Dearest Diary, Day twenty:

Toast cool at breakfast. Believe Cotter may be sulking.

In the afternoon, Snipe, the new groundsman, found old Bates and silly old Nanny Bates hanging in the coppice. Dr. Croaker declared it a 'Suicidal Compact borne of acute Melancholia'. One cannot imagine what overcame them. Must be all this beastly war business.

Cotter delighted by his new rocking chair, once he'd brushed the leaves off. This seems to have rejuvenated his spirits. Every cloud, what?

Father has allowed them to be buried in the grounds, alongside dear old Mr. Pringles. A finer ratter has yet to be sired.

Bad news today: Drinks at the club are up a ha'penny.

'Photo-bombed' by an emu!

Apparently the emu was not too happy at losing his new friends (with their new friend food) and their even newer interest in the llama! Just look at him - he's outraged!

Electric Empire's 'Have You Around' Live @ Lighthill Sound Recording

Dearest Diary, Day nineteen.

Dearest Diary, Day nineteen:

Awoke to a mumbled entreaty from Cotter, whom I discovered hovering an inch from my pillows. Deuced fellow gave me a start. He declared that the cellar is low on Bolly. I reminded him that there's a war on, that we must all make sacrifices, and that he of all people should know better than to complain since he has already lost two of his sons to the Kaiser's ambitions. The cheek of the man! We must make do with the Crystal.

After he'd placed my slippers on my feet I waved him away to the servants' stairs, whence he beetled back to the scullery.

Corkers says the Bosch are on the back foot, and that it's only a matter of time until Haig sallies through the Hindenburg Line.

Cavendish continues the mercury baths with the assistance of my man, Cotter, who reports the devil of a time getting his legs into the tub. He's become quite rigid.

Dearest Diary, Day eighteen.

Dearest Diary, Day eighteen:

Cavendish green and starting to smell. His man won't go near him, obliging Yours Truly to send Cotter to attend his needs, delaying my bath. Rum do.

This evening, whilst bathing, Cotter remarked that the old Bates's have fetched up beneath the cattle bridge on the coach-road to St. Mary Intestine. Will have Constable Hubble move them along in the morning.

Had Wheeler drive the Austin to the Pinkerton-Ffyffe's for a few rubbers.

Dearest Diary, Day fifteen.

Dearest Diary, Day fifteen:

Attempted to contact Cavendish at the telephone. His man said he was 'indisposed'. Can't get a peep out of the cove. No bottom, some fellows.

Made a snorter today: Churchill waxing lyrical again at the Club, crying into his Moet about somewhere or other by the name of Gallipoli. "Gully who? Gully Polly!" I ejaculated, at just the right moment. Most amusing. What?

Dearest Diary, Day thirteen.

Dearest Diary, Day thirteen.

Visited Cavendish today at his apartments. Wretched little man kept clawing at my lapels whilst slurring something about 'repentance' and 'forgiveness'. I suspect he was drunk. Possibly of the Roman faith, too, which would account for his scandalous appearance at supper sans cravat. I believe he is turning yellow.

Reports in The Times of the use of mustard gas at the Front. Binky has written to the Kaiser to ask him to send some our way, Old Sport, in order to replenish the condiments at the Club! Binky's SUCH a top!

Dearest Diary, Day eleven.

Dearest Diary, Day eleven:

Dismissed Bates for poaching. Told him to think himself fortunate he wasn't before the magistrate, the old rogue!

Later, summoned Constable Hubble and a few of the hands to turn Bates out of the cottage.

Dear old Nanny Bates had to be carried aloft to the gates in her rocking chair, resembling for all the world a very ancient Whistler's Mother on a Skimmity Ride! Her legs apparently no longer functional, she clutched in one silly, gnarled old hand a large, sodden handkerchief, the other a teapot. How she sobbed! Tippi found all this so amusing she snorted through her nose like a braying ass and had to be held upright by the elbows courtesy of Yours Truly and the Constable, who hemmed and hawed into his collars "now then, Miss", "if you please, Miss"! Gave her a wigging at tea about unseemly behaviour before the Lower Orders.

That blasted fellow Churchill holding court at the Club again. Preposterous little clown. Acts as though he aspires to be Prime Minister! Corkers agrees.

Caught Cotter behaving unusually in the kitchen garden, as though in a phantasmagorical trance. He's starting to give me the willies.

Dearest Diary, Day ten.

Dearest Diary, Day ten:

No word from Cavendish.

The new Vicar is insistent at calling upon us and introducing himself. Ghastly little man by all accounts. Tippi says we ought not upset the clergy and mustn't be rude to them. Thinks we should have him up for tea. Father's having none of it, refusing to exchange small-talk over crumpet with a country parson!

Mrs. Pearce found old Bates the groundsman at the scullery door with a brace of pheasant. Had them roasted and served with damson stew, a sublime orange marmalade and indifferent claret. Didn't hear a word from the Major for over an hour and Pinky declared them quite the finest fowl she had dined upon all season. Must speak to Bates.

Dearest Diary, Day eight.

Dearest Diary,


Day eight: To the Club for supper. Cavendish appeared in a bath-chair looking decidedly mauve; his grotesquely swollen throat at least three times that of a normal fellow's! Berated the man for not wearing a necktie, whence he muttered and drooled some excuse or other. Couldn't fathom a word of it. But then he did receive his education at the Other Place. Am inclined towards reporting him to the Steward! Bad form.


Lilywhite is of the opinion that the war will be over by Christmas. One can only hope. It is quite impossible to find a decent Bordeaux in this current state of affairs.


There's something odd about Cotter.

Dearest Diary, Day five.

Dearest Diary, Day five: 

Shouted for Cotter until he mircaculously appeared at my shoulder, bearing ink, yet quite unable to offer an explanation for his absence. Damn his impertinence! If he weren't so indispensable I should have him horse-whipped to the Labour Exchange.

Have ordered daily mercury baths for Cavendish, who insists the fuzzy-wuzzies remain restless. Will have Wheeler telephone Ca vendish's tailor, a loathsome little Israelite at the wrong end of Jermyn Street, at the first opportunity regarding the calico.

Tippi says Balfour should resign. I was obliged to remind her that a young lady need not concern herself with the affairs of gentlemen. Suspect she may harbour sympathies for Mrs. Pankhurst.
Father is furious!

Dearest Diary, Day three.

Dearest Diary,

Day three: Where the Devil is Cot

Dearest Diary, Day two.

Dearest Diary, Day two: 

Cavendish's fuzzy-wuzzies still playing up. Says his tailor could only provide linen britches at short notice. Calico on order.
Must speak to Cotter about topping up my inkwell. This one appears to have run o

Dearest Diary: Day one.

Dearest Diary,

Day one: Luncheon at the Club. Dined on poached trout, a large ham, and three birds of excellent provenance.* Cavendish states the fuzzy-wuzzies have once again become irksome. Have recommended he don calico pantaloons immediately and apply a light dusting of boric acid directly following breakfast and before vigorous exercise. Shall keep you posted.

*Sausage in batter with pineapple fritter.