Fortescue Towers

Random ramblings from the life and times of Col. Fortescue Featherstonehaugh Fortescue.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Curse this infernal heat Carstairs

Once again the weather has been dominating conversation here at Fortescue Towers. As summer draws to a close it is unseasonably warm and the local waterboard have banned the use of hosepipes. This has somewhat put paid to ones plans to deploy a water cannon or two in the vicinity of the village green where the scruffy layabouts who spent their solstice dancing round the tennis court have joined with the local travellers to set up a tented village and tribal drumming school. Not only that, the Rolls is looking decidedly dusty and the vicar is complaining that his Petunias are wilting. Even caught Clackthorpe washing his feet in the ornamental pond yesterday, the sight of gasping Koi was to distressing to bear so was forced to give him a sound thrashing all the way back to his hut. What's more, Blenkinsop hasn't bathed for weeks and is becoming quite noxious. Several of the ladies became quite overcome when he served tea and Lady Jacobea almost tumbled off the verandah into the mems rose bushes as he passed by.

Naturally one has been making the best of the situation by sitting on the verandah with a cooling G and T or two whilst being fanned by ones Punkawallah, Jham, the son of Mr Bhutee who runs the village store. A worthwhile occupation even if the local social worker fellah accused one of being a relic of empire for offering the lad a job. Ones chums from the regiment were most impressed with his fanning skills as we watched the sun set and regaled each other with tales of the frontier.

With all this heat one is reminded of the time one was stationed at Wadi Yu'See, a grim sun baked place, surrounded by revolting savages. A little like Blackpool at high season but with a better class of neighbours. We were down to our last drops of water and the chaps were beginning to get delirious. Carruthers Snr had become convinced that Carstairs was in fact a giant iced lollipop and had attempted to take a few bites out of the poor fellow. Carstairs had shut himself in his tent with his service revolver and was refusing to come out. I think Carstairs may have been driven to the brink that day as shortly after he went native and there was the unpleasant incident with a camel named Fifi but we do not talk about that. Brought shame to the regiment. Luckily for us Carruthers became convinced that the wily pathans surrounding our camp were in fact Italian ice cream sellers and was last seen with the RSM in tow charging up the dunes singing 'O Sole Mio' and demanding a Mr Whippy with a flake. Caused enough of a distraction for one to lead the rest of the regiment to safety. All a bit of a to do.

Anyhow, one hopes the heavens will open soon as the nightly emanations of roasting Tofu wafting over from the village green is becoming most unpleasant and one occasionally even catches a whiff of ones gentlemans gentleman even though one has locked him in the summer house until the ban is lifted and one can get the gardeners help to give him a quick hose down through the window.