Fortescue Towers

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

Friday, January 27, 2006

The return of the Hamish

No sooner has one recovered from the excesses of the festive season and the last of the Stilton has been safely disposed of by ones manservant and a specially trained squad from the local TA than what should roll around once more but Burns night.

This year one was hoping for a respite from cooks culinary disasters and a generally peaceful time but instead one was rather rudely awakened by a terrible screaming emanating from the vicinity of the shrubbery. Naturally one immediately thought that one of the footmen had inadvertantly trodden on one of Utterthwaites mole traps or that Luigi had sunk back into his old ways and was exposing himself to the maid servants once again. This was discounted when one did not hear hysterical laughter shortly afterwards nor spotted a mackintoshed figure slinking furtively away.

Instead the screaming resolved itself into a strangled rendition of 'Amazing Grace' and one was treated to the sight of RSM McNulty accompanied by a shadowy figure weaving across the lawn puffing as hard as he could into a set of bagpipes. It would appear that Cousin Hamish has finally managed to extricate himself from the crate in which he was sealed last year and returned to castle McSlurry. Fortunately for ones eardrums one of his whisky sodden weavings took him into the rockery where one of Clackthorpes explosive devices lay undetonated by the rampaging French chefs of the summer invasion. A blinding flash of light and explosion later and the infernal pipes were sailing over the arboretum and Hamish was standing bereft of kilt showing that he truly is a real Scotsman.

Luckily the mem' was woken by the racket and with commendable speed and a far better aim than usual she gave the airborne instrument both barrels ensuring its brief reign of terror at Fortescue Towers was over. Although one is told that the local constable was somewhat surprised to be knocked off his bicycle by what appeared to be a giant smoking tartan Tarantula hurtling out of the night sky.

One has since heard that ones good friend and neighbour Lady J required reviving after inadvertantly viewing the terrible sight of Hamish standing naked in the rockery through her binoculars but one does rather wonder why she was bird watching at two in the morning.