Sir Static, Ha! Unfortunately for you, good sir, I saw through your ruse and your wenches rather flimsy disguises (’twas the beards that really gave the game away) and I am afraid to say you have nothing more than a fake journal, constructed from cheddar and string. You poor fool!

Lady Softbreath, ah,ha! My darling, how could I have possibly forgotten such an encounter? I am glad my journal is in very safe – and very lovely – hands. Do not worry about posting it back to me, I shall come and get it myself. And the diary.

Lady Catherine, the idea of my journals being used as the basis for a new, religious order makes me positively discharge with delight! I think this should most definitely come to pass, and I charge you with the duty of rounding up potential worshippers, possibly by merrily flaunting your godly globes.

Olga, I hope you have since rediscovered your self, my dear! And of course I shall be checking behind every brassiere I chance upon, beginning with you!

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely./

However, if I were you, I’d start checking alllll cleavages toot sweet! ( . Y . )

I am now wondering whether some rotter has re-printed the hallowed pages of your journal and decided to set up a Church of Our Lord Likely, with your very own Good Book as the code by which to live! This is, of course, a spiffing (and perhaps spaffing, too) idea, so one cannot judge too harshly. We are all your fanatical followers, after all. Regardless, ‘twould be most satisfying to see Your Lordship receive the due credit for changing the lives of so many folk. (This credit can take the form of sexual favours. I hope I may claim a similar reward if I do happen to be correct.)

Good luck tracking down the thieving scoundrel!

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 endeavor 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

I had one (of but many) of my wenches distract you, and as you got up to order yourselves another drink, I snatched it (your journal, I mean).

You may have it back for £10,000,000 by Tuesday evening, or I go public with all the lurid details of your erotic encounters with Botter and a male prostitute.

Toodle-pip!

=)

Mr. L, if I did indeed leave my journals in a lady’s cleavage, I would feel a complete tit.

Lord Andrew, your explanation sounds entirely plausible! I often find that there is a fine line betwixt great literature and pure smut!

Trauma Queen, hmm, your suggestion does indeed tickle the little grey cells, my dear!

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.

I suspect a woman named Agatha might have stolen your book. She likes to write tales of egg-heads solving mysteries (like that can happen!)

It may be a Herculean task to find the journal if she has indeed taken it. She is known to use mousetraps as weapons…

Else I suspect that someone from Britain’s got talent used it to pummel a certain Mr Cowell.

- or you could try Randy Andy’s Adult book Store.

Mr. Jeffman, oh, good idea! I too have found many curious items lurking beneath my top hat: a glass of whisky, a roast chicken, thirteen pounds in loose change and once I even found a small, orphan boy hidden underneath it. Wonders never cease!

Dear Nessa, good heavens – you are clearly some sort of clairvoyant!

Augusto, hmmm, that does sound entirely plausible. I wonder what else I could have left under dear Dorothy’s dress? Maybe I should go and take a look…

Tiggy, in Penge, you say? I don’t recall visiting Penge of late, but then again I have spent a lot of time drunk.

Mr. Scaryduck, I am still awaiting this pictorial evidence, sir!

Mr. Hamburger, maybe the same bounder is responsible for the theft of both our mysteries, in an attempt to deprive the world of our excellence! What a cad.

Mr. Wood, I would not put that past me – I did, after all, once lose my entire home in a game of cards!

Mr. Canucklehead, wizards, you say? Curiously, I did have some jottings in these journals about a story I had planned to write, about a child wizard. It was entitled ‘Hairy Plopper and the Stone of Sorcery’. It…it must just be a coincidence, surely?

Thank you for the suggestions thus far, dear readers – keep them coming!

Toodle-pip!

- Lord Likely.