Well Shane you got your wish here's another part of My Zulu War Stories. Enjoy! The formatting a bit wrong but then again so are these stories.
After the invasion of Chuffage Manor by German anarchists Chuffy came to stay with me. His sister decided to head down to Brighton with some of her more liberal friends leaving me to pick up the pieces. I rarely saw him these days. . Chuffy spent his days in bed sipping tea and trying to forget about his mistakes. But Chuffy would have to face some more public humiliation. You see he works for the PM and if word of his run in with the anarchists was to spread his career would be over. But only two days into his stay the story leaked to the dreaded Daily Mail. I say the dreaded Daily Mail because, well it's quite a terrible paper. I understand it's owned by several fascist dictators from some unmentionable part of Eastern Europe. I tried to hide the papers from him but he is a particularly sneaky chap and managed to glimpse the headlines when on one of his strolls through St James park. In fact the very same tramp who had his daughters leg firmly locked in his jaw was wrapped in the Daily Mail, which Chuffy managed to glimpse. When he returned home his face now resembled a dead fish, which had been left outside to gather flies in the heat of summmer.
I have to say I was in the believe that things couldn't get much worse than this. But once again I was wrong. As wrong as the time I stated in a geography class at Eaton that Russia was a small island of the coast of Argentina., which some members of the cabinet wish were true.
Just days later the fascist Daily Mail broke the story his wife met a Norwegian fisherman and ran off to live in Oslo. At this point Chuffy looked ready to drop dead. Then I received a phone call from Chief Bob. I was terribly proud when I heard his voice. It had taken him only four months to work out how
to dial. Most people take over a year to call somebody. He told me he had several run ins with the British army recently. Bob had taken up golf but seemed to have misunderstood the rules. He some how believed that the object of the game was to hit the ball towards the nearest army officer. Upon explaining the rules of the game I heard a banging noise at the other end. It turned out Bob thought poking a stick at the receiver would harm me. When
he heard no screams of pain or the soft squelching of my eye he promptly hung up.
After the slightly confusing telephone call with Bob I decided to head over to Mrs
Cuttlingthorpe's house. She is a well known figure in popular society. She was once married to the Fourth Earl of Raterhope (A small village somewhere near Norwich) But he was killed by some very angry deer who were fed up of the Earl's repeated attempts to shoot them. On his passing Mrs Cuttlingthorpe’s lost almost everything including the title. But established her self as one of the best party planners in London. She lived in a grand Edwardian house on Silk Street. Outside the house was beginning to show it's age. Inside
was a different matter. It resembled a manor house. Grand portraits of important looking people were crammed onto the walls. Fine French furniture cluttered the many rooms. An old and battered tapestry hung desperately to the living room where Mrs Cuttlingthorpe and some of her guest were sitting. She seemed to light up on my appearance always happy to see somebody with plenty of money to spend. She led me round the room introducing me to
her guests. She pointed out a rather tired looking chap slumped in a dreadful looking chair. He had a blissful appearance on his face. The kind of appearance only alcohol can give you. It turned out he was a Judge who regularly attended her house before a trail.
The very last chap was sat bolt upright with sipping on some wine. He wore a shimmering gold vest and an odd looking hat. He was introduced as King Jermaine. Although by my recolection he was now the ex-king Jermaine of Macedonia. After mentioning this to Mrs Cuttlingthorpe she seemed none the less impressed by ex-king Jermaine. Mrs Cuttlingthorpe has a distinct interest in royalty or in this case ex-royalty. We sat down next to ex-king Jermaine and drank our tea. We discussed the perfect party. As long as there was plenty
of Gin, no German anarchists or Norwegian fisherman I was pretty confident it would turn out well. I left Mrs Cuttlingthorpe shortly afterwards mainly because the Judge had awoken and was now in the angry stage of being drunk. Normally the best way to deal with an angry drunk is to sing 'Danny Boy' a guaranteed way of snapping them out of it and return them to the cheery staggering around stage.
From Silk Street I headed to Harrods. I thought it would be rather exciting to catch the short train ride there. Every time I board the train I feel like I've drunk gallons of coffee everything has a kind of buzz to it. But I quickly lost that buzzing feeling as I boarded. There was no first class so I huddled in with the great unwashed working class. I feared I would catch cholera or something just as horrific. Children were crying their mothers sat coughing into their hands.
I was suddenly surrounded my germs and sprang upon the idea of covering my face in a handkerchief. Many of the unwashed masses seemed less than impressed when I drew myself into a corner and held a handkerchief to my mouth. I wondered what their problem was. Several bear-like men in their scruffy coats and dirt ridden trousers looked in my direction. I knew when I wasn't wanted. At the next stop I hastily jumped onto the platform and promptly removed myself from the station. Just because I wish to keep myself germ free the working class feel as though they can beat me
to tiny pieces and probably feed me to their children. Perhaps I'm being to harsh. They can make you laugh. Especially on a drunken night out when they get into one of their cockney slinging matches. "Will you Adam & Eve it and get up those Apple's & Pear's." the things they say, what a funny lot.
I slight vail of fog had drifted over Harrods. But it's grand facade was still visible. A warm familiar feeling filled my soul every time I came to Harrods. It’s very much a part of England. Surely such an institution could ever be owned by foreign hands. I shuddered at the thought and continued through the fog.
What would I do without Harrods. I do love chasing the staff around and ordering ridiculous amounts of smoked salmon from the food courts.
Sadly they stopped selling Gin. The owner of Harrods Sir Henry Hawkner was quite upset when I made a fool of myself after drinking vast amounts of the stuff. I ended up stuffing figs up my nose and scaring some stuck up little brats. The brats parents made a big fuss and ever since then Gin has been off the
shelves of Harrods. What a shame. Anyway after an over familiar welcome from the doorman I entered the great store. I planned to sit around the food court for a few hours and stuff my face with free food then toddle off home. But as always my plans went awry. I found a familiar face at the food court.
D*ckie Durage a former member of the Royal Yachting Club as I recall he was thrown out for attempting to sleep with the presidents wife. He was well known for his bed hopping antics. I wasn't quite sure what women saw in him. Surely his bright orange hair and his colourful bow ties were enough to scare of the most lustful of women. One of the worlds many mysteries I suspect. I tried to hide from the chap by holding a large sea bass up to my face. Sadly it didn't work and he came right over. "Hello Earl it's me D*ckie" The sea bass fell from my hands and made a rather belated attempt at freedom. I sighed and walked over to D*ckie hoping this conversation would be over quickly. "Hello D*ckie fancy seeing you here I can't remember the last time I saw you old chap." Of course you can it was at Chuffy's last year. I had a bit too much champagne and danced on their dining room table." A bit too much champagne was an understatement. I seem to remember guzzling down whole bottles of the stuff. Just when I thought the conversation was over D*ckie shouted in an excitable voice "Well Earl I hear congratulations are in order." I responded some what clueless "Congratulations, whatever for have I won something?" A caddish grin crept over D*ckie’s face. "No you old dog, your engagement to Lady Elizabeth Turham. Certainly landed on your feet there aye." The thought of the impending marriage to Elizabeth depressed me slightly and D*ckie noticed. "Whatever is the matter you'd think you'd just been given the death penalty." "The death penalty seems an apt description of my engagement." I said glumly "Oh come now" D*ckie said in an kind and assuring voice I've never heard before. "At least you'll have all that money." This cheered me ever so slightly. "Why yes D*ckie you're right. I could use all that money to go on some expedition. I've always wanted to go to Peru. It would be a good excuse to stay away from the wife." D*ckie smiled then said "I must be off Earl I only came here to push the staff over and stuff my face with salmon but the salmons out of stock and the staff seem to have gained an attitude problem. They tend to give you a bit of a beating. D*ckie then toddled off and attempted to push a store clerk over but was punched squarely on the nose.
After ordering several glasses of wine and eating far too much food I walked home.
When I got home the house was silent. The only noise came from the old grandfather clock in the hall. I wondered around the house. Even the cook had vanished perhaps she had gone to see her sister who was ill. But I did wish she would tell me. You just can't get the staff these days. I walked up the stairs and a dark thought crept into my mind. Chuffy had been up in his room for days. I hadn't seen him at all. I feared the worst. What if he was so depressed he decided to end it all? My heart pounded as I reached Chuffy's room not knowing what I would find. But when I opened the door not a single thing was there. His suitcase and books had all gone. In their place a solitary note lay on the bed. The note had a scent of lavender to them. I had a distinct feeling it was some kind of love poem. But I was pleasantly surprised to see it was a simple letter. It read:
Dear, Earl
Thank you for all your help. I know I must of been such a dreadful bore over the past few days. I have decided to leave, don't worry I haven't done anything bad. I love my wife so much. I have decided to travel to Norway and win her back from that blasted fisherman. I'll be back before you know it. Then we can plan how to get back Chuffage Manor.
Your Friend,
Chuffy
P.S In my depression I drank all your gin. But I shall replace it just as soon as I get my fortune back.
I stood there and reread the note several times over. What really bugged me was the fact he had drunken all the gin. The only drink left in the house was brandy. Perhaps I'll give it a go. As my father used to say "Adopt, adapt and improve." How bad can Brandy be? A good friend of mine once said that Brandy is the elixir of life. At the time I disagreed with him we had a heated row and I have'nt seen the chap since.
I went downstairs sat next to the fire place and lamented the events that had unfolded today. Chuffy's action today went against the grain of his personality. He worked for the PM so he was void of any kind of backbone. Perhaps these Germans have done some good for once.They've given Chuffy that certain fighting spirit we all need in the darkest of hours.
Being Beardless takes up alot of time. Actually no it doesn't unless you use a wooden spoon to shave.