Cast Out the Pesky The Weekly: Maintaining Britain's Standards
Judging the exact time to whoosh open the curtains so the bright, cheery sunlight stabs horrifically into the eyes of the young master

Polishing the cat

Shaking a carpet out of a high window to disperse fog

Brushing floury hands together and saying "Tut" at an interruption

Signalling someone on the moors
A Bit Of A Chat With Constable Dan
Good evening. I've been asked by the editor to speak on the subject of my father, as I believe his studies of cows have found favour with the art establishment. I must admit, I can't see why. He was an entirely untalented man, and when I was a child, he used his cow pictures to frighten me as a punishment if I'd brought tadpoles.

Excuse my agitation, I've been paintballing. I have an extraordinary shockwave bruise on my inner thigh where I was shot at close range storming a fort. It features a bloody, mulchy centre, then an area of wrinkled whiteness where the blood was rapidly blasted outwards from the impact point, and finally a great corona of jagged purple marking where the rush was arrested by tissue, the whole being about the size of a yam. I'm considering making a photographic record. It's something to leave the children.

I grew up in a very humorous neighbourhood, so turned to bullying as a form of self-defence. It was all boyish high spirits, of course, and I seldom used my revolver in anger. It's all different nowadays. Today's generation doesn't even seem to know the meaning of operoseness. The war - I forget which - brought many strange changes to our little piece of Britain. When I was 14, my brother joined the army. Not to be outdone, I joined the navy and the air corps, which was hard work but quite exciting, but after three or four years I grew tired of running back and forth each night, so faked one of my own deaths. Of course, I was using an assumed name for Captain Caius Cassius, and that's where the problem lay. I was easily identified as both parties, and it was conjectured I'd done away with the Captain as part of an elaborate plot to capitalise on our close resemblance and gain an inheritance or somesuch. I could have settled the situation with a single telephone call to the Admiral, but I'd foolishly used the call to which I was entitled to ask my gardener to return a library book on my behalf, as I knew there'd been plenty of interest in the title, though I personally had found it wholly turgid and so was indifferent to finishing. I remember quite clearly that it was an August, and they were going to shoot me. It was rather a pickle. I lost a lot of good friends after the war. Ferdy tried to explain they were only giving orders, but the authorities wouldn't listen.

I'm not sleeping that well at nights. I'm being haunted by MR James. Isn't leather marvellous? So pliant. I can't abide these artificial cloths. My tailor is well-paid to use exclusively natural fibres, like grass, and fibres. Lovely. I'm only 38. My grandfather left me 50 years in his will, and like a fool I rushed out and spent them all at once. Good lord, I've just realised that road markings are a Morse-like language.

I enjoy long walks and have all my own hair. The bags are labelled in a clear and steady hand. I've outlived seven of my doctors, though I've never had to replace my refrigerator. I miss prize-fighting. There's something wildly invigorating about a raw, bare-knuckle clash, though often by the end I'd wish I'd stayed in the crowd. I suppose you could say I've had a full life, although, do you know, I firmly believe I could find that island again if only I had the time to really try. Anyway, I hope this helps any young people who might be thinking of turning to crime.
We Are Britons | A Bit Of A Chat With Constable Dan | 10,000 Years Of The Weekly
Ceramic Guinness

Peter Glazed

King Edward



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