Pip Pip, Tally Ho - Talk Like a Land Lubber

[Black Bart]

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!

[Opsa]

I suggest the ladies retire to the conservatory for a tea-and-camisole break. Our bosoms seem to be distracting the gentlemen.

[The Meromorph]

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...

[pieces o nine]

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...

[Opsa]

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?

[Black Bart]

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!

[DaveL]

O I say, have you seen my snuff power around here? I'm in awfully good need of a good snort ole chap.

[Opsa]

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.

[Pachyderm]

Ah, the old nasal tobacco! What a damned fine plan, sir. Can i tempt you with a nostrilful of "Ramses the Great"?

[Black Bart]

Why thank you kindly, but I'd much prefer a bit of Nefertiti...

[Opsa]

(I shant ask which bit!)

Does everyone have their hankies at the ready?

[Black Bart]

KER...CHEEEEEEEEEEF!  Terribly sorry old chap...tis the Hay fever season y'know.

[Opsa]

Great heavens, Sir Bartholomew, I believe that one knocked over Dabney, our ninety-year-old butler!

[Black Bart]

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.

[Opsa]

Herm, yesh. Nowadays he can't even manage flatulence, so it all works out in the end, so to speak.

Croquet, anyone?