1st of May, 1851.

As Mr. Harry Flashman and I dashed off to find my missing man-servant, I took the time to explain precisely how my stinking servant had become an integral part of our latest mystery, the disappearance of the Koh-i-Noor Diamond.

“Here is what I believe occurred,” I said as we pelted along the corridors of the Crystal Palace, doing our best to make our way through the teeming masses who had come to witness the Great Exhibition. “This fellow – the Queen’s aide – was placed in charge of the Koh-i-Noor Diamond, and its display here at the exhibition. This was to prove to be a terrible mistake on behalf of Her Majesty, for this wretch had desires upon the diamond. He wanted it badly for himself, and would do anything to get it. Oh, how he must have counted his lucky stars when the gem was placed in his care. He was in the perfect position to – GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOU FAT SOW,” I roared as a portly woman made herself an unwitting obstacle in our path. “He was in the perfect position to swipe the diamond. However he needed a plan, for he could not just take the diamond and run, that would be too obvious.”

“Aye, he’d be the prime suspect if that stone disappeared,” concurred Mr. Flashman.

“Correct. So he took the diamond away, claiming he was going to get it cleaned up for the exhibition,” I continued.

“Like that lady with the lovely tits told us!” Mr. Flashman cried.

“Indeed. However, this rogue did not take the Koh-i-Noor Diamond to be cleaned. He took it and – WIIL YOU GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!” I yelled to a dopey chap who was standing in our way. “No, this fellow took the gem to one of the stands selling various cheap nick-nacks, and switched it with a large crystal, taken from the body of one of those awful crystal pigs, while manipulating the diamond to make it resemble one of those porcine trinkets. I suspect the Queen’s aide had planned to return to the same stand later that day, purchase the pig which now had the diamond as its body, and make his exit. It was a cunning and ingenious plan, but with one fatal flaw.”

“Your man Botter bought the pig with the diamond in it!” exclaimed Flashman.

“Spot on, my fellow. That is why this awful arse-nugget of a man has been pursuing us. He aims to retrieve the diamond pig from my man-servant, and I fear he will not stop at anything to do so. WILL YOU MOVE YOUR STINKING CARCASS, YOU TEDIOUS LITTLE PRICK!” I bellowed as another idiotic prole blocked our path.

We continued on in silence, weaving our way through the buzzing crowds, until I stopped abruptly almost causing Mr. Flashman to become rather intimate with my posterior. I sniffed the air.

“What is it?” said Flashman, as I continued to sniff loudly.

“Do you smell that, sir? That smell of faeces and god-awful body-odour?”

“Eurgh,” Flashman recoiled. “Aye, I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

“That’s Botter. He’s near.” I sniffed some more. “I think he is down this way,” I said, indicating to a small door to the right of us. “Come, let us hurry!”

We burst through the door and found ourselves in a dimly-lit store-room, where various artifacts due for display were being kept. And there, sat on a chair in the centre of this room, was Botter, forlornly stroking his wretched crystal pig.

“Botter, you cretinous cock-shaft!” I barked. “Why must you insist on running off like this? I swear, I shall have to put a ruddy great bell around your neck in the future…”

“Um, your lordship,” said Flashman, tapping me on the shoulder.

“What? Can’t you see I admonishing my man-servant? I do so hate…oh. Shit.”

There, lurking in the shadows behind us, was the Queen’s aide, pointing a pistol right at us.

“Welcome, gentlemen. You are…” the cad consulted his pocket-watch. “Yes, you are right on time for having your brains shot out of the back of your head.”

“How very fortuitous,” I muttered. “Truly, we are blessed, Mr?…”

“Mr. Reginald Spankswood, at your service. But you probably know me better as…The Brown Mist!”

Flashman and I exchanged puzzled looks, then collapsed into fits of laughter.

“SILENCE!” screamed the fellon. “Show some respect for The Brown Mist!”

“I…I cannot say I am familiar with the name, Mr. Mist,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “But you may want to consider changing it, for it is quite blatantly ridiculous, and quite shit-awful.”

“Shut up. SHUT UP!” screamed The Brown Mist, waving his pistol about frantically. “Soon, you shall all tremble before the fearsome might of The Brown Mist!”

More helpless laughter erupted from Flashman and I, as The Brown Mist became more and more frustrated.

“SILENCE! I am a notorious diamond thief, you know! You are in the presence of criminal nobility!”

“Oh really?” said Flashman, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “And how many diamonds have you stolen, Mr. Brown Mist?”

“Well,” said The Brown Mist, scuffing his shoes against the ground. “The Koh-i-Noor Diamond will be my first, admittedly…but oh!” he suddenly brightened, a mad glint in his eye. “Oh! What a first! Taking this valuable gem from right under the Queen’s nose! I shall become a legend in my own lifetime! Soon, The Brown Mist will be on everybody’s lips!“

Upon hearing that ludicrous statement, Mr. Flashman and I burst into further uncontrollable gales of laughter.

“Shut up! Both of you! SHUT UP!” screeched The Brown Mist. “I will shoot you both, you know! With my gun! So shut the HELL up, and drop your weapons!”

Flashman quickly tossed his own pistol over to the Mist, and then thrust his hands in the air.

“What in the name of the Sodomites are you doing?” I hissed. “This man is clearly a buffoon, and probably does not even know how to handle a ruddy gun!”

The subsequent shot from The Brown Mist’s pistol, and the bullet hitting my right arm, soon put paid to that theory, however.

“YOU BASTARD!” I roared as my arm began to seep my noble claret. “You absolute dick-rag! Christ! That is my masturbating arm, as well. Fuck it!“

“Now maybe you shall take me more seriously,” The Brown Mist said, training his pistol on me. “I will have this diamond, and you will not stop me. You!” He nodded towards Mr. Flashman. “Get the diamond off of that filthy creature.”

“Certainly,” said Flashman, strolling over to Botter and wrenching the diamond pig from my man-servant’s firm grasp.

“Glyn!” cried Botter, reaching out for his pretend pet.

“You know, you would not believe the trouble the Koh-i-Noor Diamond has caused me.” Flashman continued, ignoring my man-servant’s pathetic pleadings. “You would not believe what I had to go through just to get it here in the first place¹. But if you want it, Mr. Mist, then I suppose I have no option to give it to you.”

With that, Flashman spun round and launched the diamond with tremendous ferocity at The Brown Mist. Before he could react, the Mist found the gem embedded firmly in his forehead.

“Oh. Oh bollocks.” said The Mist. ” The Brown Mist…is…defeated!” Then the rapscallion fell to the floor, utterly dead.

“Marvellous work, Mr. Flashman!” I said as I attempted to staunch the flow of blood from my arm. “For a moment there, I was worried that my assessment of you as a no-good coward was spot-on.”

“Never!” beamed Flashman.

His lordship may be seen to the right of this picture, waving his hat in the air. Mr. Harry Flashman is stood behind him.

“You two have done me a great service to-day,” said Queen Victoria, as Mr. Flashman and I were presented to her in the main hall of the Crystal Palace. “You have spared me a great deal of embarrassment, and guaranteed that the Koh-i-Noor Diamond shall forever more be in my collection. I shall see to it that you are both amply rewarded. Anything you desire, speak of it now, and I shall see to it that it is bestowed upon you.”

I desperately wanted to say that I would very much like to ejaculate upon her heaving breasts, but I somehow managed to restrain myself, and instead I said: “Not at all, Your Majesty. The greatest reward is the appreciation of a grateful Monarch, and her glorious Empire.”

The Queen smiled. “Very good, Lord Likely. You are a true gentle-man, and a true hero of the Empire. Thank you both for your fearless dedication to your sovereign, and long may you continue.”

Her Majesty turned to Prince Albert, who had also arrived upon the scene, and together they made their way out from the exhibition, to hearty cheers from the assembled crowd.

“God Save the Queen!” I roared, joining in the chorused cries of celebration. “And God Save Her Magnificent Knockers!”

“Why did you have to go and say all that rot about not needing a reward, you old coot?” hissed Flashman, angrily elbowing me in the ribs. “We could have been set up for life!”

“Well, I did get to catch the briefest of glimpses at her considerable cleavage,” I replied as I watched the royal couple depart from the hall. “And that is an image I shall carry with me always, and which I shall contemplate at great length later on. Just as soon as my arm as healed.”

Flashman grinned and slapped me on the back heartily.

“What say we go for a drink?” he said. “I’m sure you would appreciate a stiff one.”

“You know me too well,” I nodded.

So, there you have it, dear reader. A tale of daring-do, diamonds and desire. I cannot quite recall what happened after we went to the local ale-house, as we both got completely and utterly pissed-up. I recall learning that Mr. Flashman was arrested later that night for drunk and disorderly conduct, while I wound up being fellated by the three ravishing Indian beauties I had met earlier that day.

I never saw Mr. Flashman again, but I hear talk that he is currently back in India himself, getting embroiled in the mutiny in that country². I am sure it will all blow over soon, however.

Botter, meanwhile, is still mourning the loss of his beloved crystal pig. I try to keep his mind of it by keeping him busy about the mansion, and by thrashing him once every hour.

The Koh-i-Noor Diamond remained one of the highlights of the Great Exhibition, and afterwards Prince Albert ordered that the gem be recut. Probably to get rid of some of the dried blood from its time spent crammed in The Brown Mist’s forehead.

Speaking of the brown mist, I must excuse myself now. I really do need a shit something chronic.

- Lord Likely.

Those of you who have not masturbated so regularly so as to diminish your eye-sight completely, will have noticed that there have been a few aesthetic changes around here, as well as the introduction of an astonishing new About Page. Please do take a moment to admire the fresh decor, and do let us know what you think. As long as your thoughts are firmly in the positive, that is.

The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely has been the recipient of a rather nice review from Manic’s Tasty Bites of the Day. Despite not awarding his lordship the perfect ten he so richly deserves, it is nonetheless a fair and honest review. Many thanks indeed!

Mr. Harry Flashman, my man-servant Botter and my fantastically fabulous self made quick on our collective legs, and dashed off to try and escape the oncoming police, who had been alerted to our presence by our fantastically furious bout of fisticuffs just moments before.

As we sprinted through the bustling aisles of the Crystal Palace, I mused upon the fact that I seemed to spend a great deal of my time fleeing from the police, more often than may be expected of a man in my exalted position. I wondered if one day I would be rewarded for my services to the police force, in keeping them so fit and healthy throughout the years.

“Look! Over there!” cried Flashman, pointing to a large crowd assembled around one of the many exhibits in this Great Exhibition. “I reckon we can shake off the peelers if we join that crowd! What do you think, your lordship?”

“Capital idea!” I found myself agreeing. Sometimes, moments of great peril can somewhat cloud one’s judgment, it would seem.

Nevertheless, we dove into the throng of gawking faces, and made our way to the front of the crowd to better avoid detection. As Botter and Flashman faked interest in the nearby exhibit, I kept an eye out for our pursuers. Surely enough, mere moments later, a couple of police-officers appeared. They came to a stop rather too close for comfort to our present location, and stood looking this way and that in complete befuddlement.

“I’m sure they went this way, sarge,” said one of the officers, scratching his head.

“Well, where did they go then, Hopkins?” asked the sergeant, evidently frustrated with his lack of progress in apprehending us. “Did they disappear into thin air, Hopkins? Maybe they slipped between the grills of one of the drains, hmmm?”

“That’s a thought, sarge,” replied Hopkins. “They could be down in the sewers underneath right now, making their escape!”

“I was being sarcastic, you dolt!” cried the sergeant, slapping Hopkins about the body with his hat. “Bleedin’ hell, how on Earth did you ever become a copper, Hopkins? Was everyone else out of the country at the time, eh?”

“Officers! Please!” interjected a third man, whom I instantly recognised as being the Queen’s personal assistant, the self same toss-rag who had been instrumental in seeing my noble form carted off to the cells earlier in the day. “We must find these felons right away! Her Majesty’s Great Exhibition must not be disturbed! Get to it at once, or mark my words I’ll have your badges for this!”

The weaselly old coot prodded the officers back into action, and I watched with growing satisfaction as the three fellows scurried off in freezing cold-pursuit of their men. I let out an audible sigh of relief as they left.

“‘Ere, mister. What d’ya reckon to this diamond? It isn’t as good as I was ‘oping,” piped up an awful, common old crone standing next to me.

“What?” I snapped, then I realised that we had come to a stop by a diamond being exhibited for the first time on these shores, hence the fevered excitement among the assembled proletariat.

“I mean, it’s quite big, I suppose, but it ain’t all that shiny and sparkly, is it?” continued the woman.

“Oh?” I scoffed. “And I suppose you have a bountiful array of diamonds back in your wretched hovel, have you? Do you perchance own dozens of unique gems pertained from the far-flung reaches of the globe, proudly on show in your filth-sodden mud-hut? Maybe you’ve got the Regent Diamond on display upon an upturned crate in the middle of your rat-infested lounge, next to your other treasured, priceless artifacts? Hmmm? Does the Orlov sit atop your grubby little mantle, next to a shockingly tacky porcelain clown and a poor-quality photograph of your slab-faced mother? Honestly. You commoners are such a frightfully ungrateful bunch, you know. I mean, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert put on this fine exhibition for you all, and all you can do is waltz in here, reeking of piss and cheap cider, picking holes in everything you see. Well, madam, in light of your beguiling lack of respect for Her Majesty, I should like to take my belt off to you, and lash you firmly about the -”

“She’s got a point, your lordship,” Flashman interrupted, just as I was approaching the apex of my furious rage. “This diamond is a bit…shoddy, you know. “

“What?” I barked. “What is all of this talk about shoddy diamonds? Here, let me see it!”

I elbowed my way through the assembled wretches, as I made my way to the front. There I found Botter, regarding the diamond much like one might regard a dog-dropping smeared on a sandwich. I pushed him out of the way, and beheld the gem on display before me.

I have seen a lot of diamonds in my time, as you would expect of one who lives in such opulence and luxury as I do. Indeed, I did, for a while, posses a diamond-studded cock ring, until the ring itself snapped during a particularly vigourous bout of intercourse with Lady Muphdyver, back in ’45. Alas, I lost the ring for ever more up milady’s quim, but on the plus side I was able to auction off Lady Muphdyver at Sotheby’s for tens of thousands of pounds. I believe that even to this day, she still has the most valuable vagina in the entire Empire, excluding Her Majesty, of course.

On a curious side-note, I believe the practice of having one’s cock-end pierced in such a manner has become known colloquially as having a ‘Prince Albert’, after His Royal Highness. Whether getting a cock-ring is named after him because he has one or is one, I cannot say. If he does indeed own such an article, then it a wonder that Her Majesty can sit on the throne at all.

Anyway, I digress. Upon clasping my eyes upon this particular diamond, I had to concur with the vile old bag and Mr. Flashman; the gem did not seem to have any fire in it, no shine. It was possibly the dullest rock on the planet, not including Guernsey.

“It says it’s the Koh-i-Noor Diamond,” said Flashman, indicating to a sign affixed to the display. “I”ve seen the Koh-i-Noor many a time¹, your lordship, in all sorts of unexpected places, believe me. An’ that, that ain’t it, or my name’s not Harry Flashman.”

“Are you trying to say that this is…a fake?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Well slap my todger and call me madam, then we have a mystery!” I cheered, my mood brightening. “I must say, it is about cocking time.”

- Lord Likely.

> Subscribe in a reader