.....home again, home again, jiggety jig!After a humid morning in Spitalfields and a wander in the grounds of Somerset House, I took my leave of Mr McVay and mounted the carriage home. How it fairly rattled along and I feared it may overturn at any moment or come off the road. The coachman was indeed in some hurry or completely mad.When I finally reached home, before entering I stood upon the steps of Thrushcock Grange and relished the peace and quiet of my surroundings and breathed in the fresh and clean air.On entering the Grange, all was quiet too and I had the sudden feeling that something was amiss.Jane came out of the parlour and as she saw me her eyes welled up."Whatever is the matter?" I entreated her." Betty Tert is dead," she sobbed, and she crumbled into my arms. We stood there a few moments and I was thinking that my coat would need cleaning after the canine sputum and now these salty tears, when she suddenly straightened..."Oh, you have a visitor, shortly arrived and waiting in the parlour."I handed her my handkerchief and opened the parlour door. Standing by the window, looking out upon the garden, was the unmistakeable figure of Danielle St Amour.
....to see a man in a wig.....One aspect of London which is hard for a country gentleman to become accustomed to, is the noise! The hustle and bustle is fairly continuous and oh, how those cockneys can shout! I barely slept for all the passing rabble rousing that went on throughout the night. Why one must yell from ones saddle, in the middle of the night, about the size of ones 'Christmas crackers' I shall never know...and we are still in July!After rising, Mr McVay had business to attend to in Deptford so I ventured to Bethnal Green to call upon Old Dick Jones, an acquaintance and confidant of many years, who had recently had the misfortune to trip over a dog which resulted, quite horrifyingly, in an extended stay in the midlands. Happily, he has pulled through and it was a joy to catch up on old times and hear news of his big brother.The afternoon was spent in the company of another acquaintance from years past, Anna Sasin. We talked of mutual friends but discovered sadly, it seems, all are now dead, some in quite mysterious circumstances. We wandered the market at Covent Garden for some time and then she asked if I would accompany her down some dark, deserted alley but I had to leave to reconvene with Mr McVay at Greenwich for an evening with the celebrated and diminutive Kyle Minoogle."Do you fancy a little S and M first?" Mr McVay enquired of me. I was somewhat alarmed initially but as it transpired it was simply 'sausage and mash'. No one appreciates a hearty sausauge like Mr McVay.What a fop and a popinjay! Mr Minoogle must have changed his attire, some six times, throughout the evening and wore a variety of differing wigs. His reception was greeted with some hysteria and many standing close by chanted along with his calls for 'No More Rain'. "Come into my world! On a night like this, your disco needs you! " They chorused. I was shocked by the power but, overall, I found the whole thing a little 'slow'.
Dear Diary,To London, to London.........It was far too hot for travel and although the carriage was commodious and more pleasant than other conveyances I have endured of late, the journey was still some ordeal. Thankfully, I was able to face forward for I hate to travel backwards. Strange as it may seem, for one of my persuasion, I prefer the excitement of the road ahead to a receding behind.Mrs Crutchlow's pasties were most welcome as an ambulatory repast and were eyed enviously by the other hungry commuters, but I was able to enjoy them despite the slavering audience.London eventually came into view with it's familiar spires and famous erections and there is much to feast ones eyes upon. I departed the coach and found transport south of the river to Mr McVay's accomodation at Hither Green Hall. I was greeted effusively by Charles, the cocker spaniel, but being covered with canine sputum is not something a man of my standing can get used to. I was tired from my perambulations and so excused myself and retired to bed early.
Dear Diary,Betty Tert is ill again. Doctor Proctor was sent for and Jane thought it best Willy was distracted and that someone should perhaps amuse him for a couple of hours. She picked out a someone....yours truly.With a fixed smile upon my face I found him in the parlour. He was sat in a chair by the window with his arms folded and a determined look upon his face. I whipped out my shuttlecock and waved it in his face."Want to play battledore with my shuttlecock?" I enthused."Can't!" he spat back.Jane came in and motioned at me to hurry along as the Doctor was coming up the drive."I know, follow me and I'll take you into the woods to do something I loved to do as a boy."If Jane had not urged him on I doubt I could have moved him from his seat. I led him out, reluctantly, away from the Grange and down to where the old hawthorn tree grew that I climbed as a boy. The topmost branches were waving in the warm breeze. I pulled myself up on a lower branch."Come on, last one to the top is a....""Can't!" he yelled. I dropped down again and gritted my teeth. Taking a deep breath and refixing my smile I tried again."I know, let's play hide and seek. Do you want to be a hider or a....""Can't!" he shouted and gave me such a malevolent look, my smile faltered." Alright," I said, "You decide what you want to do!" I tried to keep my composure."Can't!" he answered.I grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the Grange and flung him through the scullery door."Hello Poppet," smiled Mrs Crutchlow, "You have fun?"Willy smiled at her, so angelically, I was speechless. "Want a bun, Darlin'?" She asked him."Cun I?" he grinned, innocently.It seems his vowel problem does not only pertain to his writing. "I'll leave him with you, Mrs Crutchlow if I may." I said making for the door."Can't!" he hissed as I passed him.
Dear Diary,Heat does not become me. I hate to perspire. On some fellows a little free falling moisture is quite exciting but upon me, well, I fear I look, at best...feverish. Seeing the Parson dripping upon his pulpit was not a welcome sight either. There was a constant flapping sound throughout the service as the congregation wafted their hymnals or other religious pamphlets, but it only served to circulate the warm air more. Rather more people nodded off during the sermon than usual but I am not convinced that was wholly due to the heat. Everyone sat there lifeless and listless and the singing was most half-hearted but during the final hymn, as Miss Lott hit a very low note and the Parson's Organ erupted with an alarming noise and ejaculated all over the first few pews. Feathers and straw and dead leaves rained down and poor Flora Bunder ended up with a dead wren upon her bonnet. It certainly livened up the service. Fanny laughed so much she had to leave for fear of involuntary micturation, and Chapel is no place for that. Back at Thrushcock Grange, Ned was unearthing some Pentland Javelin. As I sat in the shade I tried to focus upon my book but was fascinated by more of that free falling moisture I mentioned earlier, particularly one stubborn droplet that clung to Ned's rosy nipple. "You look like a weary dog with your tongue lolling out," he quiped.I quickly dropped the book to my lap, lay back and closed my eyes and tried to envision an alternate image; one of a dead wren trapped between Mrs Norris's mountainous breasts, worked wonders.
Dear Diary,I rarely recall my dreams but last night I vividly dreamt of Donald Oswald Tobias-Scott, the fellow who abandoned me for France. Long I may have hoped for his return and a happy reconciliation but now, when sense has prevailed and he is all but gone from my mind, how odd that he should reappear as a ghost in the night. Even though it is so long since I looked upon his face I saw it clearly and knew every crease. His embrace was as warm and as perfect as I remember and his kiss.....If only we could remove our hearts and cleanse and rinse them of those who do not deserve to live there.I found distraction in a Greek love story of dancing queens, some of which was written in verse and one passage leapt out at me;I don’t want to talk about the things we’ve gone through, Though it’s hurting me, now it’s history.I’ve played all my cards and that’s what you’ve done too. Nothing more to say, no more ace to play.The winner takes it all, the loser standing small, Beside the victory, that’s my destiny. I was in your arms thinking I belonged there. I thought that it made sense, building me a fence, building me a home,Thinking I’d be strong there , but I was a fool, playing by the rules. The gods may throw a dice, their minds as cold as ice And someone way down here, loses someone dear.The winner takes it all, the loser has to fall. It’s simple and it’s plain. Why should I complain? But tell me does he kiss like I used to kiss you? Does it feel the same when he calls your name? Somewhere deep inside you must know I miss youBut what can I say, rules must be obeyedThe judges will decide, the likes of me abide....The winner takes it all. The winner takes it all......
Dear Diary,There was an epistolary delight waiting for me beside my poached egg. Mr McVay has called me to London. It seems, as he put it, having his finger 'on the sphincter of all things thespian' he has been able to acquire admission to an intimate soiree in the city with the diminutive but celebrated orator Kyle Minoogle. Who'd have thought I should be so lucky...lucky, lucky? Such a hot and humid day. It was difficult to find a cool and shady spot. I came across Ned, shirtless, behind his shed. He looked preoccupied as he stroked the long, thick, hard shaft of his chopper. "What troubles you Ned?" I suspected it was thoughts of Titty. I probed him. "I see something in your eyes. Confide in me?""I feel like I'm in 'libido', Mr Austen, I just can't get her out of my head. If I could step back in time...", he drifted off, then straightened and said " I'll be fine. Give me just a little more time." He swung his chopper hard with his left hand and a large log split cleanly down the middle. "I thought you were right handed Ned?" I was impressed."Oh, I can swing with my left and with my right. I'm completely 'amphibian'," he grinned."Indeed," I sighed. "If anyone wants me," I said, moving on, "I shall be down where the wild roses grow."
Dear Diary,Oh, the comfort of one's own pillow and the familiarity of one's own bed led me to rise reluctantly this morning, but rise I did. I did not elaborate too much upon the unexpected turn of events on my trip. Fanny was the one who was most keen to pry but I said if she would let me eat my breakfast in peace I would, later, tell her the tale of the boy who stuck his finger in the dyke. She was certainly keen to hear about that and so let me be. When I finally told her the tale, later in the day, she seemed most disappointed. I took my Python out and rode him hard, took a brisk walk around Netherwater and this evening, after one of Mrs Crutchlow's culinary delights settled down and immersed myself in an unnerving tale entitled 'The Dark Knight'. It was dark indeed and unnerved yet enrapt me so, that when Ned threw a log upon the fire I was startled and squealed in fright at his pale face grinning in the firelight."Did you like being incontinent, Mr Austen?"I threw the book at him.
Dear Diary,We reached England in the early hours of the morning. I was awakened by someone shouting about 'groins' but thankfully, I was left to my bed until a decent hour. When I opened my cabin door, there were five seamen, all bent over, in the passage outside. They all straightened and scuttled off looking (and smelling) like crabs hurrying for cover. I bade farewell to the crew and they all waved from the rigging. 'Effin' Frank blew me a kiss, wrinkled up his nose and wiggled his fingers at me before glancing around and resuming the polishing of his port-hole.Try as I might, I failed to find a carriage that was passing through Cobbler's Bottom and that was not completely full. The carriage to Leeds, obviously, had space and so I decided to head that way and find transport on from there. "Gerrup, Mam!" a young lad was saying as I approached my conveyance. He was fairly red-faced from his efforts to help her in. She struggled in and sat down. "By 'eck!" he said, "Am off fer a lie doon. Ta'ra, Mam!"I introduced myself as I got in and sat opposite her as there was, patently, no room beside her."Ah'm Mrs Tickell, " she frowned, "but most fowks call mi Tess." I never thought I would look back with fondness on my journey with the dead pigs but it was far more pleasant than the journey to Leeds with a swollen and grumbling Tess Tickell. I don't think anyone has dismounted at Leeds with the joy and happiness that I felt when the carriage came to a standstill. She hadn't finished moaning about always having tripe at her sister's, when invited for tea, but I leapt out of the door, nonetheless. There were many carriages leaving Leeds and a goodly number of 'fowks' lined up to fill them. I'll wager there will be a few more once news of Tess Tickle's arrival gets out. I was happy to sit up by the coachman for the the last stage of my journey, even though he had a dreadful cold and kept wiping his nose on the sleeve nearest me. I fairly skipped up the road to the Grange, well, inwardly anyway, my baggage prevented it, outwardly. I took a deep breath as I placed my hand upon that familiar knob and turned it and stepped into the hall. I had barely time to put down my bag before Father's Todger leapt up at me, in excitement.It is good to be home.
Dear Diary,I long to be back in my own chamber at the Grange surrounded by my own things and familiar faces. I awoke aboard 'The Hepatitis B' feeling a little dirty, and was sure I could still detect the odour of dead pig with a generous hint of fish. I wondered if Roger was close by and opened my door to hail him and found he was, bent outside my door as if he had been peering through the keyhole. He straightened with a smile and said, "'Ello"."Roger, I need a bath." I announced."Ah'll 'af ter take yer up aft then," he winked."I beg your pardon?" I asked, indignantly."Up the poop deck," he replied, "...it's astern." It was as if I was back in Germany all these unfamiliar words. I resignedly followed his lead. Thankfully the poop deck was not as alarming as it sounded but I was shocked to find no private bathing area. I was expected to stand upon the deck, in full view, beneath a bucket of sea water and pull on a rope to tip it's contents over me. I hesitated and glanced around. Most of the seamen seemed occupied so I swallowed hard, undressed and stepped forward. "All hands on 'dick'!" came a shout from above and seamen erupted from every opening. With whistles and cries of "Hard abeam!" "Avast behind!" and "This is one for the Captain's Log!", I washed as quickly and as thoroughly as I could under the circumstances then held out my hand. Roger handed me my clothing and clutching it to cover my modesty, walked off the poop deck to the sailors cheers. Even 'Effin Frank' gave me a wink as I disappeared below deck.I dressed in my cabin and felt much fresher and not a little bolder yet something bothered me..."Roger!" I called. He was there in a flash, "Tell me, does my bottom look big in these breeches?"
Dear Diary, Did you know that cows snore? No, neither did I. It seems if air is not escaping at one end it erupts at the other.
Breakfast was a boiled egg tossed back to me sat amongst my deceased porcine companions. I did not dare indulge myself for I am sure my foul-smelling 'friend' is no 'friend' to soap. I watched the windmills pass by and it seemed as if they were laughing at my predicament and waving their arms in glee. I must have dozed off despite the dull, monotonous scenery for I awoke when the cart came to a standstill and I saw another traveller mount the cart and take a seat beside 'The Stench' as I shall affectionately call him. This fellow went by the name of Hans-Neison Boomsadaizee and was on his way to visit a sick friend. Thankfully he spoke some English. Not only was I able to ascertain that the coast was quite near but he was able to entertain me with local folk tales. At last we rolled into a seaside town and as luck would have it, I recognised it as the place I had arrived at from across the sea but a few days earlier. I thanked 'The Stench' for his kindness and tossed him some coins. "Buy soap!" I said. He smiled and waved echoing "buy soap!" in return. I thanked Hans for his company and he went off to find his sick friend and I dashed into the nearest inn to ask if it was too late to catch 'The Hepatitis B'. Fortune smiled upon me again for none other than Seaman Swallows clapped his hand upon my back. I could have kissed him but felt it was not the time or place to show my gratitude and relief so publicly. I am now aboard 'The Hepatitis B' and we are shortly bound for England. However, I have just heard some sad news. A few moments ago there was a knock upon my door and I opened it to see a young fellow standing there with some refreshment from Seaman Spitz. "Ah'm Roger, yer cabin boy," he drawled."What happened to Bob?" I asked."Oh, he fell overboard and well,........he didn't,' he shrugged."Didn't what?" I asked."Bob." He said.
Dear Diary,I find myself back in Holland. I was unceremoniously carried from the Schloss and bundled into a carriage by Frau Gimpel herself, whence two unfriendly fellows, possibly Frau Gimpel's less manly brothers, have escorted me, through the night, to the Dutch border, where I was left by the roadside with my baggage.I wandered into a town early this morning and have asked if anyone has seen a Ben DeKok, but most people have just hurried on about their business and ignored me. The only fellow to engage me and who spoke any passable English, just looked at me for a few seconds and then said "Ooh, you are awful, but I like you!" and pushed me to the ground.I managed to find a cart that was heading towards the coast, with two dead pigs trussed up in the back. The Farmer patted the seat beside him but I could smell him from quite some distance, so chose to travel with the pigs instead. I know not how far there is to go to the coast yet, but am forced to sleep tonight in the barn, of an acquaintance of the odorous pig farmer. I never knew cows were so full of wind. This is not the adventure I had envisioned!
Dear Diary,Frau Gimpel was chasing me around the castle with a rifle. I was breathless and tiring and she was gaining upon me, her mad eyes unblinking, and her face fixed with determination and intent to do me harm. Finally, I tripped and stumbled and came to rest cowering beneath a great suit of dusty armour at the end of passageway. Frau Gimpel stepped slowly forward towards me and laughed, but her eyes did not. She raised the rifle and fired...It is quite some time since I have been woken by a bang but how German to use a cannon rather than a cock. I washed and dressed and ventured out of my room, wondering which way to go, but was soon able to follow a variety of people all heading the same way down the stairs and found myself in the banqueting room where a large table was being spread with all manner of bread, ham and cheeses. Frau Gimpel was standing close by and waving her arms and pointing and people were scurrying back and forth with plates and dishes from the kitchen. I followed the gentleman in front and approached the table, picked up a plate and began to help myself to the delights there upon. I chose some bread and ham and avoided the cheeses. Oh, how they assaulted my nasal passages! I found a table and sat alone and began to eat. I was delighted to discover the ham I had chosen was the same I had enjoyed at Overdinkel. Frau Gimpel was moving amongst the tables to ensure the guests were happy. I caught her eye and she came over."Dieser schinken ist scheisse!" I beamed, thinking she will be greatly impressed by my knowledge of German food. She gasped and her eyes opened even wider, if that is possible, and her mouth gaped as if ready to speak..."Wine!" cried a familiar voice and I turned to find Dr Cojones bearing down upon me. I stood and he seized me in his arms in an overly effusive greeting that non-German continentals are wont to do."'Ow are you? Eet is eso good to esee you. I am bery pleased you habe come eso far. Come, you must meet my friend, Herr Kuntz. I habe told him eso much about you. He is bery wealthy man and he is keen to esee you."If Herr Kuntz was as pleased to see me as he said he was, he did not show it. His eyes barely rested upon me all the time he spoke, though they did perhaps skim my surface, preferring to scan the room about us."Die Artz ist ein gut man unt he has tolt me so much ov you, Herr Owstin. He has tolt me ov your ker-nob unt die Schwester that toss-ed him off unt how you pulled him to safety by die roots. You are most velcome hier at Schloss Kuntz unt I hope you vill be vell looked after. Please see Frau Gimpel if you vant anysing unt now I mussen bid you ein guten morgan. Schuss." He wafted past and then stopped. "Oh, Herr Owstin, your lady freund ist most...enchanting!" I looked at Dr Cojones in bemusement and he began to splutter and cough and expressed a desire for fresh air. We went to leave the room and as we did so one of the servers, a handsome fellow who had caught my eye, brushed past and hissed "Sie haben einen schönen arsch.""What is an 'arsch'?" I asked of the Doctor outside. He laughed, winked and putting an arm around me and moving close to my ear said, "Eet is....ow you say?......beeg cheeks," and he gave me a friendly pat upon the buttocks.Celle is a picturesque town with it's streets lined with wooden framed houses, some adorned with colourful paintings. "Would you like to esee the 'Rathaus'," asked the Doctor, but I declined. I am not fond of rodents. I was not surprised they have a home for them though. I have heard tales of some German towns that are over run with them. We wandered by the river Aller and tried some of the 'heidelberren' that were 'in season' and enjoyed some delicious ice cream. Soon the Doctor, glancing at his pocket watch said "Come, Wine, we must moob on."I was following him back to the Schloss when I stopped. There ahead, bending over to look at a beautiful floral display, outside a small florist's shop on the corner of the street with the appropriate title of 'Blumeneck', was the tall woman I had seen at Evelyn Tent's funeral. She straightened and as if she knew I was watching, turned and her eyes met mine. She smiled in recognition. Dr Cojones clapped his hands and was jiggling about in obvious joy. "Wine," he said, "may I introduce Danielle St Amour?" We both stepped forward and she held out her hand. "Enchanted," I blushed. "Mr Austen, it is a delight to meet you at last," she replied. Her voice was throaty and husky and my spine tingled as I felt the sound of it vibrate along her arm, through her hand and into mine. I could not help but stare at her eyes and the lashes that fluttered above them were almost unreal."Danielle also attends the ball this ebening but eshe esadly has no escort," said the dancing Doctor."I could be her 'scort', " I offered. Her head tilted down coyly and she peered through those magnificent lashes at me and I knew her answer.The ballroom at the Schloss was bedecked with colourful banners which hung from the ceiling. It was certainly well attended and the room was filled with chatter, false laughter and music, that was a little on the brassy side for my tastes. I descended the staircase to the floor below and moved through the crowd looking for the familiar faces of Dr Cojones or Miss St Amour but could not find them. The handsome server, from this morning, stepped up holding a tray "You like sekt?" He said and winked at me. Ignoring his flirtation, I took a glass from his tray and moved on.An obviously agitated fellow, stepped up and said "Entschuldigen Sie mich, abber wo ist der ausfahrt?" I drew myself up to my full height and said " I certainly have not!" I turned away in disgust at his insult and there she was at the top of the staircase looking magnificent in her gown. She saw me in the crowd and smiled, then gracefully descended towards me. I moved forward through the throng to meet her and bumped into Herr Kuntz."Ah, Herr Owstin, may I introduce meine vife, Frau Kuntz?" I turned to see a small, yet quite portly, ruddy-faced woman looking up at me. I glanced past her. Danielle was almost at the bottom of the staircase and I wanted to be with her. I grasped Frau Kuntz's hand and said;" Hallo, sie haben einen schönen arsch."I don't know where she came from but I was, suddenly, wrestled to the floor by Frau Gimpel. She pinned me down and leaning close to my face, spat;"Das ist genug!"
Dear Diary,I was awoken early by Ben DeKok and we had a simple breakfast of ham and bread. The ham was very tasty and unlike any I have encountered before. I was about to enquire more of it when I heard someone nearby intone; " dieser schinken ist scheisse!" How the Fates smile upon me at times.We journeyed on and Ben DeKok drove the horses hard. Everywhere one looked there were trees. I doubt these germans have difficulty getting wood.We changed the horses at a Gasthaus near Petershagen where I was handed my first german sausage. I nibbled upon it, tentatively at first, unsure whether it would be to my taste but I found it pleasing. It seems they did not give me the best kind for as we were leaving Frau Zapp, 'die gastgeberin' cried out, "deed you like ze wurst, mein herr?" I smiled and waved what was left of my sausage in a friendly manner.We journeyed on through yet more forests but it was a pleasant journey for the german roads are well constructed and tended and there was little jostling or discomfort.We finally arrived at the hamlet of Celle shortly before midnight. Schloss Kuntz, with it's white-washed facade, was very imposing in the centre of the town. We entered into a courtyard lit by fiery torches and great colourful banners hung from the window ledges and fluttered in the firelight. A solemn but neatly dressed footman assisted me from the carriage. I thanked Ben for his hasty yet safe passage and ventured up the steps to the large wooden doors. As I approached they opened and I beheld a large and quite frightening woman with folded arms. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that I doubted she would be able to shut her eyes. She spoke;"Begrüßen. Ich bin Frieda Gimpel, die haushälterin. Herr Kuntz schlaft und wird sie am morgen grüßen. Lassen sie mich ihnen zu ihrem zimmer zeigen."I did not understand a word but just smiled and deemed it prudent to follow her, for this was a woman that I am sure could wrestle bears. Inspite of the exterior grandeur of Schloss Kuntz, my room was not what I had expected. It was plain and barely comfortable for one who had travelled so far and at such expense. Did I complain? Never! I am an Englishman and we grin and bear it no matter how dire the circumstances or fearsome the servant."Guten nacht," I smiled, and slipped in one of Jane's phrases, " Du bist sehr schön für einen Ausländer."The Frau exited sharply, slamming the door.
Dear Diary,Such a sleepless night. I know not how these seamen rest. The incessant creaking and groaning of the timbers of 'The Hepatitis B' are torment enough but in addition one has to endure constant undulation. I was just about to drift into slumber when a bell sounded and hurried footsteps moved through the passageway outside. I turned to face the cabin wall and tried to sleep again but it was all to no avail and eventually turned back. I suddenly felt I was not alone and opened my eyes to find Bob's face lying upon my pillow, but a few inches from me, grinning."Can I get yer anything Mr Austen?" he whispered."No, thank you," I whispered back. He smiled and closed his eyes and snuggled into the pillow so I pushed him out and he fell to the floor with a bump."Goodnight Bob," and I indicated the door. He slipped out like a shameful cat.I awoke to another bell and dressed and went up on deck. It was light. The sky and sea were equally grey, one was full of motion while the other remained static. The air was fresh and cold. I could see no land in any direction."D'ya sleep well, Mr Austen?" It was Seaman Swallows. He did not wait for my answer before continuing..."There's some porridge on the stove." I still did not feel hungry and the thought of porridge made me gasp in more air. Seaman Swallows noticed me watching a large sailor coiling some rope."That's Effin Frank," he said, "likes to keep 'imself to 'imself.""Indeed?" I replied, interested.Seaman Swallows went down below and I wandered in the direction of Effin Frank."Lovely morning," I smiled. He did not look up but just grunted. I tried to engage him again;"Lovely place the Effin Vale. Do you know the Tents?"I cannot convey the outpouring that followed but I declare my ears almost fell off. He made it quite clear that I should mind my own business and leave him to do his. I doubt Frank had ever been to the Effin Vale and gained his sobriquet for a different reason.The arrival in Holland pleased me more than I expected and I left 'The Hepatitis B' with little sorrow. My papers were checked and I was escorted to a waiting carriage. The coachman introduced himself as Ben DeKok, a pleasant fellow with a firm handshake. I was keen to survey all the new sights and my first windmill was exciting, but by the thirty first I was very much less impressed. I watched the countryside roll past for sometime before the lack of sleep the previous night overcame me and I slept. It is late and we have reached Overdinkel on the border. Supper was dutch cheese! How ready I am for a german sausage!
Dear Diary,I am at sea! But, I get ahead of myself.I was knocked up early by Ned, whilst the rest of the household slept, and after my ablutions he assisted me with my baggage to the waiting carriage. "I'll bring you something nice back, Ned." I said as I leaned out of the carriage window. "Do you fancy a nice blood sausage? " But before he could reply the carriage lurched forward and my journey began.The trip to the coast was largely uneventful. Two dour faced sisters boarded at Netherby. I smiled politely and offered them some of Mrs Crutchlow's muffins but they declined and did not return the smile. They alighted at Leeds, so is it any wonder they were so miserable?How bracing the sea air was when the carriage finally drew up on the quayside. I stepped down and filled my lungs and took in the sights and sounds of that bustling maritime world. I must say I felt a little lost but did not have to wait too long before I was approached by a stocky gentleman with a happy grin. "Mr Austen?" He asked. I nodded and held out my hand. His grip was cold and slightly damp. "I'm Mr Knutson, but call me Buster. This way please." He turned and moved off. I quickly sniffed my hand and as I feared it smelled of fish. I had to manhandle my own baggage and tried to keep up with him. Eventually he stopped and with a grand gesture, waved his arm and said "Your vessel." It was named 'The Hepatitis B'. I wanted to ask what happened to 'The Hepatitus A' but thought better of it. The men on board were already up the masts untying the sails and so, now dragging my baggage, I quickly followed Buster up the wooden gang plank. "Mr Austen, may I introduce Captain Crusoe?" I wondered if I should be concerned and joked;"It's not Robinson Crusoe, is it?"The Captain's stern visage did not waver. "No, It's Leslie," he intoned and then he cast a stern glance at Buster Knutson who was having difficulty suppressing a smile. I wondered, perhaps, if his demeanour was down to the fact that one day he too would have to return to Leeds. "Take Mr Austen to his cabin, Mr Knutson, we are about to set sail."On the way to my cabin Buster introduced me to Seaman Spitz and Seaman Swallows who were on galley duty and said if there was anything I needed, they were the fellows to see. "And this is your cabin," another expansive gesture and generous smile. I opened the door and peered in, but it appeared to be already occupied for there was clearly someone in the bed. " Bob! Get out at once!" barked Buster so suddenly that I squealed in surprise. Out from under the bedclothes crawled a lad of about nineteen and he looked very cowed and sheepish. "Ah were just warmin' it fer Mr Austen," he drawled."This is Bob, the cabin boy and if he bothers you again we'll keel haul him," said Buster and Bob ducked out and ran up the passage.I went out upon the deck later and watched the coastline fade away into the dusk. Watching the sea swirl past was quite mesmerising and when the boat began to pitch more noticably I went below feeling a little queer. "Anything you fancy Mr Austen?" said Seaman Spitz in the passageway, he began to reel off what was available in the galley but I declined and hurried onto my cabin. "I can recommend Seaman Swallow's spotted dick," he called after me.
Dear Diary,Late this morning, I girded my loins and tentatively mounted Cobbler's Knob. At first I felt most uncomfortable but by regulating my breathing, I gradually became more relaxed and felt more at ease. My exhileration grew as my breathing deepened and the pace quickened. Finally, I reached the climax and burst out upon the top, perspiring dreadfully, gasping for air but with a happy smile of satisfaction and pleasure. How I have missed that view. I had to see it again perchance any mishap befall me upon my journey abroad. I could not tarry long for I had baggage to attend to and withdrew to the Grange.I admit I do feel some apprehension about what lies ahead and it has so filled my mind that I have scarcely had time to ponder the fact that today was indeed Mr Fairweather's true birthday. He did enter my thoughts and I wondered how he had received the small token I sent him but I believe I will never know. However, it is the past and tomorrow I move forward and eastward.'Deutschland! Ich komme, bereit oder nicht!'
Dear Diary,I have been practising my useful german phrases with assistance from my sister, Jane.'Hallo, ich heisse Wayne. Ich wohne in England. Freut mich sehr, dich kennenzulernen. Entschuldigung, ich verstehe nicht. Bitte sprechen Sie langsam . Es tut mir leid, dich zu ärgern aber wo befindet sich die Toilette, bitte? Herr Ober, da ist eine Fliege in meiner Suppe. Haben sie je daran gedacht, dass wir beleidigt sein könnten, weil Sie kein Englisch gelernt haben? War deine Nase schon immer so? Ich mag dich. Du bist sehr schön für einen Ausländer. Ich liebe dich. Stirb, Rattenarsch.'I am not quite clear on some of them and am unsure if I am pronouncing them correctly.I tried them out on Ned...After he wiped his face he said;"Those germans seem to be fond of dicks Mr Austen."
Dear Diary,There was almost a dreadful scene at Chapel this morning when Mr Bunder attempted to crown me with the collection plate. Father intervened and Mother relieved him of the receptacle before clearing up the misunderstanding that appeared to have occurred on Friday. Mr and Mrs Bunder were all smiles thereafter and the service continued as normal.Fanny will not accompany me to Herr Kuntz's Ball. She has been invited to a soiree at Cobbler's End and has been promised 'hare pie' and cannot be dissuaded, not even for the promise of a large 'wiener'. I know I am very much looking forward to tasting one. I contemplated asking Father if he could manage without Ned for a few days, for I believe he would look well in lederhosen, but then Ned was full of excitement at visiting Titty next weekend and I decided I could not deprive him of that and so am resigned to venture abroad alone. I will depart early Wednesday for Hull and there catch a boat to Holland from whence I shall journey on to the hamlet of Celle near Hannover. All being well I will arrive Friday evening, ready for the ball upon Saturday evening. It shall certainly be an adventure I am sure.
Dear Diary,It is the day of Mr Fairweather's Birthday Ball. I sent simple greetings which will arrive upon his true birthday, which is the 15th, and then tried to cast it from my mind, and failed most desperately. I tried to sleep this afternoon to hasten the passing of the day but only succeeded in acquiring a headache. This evening has been the worst with visions of him greeting and hugging those nearest and dearest to him. If I close my eyes I can see his smile lighting up his face and lying now upon my bed can well remember the feel of his arms about me in joyous embrace. Someone once said "Unrequited love...It doesn't change, it doesn't grow up and it never dies."Come sleep! Numb this heartache!
Dear Diary,I have seriously neglected my usual habits of late and so chose today to put that fact to rights. I set off determined to mount the Knob but turned back soon after as I came over all queer. I fear I was not yet ready to return to the scene of my near demise at the hands of an irritated nun. Instead I wandered onto the Chapel to play upon the Parson's organ. It was not ideal to be alone and having to pump oneself to keep those pipes a-swelling but I soldiered on and found great satisfaction in my music making. I was just finishing a fugue when Mrs Bunder came in to begin her floral display ready for the weekends service."I wish I could play like that," she said. "You certainly know which of those knobs to pull and when. You have talent, Mr Austen."I smiled graciously. "I must take my leave of you, Mrs Bunder, and I pray you take no offence since you have just come but I am expecting my parents home at any moment and I should be there to greet their return.""Have they been anywhere nice?" She enquired."Oh, just Far Corfe." I replied.The woman is quite mad. She suddenly set about me with the teasles she was carrying and chased me up the aisle and out of the door as if possessed by the Devil himself. I have heard it said 'there is nowt so queer as folk' but none are queerer than those up Cobbler's Bottom!
Dear Diary,This evening I rode to The Fawcett Inn at the behest of Miss Dixon. I was hoping it to be the usual gathering but found she had gathered a throng of unfamiliar gentlewomen for the simple repast. "I hope you are not concerned to be the only gentleman present," she smiled, " for I know how comfortable you are in the presence of ladies. I feel you are indeed almost one of us." I did not quite know what to make of that.I was introduced to all present and was indeed afforded much attention. "Where is Miss Forster?" I asked of Miss Dixon."She was to be here but has retired to bed with a terrible head," came the reply.There was much chatter about the table and Miss Dixon asked about my recent activities. She listened with some attention whilst trying to eavesdrop on others about the table, before announcing loudly;"Oh, Mr Austen do tell the others the funny tale of what happened to your ass up Strokesack Mountain." It was certainly a conversation stopper yet Miss Dixon went on to exceed it, and sadly ruin the meal for many present, with her tale of her neighbours child who became alarmed at something they found in their chamber pot one morning. The poor child cried in alarm for it's mother to come and see. I will not go into the detail that Miss Dixon did but safe to say there were very few present who wished to put forward their view upon why corn is not so easily digested.
Dear Diary,Such a strange night back in my own chamber and my own bed. It did not feel right and I could not settle down for a long time. Ned shook me awake this morning."Mr Austen, wake up! You have fallen out of bed!"For a moment, seeing him there, bending over me, I was back on the mountain and then I came to my senses."No, Ned, I slept on the floor," I replied, sleepily, "for I found my bed too soft." He smiled. "You are a natural camper," and reached out a hand and helped me up. The sheet covering me slipped down and caught upon 'something' halfway down my body that was protruding from my nightshirt. I grabbed at it in embarrassment but Ned had already noticed and left barely able to walk from laughing.He must have told Mrs Crutchlow, back from her sisters, for my breakfast sausage and eggs were arranged upon my plate in an unsavoury way.Throughout the day he has been unable to look at me without laughing and walked passed the parlour window, this afternoon, carrying a log in a suggestive manner.Later I spent sometime alone in the library. Eventually the door opened and he looked in. He just smiled at me and I at him then he left. He was just seeing where I was.He'd missed me.
Dear Diary,Our last morning on Strokesack Mountain was subdued, even the sun dared not cast off it's own grey blanket. I rose to find Ned standing staring into the fire, his back to me. I sensed he was weeping."Sorry to leave Ned?," I asked."No, it's not that," he said, "...it's just...today would have been my brother's eighteenth birthday." He didn't look up from the flames but lifted a hand to scrape away his tears and sniffed bravely.I walked up behind him, hesitated for a moment and then did what felt right. I reached an arm around him and pulled him close in a silent embrace. He leaned into me and began to sob and I just held him, burying my head into his shoulder and he tilted his head to rest upon mine. I don't know how long we stood like that but I cannot remember a time when I have felt such a connection to someone. The moment ended when his head suddenly lifted and he said;"What can I feel sticking in my back? You gettin' frisky or is that a stick in your pocket?"It was a stick in my pocket, the one I'd been whittling and I quickly got it out to prove it and then we laughed.We packed up the camp, loaded up the ass and headed back down into the valley.We had some lunch with Ned's uncle and Dawn before getting ready to set off back to the Grange. Ned's uncle paid Ned and offered me some small payment but I declined and said perhaps Dawn could use it for a new dress.We rode in comfortable silence for much of the way back and as we approached our more commodious and sturdy home I thanked him for asking me to accompany him into the wild."My pleasure, Mr Austen, sir. Whatever the future got instore for us, we will always have Strokesack Mountain."...and then he 'wanked' at me.
Dear Diary,"I think my uncle thought we were a pair of 'homosapiens'," said a sleepy Ned as he rolled over to face me, lying wrapped in my blanket. "I'm not no queer, Mr Austen," he went on. "Oh, I know, and I think it would be fitting for you to call me Wayne under the circumstances, " I replied."Oh no! I couldn't do that. It ain't right," he said. "You coming for a swim?" He stood up and stripped down to his undergarments and ducked out of the tent. I stuck my head out to watch his amusing, limping run towards the lake. He clambered up a large boulder on the shore, whipped off his drawers and with a hoot leapt into the water. "Come on! " he cried, "the water's.....f..f..f..freezing!" I just crawled back under my blanket. Later when he was off up the mountain, worrying sheep, I did venture into the water myself, very gradually, and his estimation of it's temperature was quite correct. In the afternoon I acquired more wood and tried my hand at pole whittling, as I had seen Ned do.As the dusk began to fall and reminding me it was our last evening, he enticed me back into the icy water for a moonlit dip. I wished I had been brave enough to go naked as he did, for when I leapt off the boulder into the water, my underwear rode up and wrapped itself around my spleen...or so it seemed.
Dear Diary,I was awakened in the night by a terrible rasping scream close by. I shook Ned awake and he listened and when it came again, he just laughed and said it was a fox. "A fox?!" I gasped, "well, it is the fox from Hell! Do you think he smells our sausages?"I was still muttering anxiously away when I noticed that Ned was asleep again. I moved as close to him as I dared and curled up in my blanket. I awoke to the gentle pattering of rain upon the canvas, Ned was already up and pulling on his boots. I was quite content to lie there and listen to the rain whilst warm and cosy in my woolly cocoon. I heard Ned bustling about outside and after awhile he popped his head back in and handed me some hot tea and told me that there was a rabbit in one of the snares he had set."You could roast it for dinner," he grinned.I am not a fellow to shrink from tasks but it did take me the greater part of the day to prepare the beast. I am glad Ned was not there to see my preparation and the wincing and groaning and whimpering that it entailed but I did eventually get a stick pushed through it.He limped into camp late in the afternoon. "What have you done to your foot?" I asked."Never mind that," he said, "what have you done to the rabbit?!""I think it is cooking well," I replied, "It's just that it's fur keeps setting alight and I have to put it out.""You did gut it?" He sighed."Oops!" I smiled.He had been extricating a ewe trapped between some rocks when one of the rocks rolled over his foot."It feels badly swollen," he winced, will you help me get my boot off in the tent?"He gritted his teeth and held onto the pole and I tried to ease it off but it was no good it was stuck fast."Pull harder," he said. So I did.It took quite some effort and I was huffing and puffing loudly. When it started to slip off Ned cried out:"Yes!....Oh yes!.....oh Yes!...Yes!Oh yes!" The tent was shaking wildly as he held onto the pole. "It's coming!" I cried. It suddenly slipped off and with one loud "Yes!" from the both of us we collapsed on the bedding breathing heavily. We lay there smiling at each other recovering from our efforts when a voice outside the tent said,"What the f*** are you two lads doing in there!?"It was Ned's uncle.
Dear Diary, Dawn came in orange raiment, stained from below by a gelatinous band of pale green. "Bloody 'ell!," she said, "This frock is ruined! It's all that mould on them fallen branches that I had to clamber over on the way up." It was then that she saw my blinking face peering from the tent. "Hello," she said, "I'm Dawn, Ned's cousin and I've brought you some sausages for breakfast." I smiled and looked past her at the dark bulk of the mountain that paled slowly until it was the same colour as the smoke from Ned's breakfast fire. The cold air was sweet. The early sunlight cast long shadows and the rearing pines of the woodland below, where I had to go later to collect wood, looked dark and foreboding."Do you like a nice sausage?" Dawn asked with a grin... I could see her father in her. I nodded weakly and crawled out to face the day.After breakfast Ned went up in search of sheep and I went down with Dawn, holding tightly onto her father's ass. She left me in the woodland and I began to gather wood for the fire. It was most difficult to find branches that were dry and not covered with green slime or mould. I dare not touch those for fear of ruining my embroidered gloves. After some hours I had collected a goodly pile and strapped them as best I could onto the ass and we set off back. We had not gone far when a large badger blundered out of a bush and the ass let out a snort of surprise. It reared up and one of it's front hooves struck my forehead a glancing blow and then it took off, scattering the fuel I had collected. In the wilderness and loneliness of that place I felt safe to curse the silly ass with words that do not readily come to my lips.It took me some time to catch up with the stupid beast and then find more dry branches and strap them on. The fire was burning well when Ned returned later. He had already driven a number of sheep back down to the valley and was tired and hungry."What you done to your face?" He asked concerned. It was only then I remembered being struck by the ass and lifting my hand to my face felt the dry, encrusted wound. Ned dipped a rag in a pan of water, steaming by the fire, and gently wiped my forehead as I told him what had occurred.We passed a pleasant evening by the fire watching the flames dance, looking for shooting stars and Ned listening to me bemoaning my family. "You're lucky, Mr Austen," said Ned, after a lull in the conversation, "to have a family like yours. Never take them for granted." He sniffed heavily, wiped his nose upon his sleeve and then stood up and went to the tent. I winced at my thoughtlessness. How self-centered I can be. Ned's family; Mother, Father, older sister and younger brother had all died two years ago of the smallpox. I threw what was left of the tea in my mug into the flames and, as if I were a villain, the fire hissed at my shame.
Dear Diary,Ned rode away after breakfast. Mother and Father left for Far Corfe Hall a few hours later and we all stood on the steps to wave them off. I lingered a little while longer attempting to look morose and listless before suddenly and decisively, announcing my intention to visit Mr Griffiths in Manchesterford for a few days and trusting my sisters would enjoy having the Grange to themselves and sure they would be well catered for at the hands of Betty Tert, caught Ned up at an Inn, some ten miles away. Together we rode on to his uncle's farm nestling in the valley below the great mass of Strokesack Mountain. Greetings and introductions over with, Ned's uncle turned to me, with a wink, saying;"You know how to handle an ass?"I did not quite know how to reply to that question and had only just begun to stammer my reply when Ned led a donkey out of the barn, laden with provisions. Soon we set out up the mountain, at first through the woodland and then out above the tree line into the heathery moorland and the coursing, endless wind.Ned found a sheltered spot beside a small mountain lake and got the canvas tent up whilst I, helpfully, held the pole. He soon had a fire going with wood he'd brought with us and we sat down under the darkening sky and ate a simple meal of bread and ham. He is asleep now and I am writing this by the light of the fire. Tomorrow he shall go higher up and bring down any sheep he finds. I am to take the ass and fetch more wood from the woodland below. How quiet everything is up here and how bright the stars. I shall gaze upon them a while longer and then crawl into my bedding.
Dear Diary,Germany is, indeed, a long way to journey for a ball. Am I really so desperate for balls? I believe I am, and yet I have many things to ponder. Are German balls similar to our own balls? What is the etiquette for attending a German ball? My invitation said that I was welcome to bring a companion and at breakfast I broached the subject with Fanny. She did not seem too intrigued and I feared her ardour for balls was waning. When I asked if she had heard anything of the host, Herr Kuntz, she replied she had not, but that he sounded charming and I could see her interest was piqued after all. I shall not push her too hard as yet for there is still time to prepare. The ball is not until the 19th but arrangements will have to be made soon.Tomorrow Mother and Father leave to visit Mrs Norris at Far Corfe Hall for the week. Thrushcock Grange will be rather quiet as Mrs Crutchlow has leave to visit family and Ned has been asked by a sheep farming uncle to assist in the retrieval of his hillside flocks for shearing and so he too will be away for four days."Do you like camping, Mr Austen?" he asked as I encountered him bearing wood."I have never experienced it." I replied."You wanna go wild, Mr Austen?" He was teasing me now.I am a man who enjoys the small comforts of life but perhaps I need to broaden my experience. I was impulsive."If you are asking, Ned, then my answer is yes. Let us indeed go wild." He dropped the log on his foot in surprise but was hooting with laughter even though in pain."Where are we off to?" I enquired."Up Strokesack Mountain!" he winked.
Dear Diary,What a difference a day makes, twenty four little hours. It brought the rain and the showers, where there used to be sun. I spent much of the day upon the piano practising some Bach variations. Some time after lunch there was a knock upon the library door and Ned entered holding a letter. "I think someone is toying with you again, Mr Austen." He handed it to me and pointed at the senders name. I read aloud "Herr Kuntz." Ned sniggered, "Hairy..........""You may leave,Ned!" I interupted and he slipped out like a scolded dog.I have been invited to a ball in Germany by an acquaintance of Dr Cojones, Herr Kuntz. It seems he would very much like to meet me. It may have been dull outside but the day was turning out quite fine after all. It became even better when Willy Tert came home from school looking very much like a drowned rodent. How it suited him and I could not resist from flashing him one of his cheeky smiles.
Dear Diary,July is upon us already and as if it was aware it is synonymous with 'summer' it indeed turned up the heat. It has been some time since I have sweltered so. I called at Cobbler's End, upon the ladies therein, at their insistance, for a trim. I was mindful of what I said for I fear I always offend them in some way. I simply smiled and nodded, though not when Miss Lott was tending my locks, or simply said "Indeed!" in suitable breaks in the intercourse. However, as I was leaving and thanking them for their trichological attentions, I could not help but point out the rash around Miss Lott's delicate lips and hoped it would soon lose some of it's redness. She gasped, clasped her hands to her face and dashed indoors leaving me to close the door behind me. Such sensitive, yet kind ladies.I entered Cobbler's Bottom and as I suspected, upon such a sultry day, Sam was shirtless and bent over his anvil. I hailed him with all the gayness I could muster even though my mouth was quite dry and then watched as he ran his hands over my Python, his muscular arms glistening in the sunlight. Whilst he was bent over examining the hooves I became transfixed by a drop of sweat that slowly travelled down his spine. It moved, hesitantly at first, as if unsure of it's path and kept pausing as if to scan the way ahead but gradually it gained speed and moved more purposefully and before long fairly raced across his skin and disappeared into the slight cleft that peeped atop his breeches. I quite startled Sam as I thrust my head into his butt and allowed the cold water to chill my fevered brow. There was an uncomfortable silence after he informed me that Python was in fine fettle but modesty prevented me from stepping out from behind his butt just at that moment and so I just stood there smiling and holding onto it until the moment was right.
