...
Lord Mero- are you comparing me to a... a... (swoons and faints, having blood like water.)
I say, it's been jolly quiet in here, lately, non?
Sorry, Lady Opsa, bin a bit confused doncherknow...
No, dear Lady, I wasn't comparing you to one of my gundogs. One just thought that Bluenose felon fellow might find m'dogs a bit closer to his level, so to speak. Nothing worse than a declasse pirate gettin' ideas above his station, what?.
I See, that little be Chang'd since I felle Asleep. This remindeth mee grately, of ye CONVERSACIOUN, atte Gryblynge Hall.
I was Tolde that I shoulde fynde good fellows, here.
I remayne,
Yr True Frende, Humphrey Gryblynge.
Ai sai, Well met, Sir Humphrey. Tempt you with a snifter of brandy? Or are you a whisky-and-soda man?
Thank you for clearing that up for me, Lord Mero darling. Not that I don't have an excellent pedigree... *titter*
Eau Pachy, do introduce me to your new friend. I do so admire his quaint outfit. From out of town, I take it?
Lady Opsa, this is Sir Humphrey. Be gentle, he's new here.
Sir Humphrey, may I present Lady Opsa, heiress to a fortune, and one of our most eligible fillies, dontcher know.
You saye, this Lady hath Money? In sooth, I am newly learning to master this magicall instrument, ye TELEPHONE. If the Lady would but telle me, her NUMBER, wee might converse further.
Yr Frende, Humphrey Gryblynge.
Oh I say, Lord Mero! I do hope you have not confused me with my scoundrel of a brother, Captain Bluenose. Black sheep of the family and all that. Nanny had quite a time with the litle beggar I can tell you. We had to throw him out of the family after his lewd displays with a Galapagos tortiose on Christmas Day back in 82. Caused quite an upset. My poor mother never got over it, God rest her soul.
<leers at Lady Opsa, thinking no one can see>
Sir Humphrey, my goode man. Fancy a little gameof croquet? I'm sure Lord Mero has some mallets and hoops hidden around here someplace...
I have some hoops hidden in my hoop skirts!
Eau hu hu hu hu hu... I do fancy my sense of humor, don't you?
*Winks saucily at Lord Blue, but blushes appropriately afterward*
Sir Humphrey, here at Landlubber Manor we do not use telephones. Too many germs on them and such. Here is our calling card. We accept visitors on Thursday afternoons. Especially if they come with expensive presents.
Lady Opsa! You naughty girl! There's nothing I like better than a sweet young lass with a fine sense of humour, unless there also happens to be great big bags of lolly involved. Why don't we take some time to discuss the terms of your future inheritance, eh what? I hear you Papa is simply rolling in fitlhy lucre...
I do beg your pardon Sir BLuenose, I thought you said -
There's nothing I like better than a sweet young a...
Do excuse me for my indiscretion!
You're interested in livestock, then? Daddy had a sweet, young ass named Filbert. Really rounded out the pastoral effect on the south lawn. Of course, we had to build a ha-ha around the garden or he would have eaten all the roses!
Fell in a ha-ha once. Was at "Mallet" Psmythe's family place, someplace in Gloucestershire, I believe. No, no, tell a lie, it was Gloucestershire. Got a bit squiffy on the old G & T, and went fer a little wander with Daphne, his sister. Fell in the damn ha-ha getting away from him...
Eau, I say, Lord Pachy, old bean, what on Earth is that large grey cloud wafting in from the north west? If I didn't know better I would say it was a volcano erupting, but there aren't any vulcanoes out in the middle of the North Atlantic, are there, eh what?
No, it's from Big Brenda who had curried eggs, leeks, beans and stewed apricots with her dinner.
A volcanic eruption would be much less noxious. :mrgreen:
What's that you say? Volcano? I thought that was snuff powder. I collected it by the bucket load and sent it around to Lord Postlethwaites garden luncheon. I thought it was jolly good stuff myself!
That'll be the curried eggs, old boy. Adds a certain piquancy, don't you think?
Yes, but Daddy thinks it's simply beastly that he can't fly his Lear jet back up from the Grecian Isles. He's thinking of suing Iceland.
Lady Ops, why don't you send one of those new fangled telegraphic thingamajigs to your Pater and say that you'll send his yacht to pick him up. I'm sure he can find something to do for the few days it will take to get there. I understand that the fillies are quite attractive in the Greek isles, <snort> eh what? After all, I have heard that he is a bit of a connoisseur of, ahem, horse flesh!
Say- I have a smashing idea! Whot say we all hop aboard Daddy's yacht and make a rescue party of it? We could have theme cocktails and the like. I'll wire him after tea.
A corking idea!
We can make flaming volcanos (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flaming_Volcano_%28cocktail%29), hurricanes (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_%28cocktail%29), smoky martinis (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martini_%28cocktail%29#smoky), lava flows (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pi%C3%B1a_colada)...
Wot a simply capital idea! Please make sure that there are ample supplies of gin and tonic, and I'll be there in just a jiffy.
I say! D'yer think we should take an elephant along? The idea just struck me....
Saw a movie once, doncherknow.
Is say, Lord Mero, what a simply spiffing idea. I'll pack my elephant gun!
Top idea lords and ladies. I shall get my entourage to fetch my nautical outfit at once! I'd love to wear my little pom-pom sailors hat!!
Ai sai, spiffing, what? Duty Elephant reportin' in. And Ai'll thankee ter put that elephant gun away, Lord Blue, it's giving me the heebie-jeebies, an' the very last thing yer wants on a confined vessel is a nervous helephant...
Splice the mainbrace, keelhaul the cabin boy and other nautical hexpressions!
Eau goodies. I've got simply the gayest little satin sailing outfit with spring green bows, complete with a cunning little sailor hat. Such a pity it doesn't have pom-poms, like Dave's. Oh well. One must make do with what one's got, dontcher know.
I've sent Alfred off to fetch a couple of crates of gin and tonic. What shall we do for sandwiches?
I'll have a crocodile Sandwich, and make it snappy!
Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!
I love a little joke, eh!
Yers, quite.
I was rather hoping for some of those little cucumber sandwiches, the small ones with the crusts cut off. Nanny always used to make us those when we were learning how to be proper little gentlemen. Lovely with a nice cup of tea, I must say.
Titter, guffaw, wheeze, gasp... What if we get the cook to cut the cucumber sandwiches so that they look like little crocodiles? I'm sure it would be no trouble at all.
By joves, I must have dozed off in the sun. Can someone fetch me my parasol, I appear to be getting rather sunburnt!
Good Lord, Sir Dave, you're almost beige!
It does match well with the dress, though. Most becomin'. And damn handy fer the huntin'.
He will have to ride side-saddle, of course. Why, he'd be well-camouflaged on the palomino.
"Chortle, Chortle"
I really must invite you all up to my quarters for a game of cards some time. My scullery maid will prepare a banquet most fitting!
Darling, that's absolutely darling of you I'm sure, but, erm... may I be quite frank? That scullery maid, while she is...erm... efficient dontcher know, I have to wonder how...erm... (oh, how do I put this gently?) sanitary her preparations may be.
I'm sure she would be fine. I think she's the one that gives Milord Dave his bath....
Yes yes, the one with the big, er... sponges.
You sure? I thought it was the one with the loofah, and the saucy grin...
If it were me, I would go with the big sponges and the saucy grin and tell her to leave the loofah out of it. ;D
I say, Lord DaveL, would your scullery maid be interested in photography, by any chance? It just so happens that I have contrived to turn my cabin into a passable dark room, and it would be a pleasure to show her the, ahem, ropes...
I say, you chaps are deuced inconsiderate, you know...
Fapping on about scullery maids, when Lady Opsa is our honored guest. :o
Lady Opsa, I brought along a couple of strappin' young footmen, just in case things got e-r-r-m energetic with the huntin', what.
Please feel free to keep them occupied, if you wish, and have you noticed one of the beaters is rather 'piratey', if that would suit your fancy, eh?
Yes indeed Lord Mero, once again you are thinking straight.
Lady Opsa, I wonder if, perchance, you might be interested in a little photographic experimentation yourself? I have all the latest equipment, you know...
Dearest Mero, I myself am to blame for going on about the scullery maid. I suppose I am just a teensy-beensy bit jealous because her sponges are so, er... sudsy.
Does this mean I can't play with the pirate? He does look a devil.
Blue, last time I visited your darkroom, we broke the enlarger! Not that it was needed, or anything...
Oh my dear Lady Opsa, the pirate is utterly at your disposal (we've plenty of beaters and one beater is more or less like another when it comes to huntin', doncherknow.)
I've given him a golden guinea, and a bar of soap. Told him he's your personal beater...
'f you need mine own self at any time, just crook that delightful little finger of yours in my direction, what? Sudsy, eh? Jolly good show! (You have no cause for Jealousy, or envy either. Oh my, no!) Sudsy! Delightful thought! Oh my! Oh my!
Oooooooh- you're certainly in a saucy mood this afternoon, Lord Mero! What sort of alchemy have you added to your gin and tonic, and may I please have some, too?
It was somethin' that charmin' DaveL chap gave me.. Cap'ns Deloit or some such name. Very invigoratin' !
I say, old chap! C'n Lady Opsa have a little drop of that stuff you added to m' G&T, eh?
Why yes indeed old chap, feel free! I think that bounder Captain Bluenose had brewed up a batch from Portsmouth Public School.
Reminds me of the stuff Nanny kept in a little bottle in her underwear drawer when I was a little chap! Jolly times, though, sadly, long gone... I used to visit her in prison when I was up at Cambridge.
Here you are Lady Opsa, my dear, mind you don't get any on bare skin! Goodness me, from this angle you do remind me of Nanny, what? What is that rainbow thing shining around you?
Oh, Lord Mero, it's just that you've fogged up your pince-nez, silly duck! Here, let me polish it.
Ooh, this stuff does pack a whollop, does it not?
Oh my! I don't think I'd better have any more of that!
At least not without lying down first, eh? The footmen had quite a struggle I believe. And I seem to recall a very kindly and dignified elephant being most insistent that I not jump into the sea to cool orf? Very gracious chap, anyway. Was wearing a tie from my old school I believe? Oh dear, I seem to be quite confused.
Oh dear. I can't see my hand in front of my face for all this fog! :mrgreen:
Lud! That is *my* face you're waving your hand in front of, you silly goose. Do be a dear and fetch me another cognac.
I say chaps! I was just taking in the sea air up on the promenade deck and what's that I see over there on the horizon? It appears to be some sort of sailing ship... and is that a Jolly Roger flying at the mast head? Oh my goodness, I hope that blasted Captain Bluenose is not aboard...
* giggles fetchingly *
* sashays, a bit unsteadily, over to the rail for a closer look *
Good Lord. That delightful woman wobbled as she walked!
Is she not wearing stays, or am I still confused by that invigoratin' G&T additive? ???
Lovely woman though, what? Very Charmin'.
Hmmm, yes. She's been somewhat bobblier now that she let those pufferfish out of her corset. I fear they've left some jiggle room.
Lady P, I say, would you like me to tighten your laces? You could grab hold of that railing to steady yourself.
Hmmmm?
*hic*
I say, Opsie-Daisy, that's a capital idea! One does want to look one's best for [*shiver*] piratical rogues. In case of boarding. La!
Oh Dear, oh dear! Just look at that fellow standing on the quarter deck of that ship. If I'm not mistaken he appears to be shouting naughty words at us and making lewd gestures towards the ladies! I say we need to tecach that fellow a lesson he won't forget, eh what? In fact, I've half a mind to go over there and give him a jolly good talking to, you see if I don't. That will sort him out, make no mistake!
Aw, just let me 'n' Pieces take care of 'em. We'd wear 'em out in a trice.
Ahem.. did I say that? Pardon me. Must've been the Captain's Delight...
What a rude bounder that man is Lord Bluenose. I say, we sully forth and give that man a right punch on the hooter!
Ooooooh, did someone say, 'thrice'? :giggle:
* quickly adjusts opera glasses for a better look at the piratical rogues *
*hatch cover lifts*
"Ai sai, what's all the ballyhoo? I was just, ehm, well, aha, checking the sail locker, yes, that's it, checking the sail locker, and then there was all this confounded noise above me head..."
*eyes cross*
"Dear God, girl, not now"
*eyes uncross*
"Pirates! Bugger me!"
*hatch crashes shut*
*muted roar from below*
"That was an expression, not an instruction!"
Gracious, whot a trumpet that Pachyderm has!
Now now now, DaveL darling, there'll be no hooter-punching! We don't want anyone's hooters all swollen up.
Indeed Lady Opsa. I must say, however, that it does not appear to be that pirate scoundrel's hooter that is all swollen up... *guffaw*
Heavens to Betsy, Blue old thing, you're right! No opera glasses needed, here.
:blush:
One should say not! But *do* borrow mine, Opsa, dear, and feast your peepers upon the ruffians off the port. Speaking of port...
Capital idea, M'Lady P.
Happen to have some here, if you would care for a splash?
I daresay it'll take more than a splash to fill our flagons, Pachy you rogue (elephant)!
Goodness gracious Pieces old duck, the pearl handle on these opera glasses is rather difficult to grasp with sweaty palms. I've very nearly dropped them in the drink. Where have I put my dainty little lace gloves?
I, Madam, am not a rogue. I am a rapscallion. Rogue, indeed! No port for you, young lady....
Did someone mention port! :mrgreen:
Did indeed, Lord M. Stand to the left, and I'll pass it over.
Opsa, such a jest! One never leaves home without spare gloves -- both lace *and* kid -- in one's reticule.
Mero, do be a dear and hold my port whilst I fetch a pair of gloves for Opsa...
Certainly, m'dear. Would you like one of m'footmen to escort you?
Naughty rapscallion Pachy! I shall now pout and stamp my tiny foot.
It would be a pity, wouldn't it Mero, if some of that glass of port should spill accidentally between my cupid's bow lips?
He certainly would deserve it, Lady Opsa! However, please accept my own full glass, instead...
And may I say how much I now envy that noble port. :fireworks_smile:
I say! Lord Mero, I've just had an absolutely spiffing idea! What say we show that pirate scoundrel just what sort of men he's up against. Let's play a brisk game of deck quoits, that will show him we're not to be tarried with!
Capital Idea, Bluenose old chap!
I'll have to have m'valet play for me, though. I'm still a little dizzy from that - ahem - additive, doncherknow.
I would deserve it? It wasn't me who casually called a chap a rogue! I would draw your attention to the big ears, prehensile trunk and general air of elephantness in the immediate vicinity. The word "rogue" tends to mean sun-tanned chappies in solar topees, with very serious expressions and damned great big rifles pesterin' a fellow.
Me and the port will be hidin' in the sail locker....
Look here "paki' or whatever your name is, you can't skulk in the sail locker, m'hounds are resting in there!
And depriving a Lady of access to the Port is the act of a bounder, if not a cad!
You jolly well would deserve it if the pretty lady in question did drink your Port! I have to insist, act like a gentleman, or you'll sleep with the servants, man!
Damme, m'hounds are better behaved! :taz:
*Drops his freshly laundered handkerchief in shock*
*Adjusts his monocle to deflect the social awkardness of the situation*
Oh dear, perhaps I'm still affected by that Cap'n's Deloit?
I do hope I haven't offended anyone of any consequence...
Dear dear, Pachy. I was only making a very poor joke about rogue elephants. I meant no harm and I'm awfully sorry to have caused offense. Bad me! Do come out of that locker, won't you please, and rejoin the party? I do so hate to see Lord Mero looking crestfallen and Sir Dave's freshly laundered handkerchief all sullied on the deck. And I don't even know where Pieces has got to.
Is that pirate feller still around? If so, meself , the hounds, and the port are quite comfortable, dontcher know. Best thing is, passing to the left just means switching hands.......
Ai say, there is such an awful brouhahaha, one can barely keep the rogue pirates -- rapidly advancing upon one and one's companions, one might add -- in focus in one's opera glasses!
* languidly extends cognac glass, at a rakish angle, in general direction of bottles being passed around *
Ai say! What *does* a lady have to do for a drink around here?
* abruptly refocuses opera glasses, mid-giggle, towards the advancing pirates *
Well, where did that Captain's Delight get to? That hit the spot.
And I won't say which spot that was!
Ahh! That's what it's called, eh?
I suggest we set out a row of open bottles of this Captain's Delight, right where these pirate chappies are going to board...
That should give the footmen a chance to pitch the blighters back overboard, even allow the Ladies to take appropriate measures, what? ;)
Teddibly clever idea, Lord Mero, you foxy swain, you!
Mero, you are such a tease!
Opsa, dear, I've dispatched the ladies' maid to fetch sewing kits. How else might we 'take measures' with the oncoming pirates, eh, what?
* winks conspiratorially and takes another nip of whatever is sloshing about in the cognac glass *
Leave open bottles? Is that allowed? Let's just pitch the empties overboard. Would make the decks easier to walk along, too.
Can I offer the services of a chappie I met in the Sub-continent. Name's Yogendra Singh Yadav. Very handy chap in a tight spot...
Oh dear yes, the more the merrier!
Now, whom are we sizing up, now?
Quote from: The Meromorph on June 15, 2010, 09:45:29 PM
I suggest we set out a row of open bottles of this Captain's Delight, right where these pirate chappies are going to board...
That should give the footmen a chance to pitch the blighters back overboard, even allow the Ladies to take appropriate measures, what? ;)
;)
*sotto voce* I say, Lord Pachy, the ladies are looking at that pirate fellow with a certain ferocity, don'tcha think?
Eh, wassat?
*sotto voce*
Gads, Blue old chap, yer right. They are looking downright predatory, what? I'd say that chappie is on the list fer a damn good thrashin'.
*sotto voce*
Well, if it turns out to be that dastardly Captain Bluenose chap, a thrashing might not discourage him - I hear he enjoys that sort of thing, the rum fellow.
I say! That pirate ship is getting awfully close!
*sotto voce*
If he likes a good thrashing, he may well have gone to the same school as me. Matron plied a mighty right arm, as I well remember
*shouts across*
"Ai sai, old boy, you wouldn't happen to have a bottle of Angostura bitters on board by any chance. It's just we're out, you see, and you simply can't make a jolly old pink gin without it. And, as every right-thinkin' nautical cove will tell you, one simply can't set sail without a Harry Pinkers in yer hand"
I say- all these sotto voices are quite driving me to distraction. Come on, Pieces, let's see if we can beat the boys to the punch.
No, no, no, silly duck- not to the Cap'n's Delight. To the (ahem) rapscallion climbing up the side of our ship.
I did get your joke, by the way, you imp! I was just dragging it out, as is my wont.
Sorry old thing! Keeping one's opera glasses glued to one's limpid pool eyes does tend to obstruct one's observation of subtle social clues, doncha know.
Eww. That first one looks a bit scruffy and ill-kempt; let's hoist him by his "yardarm" and see what else turns up...
"Rite!" screamed Lorst as he clambered awkwardly over the gunwhales. "Fust fing. Doan leeve yer gunnels lyin' aroun loike dis. It's untidy."
He glowered at the assembled dandies.
"Secun. Oi b'aint unnerstud a single hoity toity wurd ye've bin spoutin'. Ye're wurse than me spanishy naveegator Naufragios Diecisiete."
Naufragios stepped forward an bowed low, sweeping off his plumed hat with a noble flourish.
"Also known as 'El C..."
"Stay yer gob there Spanishy," growled Lorst. "Now, laydeez, Oi'll be avin' orl yer valoobels if yer pleez."
Ooooh! One never dreamt that an impromptu cruise might include amenities of such piratical versimilitude!
Opsa, one simply must congratulate your organizational skills in hiring convincingly odoriferous thespians -- with such impeccable (albeit grating) timing!
Boys, do pass around the cognac again, eh what?
Lorst stared uncomprehendingly at the bewigged jackanapes assembled on deck. Minutes passed in silence.
Keeping his flintlocks pointed at the milling peachies, he turned his head slightly to one side and said "Ennyboddy?"
The buccaneers shrugged in confusion and looked to each other for inspiration.
"Not a clew Cap'n. Oi fink dey mus be furriners."
"Frenchies mebbe?"
"Nah, Merkin oi reckin."
"Oi 'eard summit loike dat in tha Low Countries."
Naufragios stepped forward. "I do believe, Captain, that I may perhaps be able to formulate a reasonable translation for their unusual dialect."
"Arf parst heleven," replied Gunner Hackem.
Hackem turned towards Lorst and continued, "Cap'n 'ave youm spied yon trollop. Tha wun wiv the frills an' the flounces an' thee arse the size o' Tortuga. Oi fink 'ats Peeces."
Lorst moved close and examined the wench's face for a few moments. Under a tall beribboned wig that looked like a decorated bee skep her skin was plastered with a pale powder upon which bright-red cupid-bow lips were painted. Unsettlingly pouty, he thought. A couple of small black felt shapes were stuck to her cheeks for some unknown reason. Her eyes, however, were particularly limpid.
"It be 'ard ter fathom," said Lorst, "but yer may be rite. Higgs, clap this coquette in irons, weez takin' er back to Venganza."
Higgs shuffled uncomfortably. "Errr.. sorry Cap'n, we ain't got no irons."
"WOT! Weez goin' plunderin' an yer furget ter bring thee irons? Mr Throgmorton, what duz yer artickles say?"
Throgmorton peered into his breeches. " Me tattoo sez 'Andle wiv care', Cap'n."
"Not those artickles man, yer pyrate artickles."
"Oh, them. Rule nummer 7 sez, 'Allus tek irons wiv yer if yer goin' plunderin'"
"Aha. See? Put Mr Higgs name on report. Punishment - a dubble servin' o' fish-head stew fer him tonight."
Hackem sidled up and nudged Lorst. "Cap'n, 'av yer notissed, thev got buckets o' grog. Oi spies a mountin o' Captains Delight over yonder. The crew wud be 'appy wiv sum o' dat."
Lorst sighed. His shoulders drooped in resignation.
"Orl Rite. Oi'll giv it anuvver try."
He turned to the assembled throng.
"DUZ..YER..SPIK..HINGLISH?"
I say, my good fellow. That's no way to treat a lady. Unhand her this minute. I''ll have you know I was the senior boxing champion at Fetheringbridges Public School threeyears running so you better behave yourself, or I'll be forced to challenge you to three rounds under the Marquis of Queensbury Rules!
"Naaar. Still nuffin. Troy agin," said Lorst with a shake of his head.
He turned to his Quartermaster. "Mr Throgmorton, while weez waitin', libberate sum o' that Captain's Delight an' lode it inter the boat."
Ai sai, you, you ruffian, leave the bloody rum alone, that's essential supplies, dontcher know!
Who the blue blazes do you think you are, Sir. that cask is quite clearly ours, and only a seasoned bounder would consider it otherwise!
Yogendra, old chap, would you mind utilising those jolly old martial skills of yours and toss these unruly types overboard?
Thanks awfully.
*** Lord Mero appears from the goat locker carrying a moderately sized swivel gun under one arm and a solid silver candelabra with three large burning candles in his other hand. Wet, sloshing sounds, and a distinct metallic clinking resound from the swivel gun ***
I say, you pirate chappies. I couldn't find any gunpwder or shot, so I've loaded this with fruit knives and soup spoons, and a half gallon of Captain's Delight'...
I suggest you return to your boat at once.
*** A stunned silence descends on the poop deck, and several previously swarthy pirates turn extremely pale, aa several drips of Captain's Delight from the muzzle of the swivel gun begin to burn holes in the deck. ***
The shocked buccaneers immediately drew their cutlasses and pistols, but Lorst raised his hand to hold them back.
Higgs' face was extremely pale and his voice shook as he spoke to his Captain.
"Cap'n, Oi dunt knaw wot yon Fancy sed, but dat swivvlygun lukes as if its primed wi' Captain's Delight. Such a dastedly fing wuz outlawed years ago." He shuddered. "If'n that cannel flame gets onnywere neer tha gun...."
Lorst nodded. He understood too well what could happen. He had lost his first command to a Captains Delight incident. Sweating slightly, he glanced towards their small boat.
"Ow's tha loadin' goin', Mr Throgmorton?"
The Quartermaster was passing the final barrel over the side. "She canna take any more, Captain!"
"Mr Diecisiete," ordered Lorst, "Pleez tell dese peeple abaht tha use of Cap'n's Delight as a h'explosiv."
Naufragios stepped forward. "Certainly, Captain. My pleasure." He turned to address the assembled foreigners.
"Well, no doubt you are fully cognisant of Section 4(b) of the Eighth Amendment to the Port Royal Agreement. Ratified at the 12th Convocation of the Brethren of the Coast, this section specifically outlawed the implementation of the substance known as 'Captains Delight' as a propellant, fuel or explosive. Such use is considered to be a cruel and inhuman treatment. You may recall the case of R v Black Spot (1706) which provides some guidance...."
Naufragios was interrupted by the sound of raucous, drunken singing.
"Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A Pyrates liofe fer me..."
The small boat, loaded with casks and (now very jolly) sailors was pulling away towards the 'Wanderin' Penguin'.
"Errrmm. If you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that a swim may be in order." With impressive speed, the navigator leapt onto the gunwhales and dived gracefully into the water below.
"Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A Pyrates loife fer me.
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle an' loot.
Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!
We kidnap an' ravage an'don't giv a hoot.
Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!
"We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack,
Drink up, me 'earties, Yo Ho!
Maraud an' embezzle........
Did anyone get a word of what that last chap said? Sounded damn like lawyerin' to me.
Ai'll have to speak to Bertie at the Admiralty, can't have dashed odd coves like that runnin' around with their own lawyer, it just isn't cricket!
Ai sai, they left us a bottle of Angostura! Capital fellows! Harry Pinkers all round, what!
* shudders delicately at the near-threat of being clapped in irons *
* faints onto a conveniently placed deck chair, taking care to not wrinkle boating costume *
*sits up in the faintest of snits, that no one has gallantly refilled her cognac as a revivifant *
* hopes that the sunburn incurred since last post will not mar her carefully maintained pallor *
Here, m'dear. Have a pink gin. Them blaggards have done a runner with all the cognac...
Great heavens, I think we all must have passed out just then. Where the deuce are we?
Thank you for the pink gin, Pachy. One has always been loyal to HRH's Bombay Sapphire until now... one says, one doesn't quite recognize one wave from the next...
One idly wonders whether we have been the unwitting victims of a "missing time" incident? These demmed "missing time" incidents have been all the rage lately, according to the local papers, what?
(http://wisconsinosity.com/ufo.gif)
Oh, don't worry Milady. 'Tis Bombay Sapphire, never fear. And Angostura Bitters fer the pink.
Yes, this missing time malarkey seem to be all the rage. Went round to Gareth's place on Friday, next thing I knew it was Monday morning! Some fiend had pinched me week-end!
Oh goody. I do so enjoy being with the avant garde. Let's have a mad, mad tea party (gin, of course) and invite all the aliens and everyone else will be green with envy. How shall we contact them? Crop circles seem so declasse...
"Can one create wave circles?" she asked a bit tipsily.
Do you mean we'd stand in a circle and wave at them? Gosh, no. That'd scare them to death. They're more used to us threatening them with missiles and the like.
I really must object, good sirs and ladies. Those aliens are simply beyond the pale. I mean, just last week I went into my local public house for a little light refreshment and next thing I know it was the next morning - those darstardly aliens had abducted me, emptied my pockets of all my money and conducted fiendish experiments on me by filling my blood up with alcohol - amd I have absolutely no recollection of the time in between!
That sounds awful! One hopes such a scarring experience will not put you off patronizing your local pub when we return from this endless whimsical cruise!
Confound it- where are we, anyway?
We are here, Lady T, just where we should be. Within arm's reach of the gin.
Eau, thanks heavens. I was feeling a bit- oriented there for a moment. Be a good fellow and pour us a splash, won't you dear?
"Mais naturellement, ma cherie."
*passes Lady T a gin*
"Anyone else for a top-up?"
* passes glass *
If we have many more top-ups we could wind up with our tops down, Lady Nine! HAW-haw-haw...
I say, Pachy old bean, you wouldn't care to pass the Bombay Saphire over in this direction by any chance, would you old chum?
Dear, dear, the fellows seem to be passing that back and forth from one another and leaving ladies out of the running completely, Nine. Maybe we should send for some cheeses.
...er... Nine...?
...sorry, dear! I *was* paying attention. just surreptitiously checking my stays...
I can no longer remember if there are storerooms, galleys, staterooms, cabins, or anything of the like on this magnificent yacht. If so, shall we repair to one in search of sustenance beyond gin, and companions of a more engaged nature?
ps: Do bring your cello, dear! We might be up for a bit of a singalong later.
(http://www.freewebs.com/craftyjak/gibson%20girls%20002-medium.jpg)
Sorry, ladies, my most humble apologies. There was a shocking incident just then, and it completely threw me. Bloody fellow dropped the rum. I believe someone suggested cheese? Capital idea! Spot of tiffin on the afterdeck, what?
Indeed yes, Lord Pachy. Just let me send round the boy to fetch my cello. Niners darling, do you know The Man Who broke the Bank at Monte Carlo (http://www.know-britain.com/songs/man_who_broke_bank_monte_carlo.html)?
Know him! I...
Ooooh, not quite what you were asking, old duck, was it? :giggle:
:ROFL:
I walked right into that one, didn't I?!
Well don't just stand there. Fetch my pipe and slippers will you good man.
Heard about this fellow doing the rounds of the Royal court, who can fix stuttering you know. He ffffffffffff....ffffffffffffff....ffffffffff...fixed me in a jiffy. Apparently, he helped some king make some important address during wartime. Sssssspppp...spppppppp...splendid fellow!!
Well, I find that if one has enough cognac, one can slur their way around any speech impediment. And if one shares one's cognac, no-one cares what they say, anyway.
Did you like the snifters I gave you for Christmas?
I say, that's a frightfully good cognac old chaps. Do let's have a glass all round!
"Spiffing idea, Lady Pieces."
*holds up simply enormous brandy balloon glasses*
"Whose having a snifter?"
Ooh, I say- we may have to send the butler back for another bottle. Those snifters are so voluminous that the cognac is evaporating before it hits the bottom!
My word, Lady P, this is a damn fine cognac! Could I trouble you for a topper-upper, eh what?
Eh what, indeed, Blue old chum!
Opsa, dear, the only sensible course of action is to hold a snifter in each hand, the better to fight untimely evaporation. Maintain them at a small distance from your face, dear, and inhale deeply and rapidly whilst the cognac is being poured out.
I say, where is that butler anyway?
You just can't get the staff these days, don'tcher know...
Eau, don't I know it... oops, you meant the menials, didn't you? :-[ Yezz, well, them too...
You know, I never inhale, but in this case maybe I shall after all.
Blimey...ones worked up a bit of a thirst whilst teaching the scullery maid how to peel her onions...pass the Caraaaafe.
Certainly Sir! Which way was it to the scullery?
It's in the north wing, Ducky. Just follow the trail of onion tears. (I hope they don't mar the marble floors.)
Why thank you good lady, I fear Bart may have done something rather preposterous in there you know.
Do you think so? I thought I saw the scullery maid just now walking out to empty the dustbin. She was smiling from ear to ear, so I can't imagine anything could have been terribly wrong. She was limping a little, though. I think she has a bad leg or something.
Please excuse the double-posting, but Lord DavidH has been seen near here chatting up in a landlubbery fashion, and I thought we might drag this-away and have at it, followed by cocktails, of course. Haw haw.
I say, what a cracking idea.
Jeeves! Cognacs all round, and break out the good crystal, too.
(In my Jeeves voice)
Certainly, Madam, but if I mey venture an opinion - would Madam prefer me to produce the good crystal without breaking it?
* laughs musically *
You are such a card, Jeeves. You should be dealt with!
Pour a snort for yourself while you're at it, and -- I say! -- tell the staff they may have a tot as well, eh, what?
Aren't we having a bully time of it, then?
I think we may have to throw a bit of pool-water on my maidservant Claudette, though, as I've just found one of her stockings clinging to the Dorothy Perkins rosebushes. Just toss it in there with her. If we hear her shriek we'll know we got her...
<emerges from behind Dorothy Perkins rosebushes, looking slightly dishevelled>
<sotto voce> I say, that feels better!
<looks around>
Ahem. Ah... Lady Opsa, umm... Er... Oh, is that Duchess Pieces with some cognac? Jeeves, Ill have one of those, there's a good fellow...
*Calling into Dorothy Perkins rosebush* Claudette- do be a good girl and run fetch my parasol. While your at it, please fix your hair, and get a fresh apron. And do wipe that smirk off your face.
That goes for you too, Blue old boy. Don't look now, but you've got a stocking stuck to the back of your tweed blazer. I'll pretend to pat your back and crumple it into my monogrammed hankie to give to Claudette later.
* idly wonders where that Jeeves person is, while delicately slurping last of cognac *
Ditcha get the lates' newts? The Pirate Party made it into the Berlin House o' Representatives in the election previous Sundae.
8.9% meaning 15 reprehensibles (15 mates, 1 wench)!
The fiends! How dare they have a party and not invite us? I must say, I'm quite cross about this. I shall stamp my little feet, I shall!
Don't mention it too loudly my dear, we wouldn't want that Captain Bluenose blaggard to hear now, would we?
Avaarst! Did sumwun menshun poirates?
Quick! Into the conservatory before the blighter sees us!
I think we got away with it...
Maybe if we sprinkle a trail of rum out through the back gates he'll follow it.
Egads, Lady Opsa! Talk about ["air quotes"] alcohol abuse [/"air quotes"] !
* titters *
By jove you're right, Lady Pieces. Obviously I wasn't thinking straight.
Send Jeeves out for some cheaper rum. We can use that.
(In my Jeeves voice)
I regret to inform madam that rum is not obtainable more cheaply than our present supply, which was syphoned out of the barrel that carried Lord Nelson's corpse in 1805.
* rolls long-suffering -- yet still limpid -- eyes at Jeeves' cheek *
* also behind his back *
Sorry I over slept---- too much of that industrial strength rum and such in early celebration.
Don't mind Jeeves, he simply doesn't understand the subtle discrepancies between value and quality. Yes, our ancestors obtained the rum through rustic means, but it is exemplary rum and therefore not to be poured upon the pea-gravel. At least not before ingestion. Please. We're civilized, here.
However, it does give one pause... perhaps a person of piratical talents might be an asset to us in obtaining more loot substance for our wherewithal. Of course, he would have to go through a vigorous screening process.
^ Ripping good suggestion! While one is enchanted with the concept of a really rigorous screening, one would also settle for an aspirant with a suitable costume...
My dears! Our glasses are *empty*! JEEVES!
Aaaaarrrgggghhhhh!!!
Now ware did all them 'lubbers go? Oi were jest hopin' they moight be hinterested in sum o' this 'ere Capain's Deloight XO (Speshul Reserve) wot Oi brung 'ere real quick loike after knockin it off, ahem, acquirin' it from me ole mates at the Portsmouth Pirate Public School Distillery. Looks loike Oi'll hafta jest sit 'ere next ter this sanstone gate house and drink it all meself!
My word, Lady Opsa! What on Earth was that blood curdling sound coming from down the driveway? Should we form one of those possie thingumajigs thos damn Yankies seem so fond of to go and investigate?
Well, I suppose we shall have to, shan't we? Maybe we should go by horseback. Just give me twenty minutes to get into my jodhpurs, will you? I never ride without my jodhpurs. Wouldn't be ladylike.
You go first, Lord Blue. You can wield that heavy walking stick with the brass rhino head. Wield it at him! That'll show him a thing or two, I dare say!
I say, Lady Opsa, who'd have thought it would take nearly a whole year to go down to the gate house and back, eh what?
And what was that beastly man rambling on about? Something about "tawk loyka poiritday" or some such rubbish. Oh well, never mind, fancy a Pimms?
Don't mind if I do. Especially since it's been a whole year. Thank you, Lord Blue. Goodness, but I'm parched.
There you go, my dear and I've managed to rustle up a plate of cucumber sandwiches, what fun, eh?
* sees a crust left on one of the cucumber sandwiches *
* faints *
Good heavens! Please avert your eyes, Lord Blue, while I loosen Lady Piece's bodice. She seems to be in desperate need of lung expansion at the moment. And be a dove and toss that crust to the urchins on the other side of the garden wall. We all know they're out there.
<resists almost overwhelming desire to sneak a peek>
Jolly good Lady Opsa...
<tosses crust to urchins lurking over garden wall>
There you go you scoundrels, that's your lot for this week. Now be off with you!
I don't understand it, I distinctly remember throwing a apple core at them just last week, and here they are, yet again begging for more. Disgraceful and so untidy looking.
How is Lady Pieces? Do you think it's serious?
Indeed yes, it's always frightfully serious when a lady swoons. Just gaze upon her colour! Those roses on her cheeks have gone from "Dainty Bess" to positively "Etoile de Hollande", though that may have happened just after you peeked.
I fear we'll need some stronger brandy.
* opens eyes woozily *
Did one hear "brandy" mentioned?
Oh, good heavens!
* hastily re-cinches bodice *
Oh goody, it seems you've recovered (in more ways than one)!
Let us celebrate with some of this exemplary pear brandy and hideously expensive cheeses, the rinds of which we may elect to toss over to the urchins as a sign of grateful benevolence.
Splendid suggestion, Lady Opsa.
One so admires these exquisite Bamberg pear brandy snifters. Were they acquired on one of your thrilling expeditions to exotic locations?
Don't I wish! No, they were just a gift from the Grand Duchess when she last visited. A little thank-you offering, don't you know. The old dear insisted.
There we are. Shall we go watch the polo match?
There is nothing like a rousing chukker -- or two, or six -- when one is enjoying a fine pear brandy, what?
Indeed, indeed. Who is available to bring the carriage around?
*bows*
May one be of assistance? My conveyance lies just yonder, and one is fortunate enough to have acquired the services of a truly excellent driver and footman.
*offers arm*
Why thank you, Lord Pachy, but I rather suspect it would be better to offer your arm to the ladies, eh what?
Ah, 'tis Milord of Noses Blue!
Fear not, good sir. There would appear to be yourself, and the two Ladies, and, being an helephant, one has two arms and a very prehensile trunk, plenty of room fer everyone, dontcher know...
How teddibly convenient. And there's nothing so solid as an elephant to lean on when one has downed copious amounts of pear brandy.
Absolutely, Milady. One does try to be of service. To one's peers, naturally. Not the great mob of unwashed oiks, of course. They simply do not know how to say "Thank you" in an appropriate fashion. Ghastly...
Indeed Lord Pachy indeed. Speaking of which, I went down to the local produce markets and ate one of the finest 'peers' money could buy. Fruit and vegetables are so hard to come by you know.
Why, if it isn't Sir Dave! Goodness, do you suppose that this peer brandy is made from those same peers? I thought it was a little more cured, if that's the correct word.
One understands that they have to be unwashed to get the correct yeast that ferments them into wine, which is used to make the brandy. At least that's what my butler remarked when he reported you comments during m' morning ablutions.
Yet another beneficial use for the Great Unwashed, doncherknow?
I do love a good butler in the peer brandy. You need an awfully big glass though *chortle* *chortle*
*titter, snort* What if we simply choose a veddy tiny butler?
Lord Mero! I haven't seen you since they made you Viceroy of whatever that darling little place was called.
Yersss. Charmin' little place. The lodgin's are a little small, and I can't understand what the blighters are saying, though. Deucedly inconvenient, what? Lots of elephant's around, too...
Perfect! Perhaps you can locate us a butler small enough to fit into a glass of brandy. Teheeehee, ahem... oh dear, I never can tell when a joke is over. Confound it. Really puts a crimp in my bustle, as they say.
Oooh, elephants, eh? Anyone Lord Pachy might know? He's veddy well connected, I hear.
Been made a Viceroy? Congratulations, old chap, signal honour, dontcher know. Whereabouts is it? One may well know a bod or two there, do try to keep an ear to the ground, that sort of thing....
Lud! 'Ear to the ground' indeed, Lord Pachy!
Heartiest congratulations on your elevation to Viceroymanship, m'Lord! You'll bring some much needed style to that set, eh what.
I should hope so. Maybe we can send them down some fashion magazines, eh Lady Pieces? Give them some sort of clue as to what's going on in the cosmopolitan world. Good heavens- we'd probably get some sort of award for that sort of charity. Write it off on our taxes and the like.
Goodness gracious, Taxes? What are they?
I do believe my serfs get charged these to fund my vast estate and hunting grounds, but I am dismayed to hear privileged circle being inconvenienced by such matters.
I shall contact Justice Postlethwaite-Barnes III immediately!
Ai thought taxes were what the great unwashed called a Hansom cab?
Oh, Lord Pachy, your knowledge of these things amazes me. I had always thought taxes were those little thingies that workmen used when repairing the upholstery.
You may well be correct, Milord Blue, the oiks do have such a limited vocabulary, after all. Only room fer so many words in the limited cranium space after all, may well need to re-use some of 'em, what!
Ah, yes, that must be it! Once again Lord Pachy your towering intellect shines through!
I say, all this heavy duty thinking certainly does give one a thirst, eh what? What say we have a couple of brandys?
What a capital idea! I just happen to have a selection of exquisite snifters in me pockets. Who would like one?
By golly! What a handy thing... Ai would certainly like to have a pocket like that! It would match my pocket with this large bottle of brandy in it I seem to have picked up somewhere...
Quote from: Bluenose on October 22, 2012, 09:52:51 PM
By golly! What a handy thing... Ai would certainly like to have a pocket like that! It would match my pocket with this large bottle of brandy in it I seem to have picked up somewhere...
Has anyone seen my large heirloom leaded crystal brandy decanter? I went back to fetch it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Oh dear, I suspect the help have been helping themselves, again. I do hope they clean it out and put it back this time like I asked them to, instead of just tossing it out into traffic like they did the last time. They simply have no respect for quality.
How simply annoying, Lady Opsa. Here, let me pour you a brandy from this exquisite decanter in my pocket into one of Lord Pachy's snifters while we send out a search party for your fine crystal!
How simply clever you gentlemen are, to carry such useful "pockets" about on your own persons, rather than relying upon the help to do so!
Indeed. Awfully clever.
Might I say I admire your taste in decanters Lord Blue. I note we seem to be perfectly matched in aesthetic sensibilities in vessels for potables. Why, it's almost as if we were twins.
And look! It even has a little gold necklace with what appears to be my coat of arms on it. Now, however did you manage that?
Oh by golly, you're right Lady Opsa! I must confess that I had not looked too hard at the crest, just assumed it was the old shield with crossed trout recumbent. I had asked the craftsman to make a decanter "just like Lady Opsa's" (you do, after all, have remarkably good taste.) Perhaps I should have specified the Blue coat of arms explicitly. Tell you what, old chum, why don't you take this one to replace your missing decanter and I'll send my man to get a replacement made! Jolly good show, I say!
<hands over decanter, hopes Lady O does not notice cheap brass plated in lieu of solid gold necklace>
Darling, I wouldn't dream of taking your decanter, but I'm awfully flattered that you had a counterfeit made. No, no, no, you keep it. I insist! In fact, let me have a special necklace made for you with the Blue coat of arms. It would amuse me! But do let's drain this decanter, shall we?
Oh dear, it looks like someone drained it whilst I was raving.
That's not really a problem, Lady O, Ai just happen to have a reserve supply in me other pocket. And in several other pockets, as well.
Snifters all round, what!
*sounds of copious volumes being dispensed*
Ai believe a toast to be in order.
Tir nam beann, nan gleann, nan gaisgeach!
Why, thank you Lord Pachy, don't mind if I do.
My goodness, that's certainly a very fine drop - Bisquit X.O. if I'm not mistaken. Oh dear, this one seems to have disappeared, could I trouble you for a refill?
Gracious, mine has, as well. Pity that, eh? Do let's have another, it being Friday and all.
* a lady-like hic *
These pocket thingys are very handy, are they not?
*dispenses more "medicine" all round*
Watkins, pop down to the cellar and bring up a case or two of the XO, would you?
Topping fellow, that Watkins. Dab hand at ironing the morning newspapers, never a crease out of place, and narey a smudge....
One certainly hopes that he also turns the pages for you, Lord Pachy. Such tedious business, turning pages whilst balancing a bone china teacup!
I nearly chipped a nail doing that, once. It was beastly! Well, I don't need to tell you I'll never make that same mistake again.
Watkins is indeed a treasure. Where can I get one?
Ahh. I've been tryin' to work out what this place is that I'm now Viceroy of....
Have any of you chaps heard of a place called Scotland?
Or maybe Aberdeen?.
There seems to be something fishy going on anyway, I may have to send a gardener out to ask... ???
Aberdeen? They made me Governor General and Minister Plenipotentary when I went to University there. Grey and cold, Mero old boy, grey and cold. I recommend you send a deputy. The natives are revolting....
Snifter, anyone?
Quote from: The Meromorph on October 27, 2012, 11:11:23 PM
Ahh. I've been tryin' to work out what this place is that I'm now Viceroy of....
Have any of you chaps heard of a place called Scotland?
Or maybe Aberdeen?.
There seems to be something fishy going on anyway, I may have to send a gardener out to ask... ???
Quote from: Pachyderm on October 28, 2012, 12:31:45 AM
Aberdeen? They made me Governor General and Minister Plenipotentary when I went to University there. Grey and cold, Mero old boy, grey and cold. I recommend you send a deputy. The natives are revolting....
Snifter, anyone?
Would you be a darling and see if the deputy can bring us back another few Watkinses or similar facsimile as long as he's out? Oh oh oh- and some more brandy. Just put it on the Viceroy's tab. And yes, I'll have another snifter. In fact, let's just toss these old snifters and get fresh ones.
Hmm, one does feel rather peckish when testing the quality of all this brandy. What say we get the deputy to rustle up some cucumber sandwiches, eh what?
Deputy - rustle up... Guffaw... Snort... ???...
Ahem...
One's Ladies' Maid has just reminded one that she had packed a "pick-a-nick" hamper with cold chicken, cucumber sandwiches, and petits fours. This "pick-a-nick" scheme seems quite clever! However did the lower classes ever come up with it.
Collations rustiques, anyone?
My word, what a capital idea!
<quickly scoffs 3 points of a cucumber sandwich while Lady Pieces is looking the other way>
<makes a show of carefully choosing remaining single point of the first cucumber sandwich and, holding delicately, takes a nibble>
I say, these cucumber sandwiches are champion, Lady Pieces! Jolly well done you.
Thank you, I'm sure, Lord Blue. The trick is to hire just the right sort to staff the kitchens. And to keep a close eye on the silver, naturally.
Opsa, M'Lord Mero, Pachy... cucumber points or chicken? I say, bringing along enough staff to carry the "pick-a-nick" hampers, well-stocked portable bar, turn the pages of any random newspapers or novels, and hold one's parasol, fan, reticule, plate, teacup, and brandy snifters is such a chore.
One can feel so crowded whilst contemplating Nature's glories.
Too true, Pieces. Oooh, cucumber for me. *titter*
I'll send the upstairs staff to assist us in our revelry. They can get back to dusting on their day off. Little Genevieve suggested to cart the main dishes in the perambulator. Can you imagine? Poor little dear, bless her heart, she is awfully lucky we took her in and gave her employment. Naturally, I told her that would never do.
Tsk, tsk. They have such odd minds!
Ai say! Cold collation, pick-a-nick and brandy! All we need now is a tin or two of Maconachie's Stew heated over a fire made from native huts, a few dusky chaps to throw spears and stop machine-gun bullets and it'll be just like my old Army days!
What was it old Hilaire Belloc said? Ah, yes,
"Whatever happens, we have got
The Maxim gun, and they have not."
Wise fellow, never a truer word spoken. Still, we did look rather dashing in our lovely coats. Must see if the old red rag is still around. Afraid the sporran got a hole or two at Ladysmith. Damned inconvenient, trying to fight with an assegai hanging from yer sporran. Still, the RSM got a medal for removing it under fire.
Brandy?
Eauuuuuuu.... it all sounds so, so ....rugged! How frightfully exciting. We might need more brandies just to recover from the sheer manliness of your conquests! Why, I simply can't bear the thought of your dragging that assegai around behind you. *swoon* *teeter*
So annoyin' to be missin' all the fun and games your good selves are havin'.
Here in this 'Aberdeen' or whatever. place, I decided to show the viceregal flag a bit, what? You know, inspire the natives, get some exercise, investigate the possibility of some huntin'... I still can't understand these chappies, but I must say the area outside the palace does remind me of my old school dormitory. You know, granite walls, strong freezin' drafts, occasional screams...
My staff insisted I try a local delicacy, which seems to be called 'Fashion Chaps', I must say it was rather good, but I was a little concerned that the name implied a degree of cannibalism in the local culture (not too unusual in the kinds of places one tends to be appointed viceroy of}, but it seemed after all to be something smelling strongly of some sort of fish.
Seemed a lot of the natives were wearing kilts, too, but none of them were from a 'good' regiment so I didn't attempt to engage them in conversation. I must ask the butler to arrange some decent curry for my tiffin. Anyone like to come for a visit? There no Society here of course, but the local tipple is very decent, very decent indeed.
Sounds capital. Shall we take our picnic there? I do so enjoy a good slumming tour.
Here, here! We can enjoy a bit of new scenery whilst inspiring the indigenous population to emulate us. A great boon to the local economy, I'm sure.
Indeed! Bye the way, where is this Aberdeen place, ole chum? Is it anywhere near Trafalgar Square?
If it's not too far I shall send for the Rolls, gentlefolk, might I offer you a ride?
BTW, Lord Mero please do explain about this local tipple of which you speak, it sounds positively intriguing...
Certainly my dear Blue... All I know at the moment is that it seems to be called 'aweedram', but I shall seek more information as soon as I can stand up a little better (It's rather good stuff doncherknow). I've already told m'butler to lay in a few barrels in anticipation of your arrival. I'll get some of those 'Fashion Chaps' too, i think, most unusual
:clink:!
How do they hold up when packed for a "pick-a-nick"? One is always looking for the unusual or exotic to add to one's entertaining repertoire.
Ah, yes Aweedram. Fine stuff. Mixes well with soda.
As long as we don't have to mix with the hoi polloi, I'm sure it will be just dandy.
Indubitably, old chap and fair lady. One must endeavour to be ever so frightfully proper at all times.
Endeavor yes, Lord Deschain, but not so much as to perspire. We let the help do that for us.
I say, Lady Opsa and Lord Deschain, who's up for a game of Tiddlywinks? I'll get my man to bring us all some Pimms to keep us going in case it gets too exciting, eh what?
Indeed, my lady. One must never exert oneself when the help is available.
Jolly good show, sir, jolly good show. One's tiddlywinks are past masters at winning.
Goodness gracious, I do hope you brought the gold ones. I'd hate to chip a nail.
Nothing but the best for you. This is why one only travels with the platinum tiddlywinks.
The Platinum Tiddlywinks? Didn't we go to a dinner party at their Sao Paulo house last March?
Ai thought they were in Biarritz?
No, ducky. That was the Titanium Biddlespoons. They had the pool shaped like a pile of money, remember?
Ah, yes, of course. And the very friendly stable girl..., ahem, talented, Ai mean...
Indeed. A lovely child, as I recall. So helpful. But slow, bless her. It seems to me it took her Quite Some Time to help you with your paddock boots. And they still didn't look very neatly tied. Not that I'm criticizing, of course.
Ai always have me paddock boots lightly tied. Got caught with them laced up all neat and tight, once. Damned Pathans came over the hill, waving swords an' spittin' fire, didn't have time to change into me campaign boots and the Adjutant fined me for bein' improperly dressed. Said Ai was a "damned disgrace to the Regiment", and that "If Ai wasn't being given a medal for saving the fort, he'd make sure Ai was transferred to the Madrassi Sappers and Miners".
Still, worked out well, Ai taught his horse to roll over whenever it heard the word "gin"....
Haw, haw, haw...
You are indeed a card, Lord Pachy of Dermis
*Tittering from behind fan and fanning behind, er... whatevers.*
Well! I suppose you made a fool of that Adjutant in the end, eh Pachy?
Quote from: Bluenose You are indeed a card, Lord Pachy of Dermis...
...and you should be dealt with!
One would post a "smiley" at this juncture, but despite a vast assortment, they all seem a little ...
low brow, eh what?
If only there was some way to have them, er, engraved or something.
Tut tut, Lady Opsa. One thinks you have hit upon a capital idear, there! Could be a market for it, if only one knew someone in the merchant classes...
I know someone who knows someone who runs some sort of thingy that directs the merchant classes. Shall we have our secretary give him a ring?
Oh, how absolutely spiffing, Lady Opsa! One finds it terribly tiresome dealing with the lower classes, your solution is simply smashing! I say, after all this hard thinking of physical work, one is simply exhausted I feel in need of a Pimms. Care to join me?
Oh dear me, yes! Darling idea. And I have the most adorable little petit goblets (depicting the ruling classes throughout the ages) from which we can sip it!
One simply cannot beat a Pimm's. Shall Ai send the undergardener to tell the scullery maid to inform the cook that we shall be requireing cucumber sandwiches?
Oh, I say! What a champion idea, Lord Pachy old chum!
Ooo ooo ooo, and tell her we'll need some of those white chocolate petit fours with the gold leaf between the layers. My aristocratic lower digestive tracts so appreciate a periodic gilding.
No, no, no- send the horse back. I said gilding, not gelding. Honestly.
Well, of course Lady Opsa, no gelding would do for you now would it? Haw Haw Haw!
I should say not! We do have a duty to keep the lineage of quality and all that, don't we?
So, where are we taking our picnic, again?
May one offer one's new "pic-a-nic" gardens? The workmen have been installing gazebos and trellises and what-nots all about the place and one has heard that it is lovely at this time of year...
That sounds exquisite, Lady Pieces. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness in excusing us from having to use a public garden where who-knows-who have been putting their who-knows-whats who-knows-where. Why, the very thought of it makes me put a pale and trembling hand to my pursed lips in an universally recognized expression of dismay.
Now we won't have to send a crew ahead to sanitize things for us. Good show!
Ai sai, this is turning out to be a spiffing outing, what? The second undercook came up with a capital plan, just as we were getting ready to get ready to get ready. Ai mean, dammit, there Ai am, in a state of advanced deshabille, undress bow tie undone, and the damn girl floors me by asking if Ai would like some tiffin packed fer this pic-a-nic affair! Taken aback, Ai was. Still, cracking good idea, anyway. Might have to promote her, if she carries on in this fashion. Ai'll let her off her thrashing this month, any way...
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!
* * * * * * * * *
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!
* * * * * * * * *
I am faint with mortification, my dears! Might the caterers tempt you with cucumber sandwiches while the maids bundle you into the lap robes?
Ai sai, could you get the maids to wear kidskin gloves. Bare hands are so dashed cold when being bundled, dontcher know.
* breaks character in appreciation of ^'s pun * :D
*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.
Sadly, *my* mink is huddling inside the laprobes, clutching a cucumber sandwich and deploying large, sad eyes to be carried back inside..
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!
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.
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....
:giggle: Pachy, my dear!
It's not crumpets, jam and tea without you, one's old bean. Don't you know?
What a teddibly naughty story dear Pachy, you've quite negated my need of rouge to-day! Isn't it marvelous?
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?"
Olivia Twist? ;)
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.
Lud! Who can keep up with these "Pop" "Stars" ?
But a frightfully good game, Lady Opsa. Let's do have another...
"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.
Announcement
https://www.solvussolutions.co.uk/toadfishmonastery/index.php?action=dlattach;topic=1204.0;attach=2380
Avast! 'Ave a point o' rumme ter lift yer spirits! :yar:
Avast back at ye! Glugg.