28 May 2009
Dear Diary
WELL HUZZAH! ‘Tis time to hang out the bunting, crack open the champage, and set fire to an urchin in celebration – my beloved journals have been relocated!
Hip, hip, hoo-bloody-ray!
Regular readers will recall that I had somehow misplaced my beloved journals – those fine diaries into which I chronicle my astonishing adventures and exhilarating exploits – whilst in the midst of transcribing one such escapade for the collective enjoyment of the entire globe.
Well, fear not, ladies and gentlemen, for the journals have now resurfaced, and thus humanity need not be deprived of the finest story-telling e’er read by man, woman or particularly literate beast.
Huzzah, I say again.
But where were the journals, you may be wondering? And if you aren’t wondering that at all, then what in the name of blue blazes is wrong with you? I fear you may have suffered a head trauma, rendering you an imbecile.
Upon losing said diaries, I turned to you – my loyal followers – for assistance. Naturally, you all leapt to my aid, scouring the corners of the earth in search of my treasured journals, seeking high and low in every nook and cranny, and every crook and nanny.
The first lead came from Mr. Jeffman, who suggested the books may have been lurking under my top-hat. Upon closer inspection, however, it transpired that they were not there, although I did find several pounds in change, a half-eaten sandwich and a copy of Strumpets and Trumpets magazine – a most delightful read if e’er I saw one.
Mr. Augusto hinted that he had found in underneath my dear friend Dorothy Mount-Worthy’s dress, but after a thorough search I turned up nothing, save for Ms. Mount-Worthy’s knickers, which subsequently came down and…well, let us just say she has nothing hidden about or indeed inside her gorgeous form.
Ms. Tiggy thought that I might have lost it in Penge. A quick telegram to Penge revealed that the place was still as bum-achingly dull as ever, so clearly my journals had not turned up and roused the spirits of its inhabitants, else there would no doubt have been a frenzy of wild boozing and wilder intercourse on the streets.
Mr. Scaryduck made the bizarre claim that I had left it up a goat, but his promise of pictures to follow was never realised. I can only imagine that he had become so lust-filled whilst taking the photographs that he spent the rest of the time humping the goat, and it would not surprise me at all if he and the goat were now married, with kids.
Mr. Wood offered the possibility that I may have lost the journals in a card game. I have, as you will recall, once lost my entire house in such a fashion, but since then I have learnt my lesson and now only gamble things of no use to me (e.g my trousers, my man-servant). So once again I came up blank.
Sir Static attempted the old blackmail ruse upon me, by claiming he had the journals and would return them for ten thousand pounds. Naturally, I saw through his caper, and so by about…now, Sir Static should be falling ten thousand feet, after I arranged to have him hurled off a dirigible for daring to tangle with this particular aristocrat.
Lady Catherine came up with a most intriguing proposition, that my journals may have been taken from me and used to form the basis of a new religion. The suggestion may have proven to be incorrect, but it is still an excellent idea, which should be enacted upon IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner.
But then, a breakthrough! The ever-enchanting Lady Softbreath helped jog my memory, by sending me this marvellous missive:
Kind Sir;
Far be it from me to suggest that your memory is failing, but I hasten to remind you that the aforementioned diary was not, in point of fact, lost at all.
It remains precisely where you left it, and however it might disturb me that your memory of the leaving is not as sharp as mine, I will make an attempt to clear what is quite obviously a muddy recollection on your part. Being a lady, please be assured that I will not divulge those things about the evening that might be unsavory to those whose eyes pass over this missive.
After a most delightful evening spent debauching each other, you propped up a device – which has been known to give me quite a lot of pleasure – proudly atop the diary. Upon arranging it just so, you declared to me that the things that gave me the most glee should be kept together in a place of honor near my bedside. The diary to be kept, of course, as a reminder of the decadent evening passed in your company.
It would seem that it was not I that required such a reminder, your Lordship. As such, I shall endeavour to return the diary by post at my earliest convenience.
It will be returned to you inside your missing left sock.
Ever yours,
Lady Softbreath
So THAT is where I left it! Of course! Sometimes it is rather difficult to keep track of who’s bed I have been in, so these things can naturally get quite confusing and muddled.
Suffice to say, I shall now journey to Lady Softbreath’s abode, to reclaim my journals and deliver her the grand prize of a damned good pounding.
All is well that ends well, and I thank you all most fervently for helping me locate my missing diaries. Truly, each and every one of you is a credit to the human race!
I shall return Monday, when I will no doubt have lost a fair amount of my seminal fluid, but gained a journal. And having done so, I shall immediately set about recommencing the transcription of my latest astonishing adventure – The Puzzling Pearl Necklace Puzzle!
Until then,
Toodle-pip!
- Lord Likely.
