Tuesday, 4 January 2011

4th Janurary 1874

Dear Reader,

Apologies! Being incredibly rich has kept me from writing for many months now, those poor people wont stamp on themselves!

Christmas was simply splendid-four new diamonds, and I had the inspired idea of hanging tiny orphan children on the tree-not only an excellent and very "grunge" style decoration, but also they can hold the candles and candy canes.

In political news, the splendid Tories have won the race to the ballot boxes, and our glorious Prime Minister is keeping one of the Whigs on a lead outside Downing Street. Although I am personally enamoured with Plastic Percy (my own private nickname for the PM) some people (mainly the unwashed) have accused him of being a total Cunt. But they're the sort who probably read books and such, so I wouldnt listen to them. What I do know is that, contratory to popular belief, he is a wonderful leader and will no doubt bring in all sorts of lovely laws to prevent women such as myself from tiring our delicate brains through education or work. Apart from the poor ones, obviously.

Lord Primark has promised to take me shooting in India, he says its simply crawling with Tigers and exotic birds, which will be great fun to look at when we arnt shooting the indigenious peoples! In other news, I narrowly beat Lady Staines at the annual flower arranging competition, nothing at all to do with the fact that I put magic mushrooms in her Earl Grey.

Must dash, am meeting Lord Primark at iPaddington station, tarrah!

Sunday, 15 August 2010

15th August, 1873

Dear reader,

opened my paper this morning and nearly fainted into the marmalade. The headline read "Women's demand suffrage". Can the time really have come? Is it on the horizon, sailing into view like a vessel on the ocean? Could the day really soon be coming, where women would be allowed to vote?

Reader, I DO HOPE NOT!!! The whole thing made me violently sick, before i turned blue and had to be carried to my room. The very thought...I know that if *I* ever stumbled across a ballot paper, entirely by accident, my tiny delicate brain would be overcome by the lists of lovely men to choose from, and I would no doubt make a heinous mistake and eat the paper instead. Also, I cannot read.

Lunched in town today, delighted to find several women chained to railings-hopefully their husbands would remember to pick them up when they returned from their clubs!

Appertly there is a new serial killer in town-Lord Primark promised to take me to see his work, and also "Cholera! The musical!" at the Edinburgh festival, a terrible dirty nothern city where I once lost my favourite hat. It had a live peacock strapped to the top.

More tomorrow, I have to brush my wig before bed

Monday, 26 July 2010

26 July 1873

Dear Reader,

You may be wondering why I have not written for several months, and what exactly has happened to me-did I escape? Have I still got my fortune? Will I get to marry Lord Primark? Does my hair still look fabulous, despite having minimum access to styling products? Well, all shall be revealed.

The conditions I was kept it, were, to put it bluntly, squalid. I only received four square meals a day, and the troupe of dancing monkeys sent to entertain me were ropey at best. The little ones rendition of the Moonlight sonata on soozaphone was dull, choppy, and lacked real emotion.

After screaming daintily, and realising it had no effect, I saw my only way to survive would be to knaw my own arm off. Unfortuantly, my little ladies teeth were too weak. On day 58 (or maybe 24, I've never had any need to be good at sums) Lord Primark finally decided to rescue me. Bursting into the room impressively, he brandished his sword.

"Ive come to recuse your money! Er, I mean you, honey!" He cried, twirling his moutache impressivly. I was all very impressive. I was impressed. At that moment, my uncle burst in, and the two began to fight firecly, swords clashing, the sound of steel ringing in the air. They lunged, they parried, they changed there shoes and went for a walk, and afterwards we all had tea on the lawn. Then, back to the fight!

"The only person" panted lord Primark "who should have Lady Emily's money" he thurst his sword "is-me!"
"You are wrong, sir!" cried my Uncle, but suddenly, Lord Primark threw out a final blow, knocking my uncles sword from his hand. We dashed from the room, and jumped into Lord Primarks sports carriage.

"Why didnt you just kill him?" I asked, as we sped away
"Oh, well. My father and his father are in buisness together. He's coming round to dinner on sunday, It seemed rather impolite."

"Did you really mean what you said about loving me and my money?" I asked hopefully, but he had his headphones in and was listening to his Ukid, a portable street urchin who can remember and sing up to 500 songs. Ah, well, I thought, watching the passing world, and the small squirrel's being pulped to patte by the carriages wheels, you cant have it all.

On a lighter note, I have discovered that in my abscene, the Tories have come to power, hip hip hoorah! As you may know, they have a wonderful policy on stamping on poor people, ruining trade industries, taking away childrens milk, and hoarding all the countries money for the elite. Which, as you know, includes me! I do love democracy, and if I had the vote ( disgusting as that may be) I would certinetly vote Tory every time-Tory-the party for rich bastards! Hoorah and three cheers for the Queen!

Although I fear that this may not be the end of my encounters with my uncle, but right now, I have a wedding to plan, just as soon as Lord Primark proposes! Must dash, I have to de-hair my ear lobes before the dinner dance tonight

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

21 April 1873


Dear reader, as I write these words, you must brace yourself for a shock-i have been cruelly imprisoned by my Uncle, as I knew I would!

It all happened exactly like this-sitting in a covent garden tea room, I was taking tea with Lord Primark yesterday. It was a beautiful day, and I was enjoying a weasel and marmalade scone while Lord Primark chose prostitutes from a catalogue.

All of a sudden, I noticed a dark and shadowy figure lurking behind some shrubbery. I did not wish to alarm Lord Primark, but I had a horrible feeling that it could be none other Than My uncle, the Count Of Morrisons (and owner of that well known food emporium for the poor). As my Uncle lurked closer, Lord Primark stood up and announced that he must leave me while he emptied his bladder. I did not wish to scare him, but I also did not wish to be left alone, so I implored him to stay with me and laugh at the small children who were eating out of a gutter. This amused him for a while, but soon he grew tired (he has a collection of small children at home which he regularly beats, it not as if he needs to go out to see any)

"Please stay!" I cried, as he rose once again

"No, woman, im desperate for a piss! God, its like being married already! Oh, the shackles of oppression!" He cried, as he padlocked me to the table so that i wasnt stolen while he was away.

Once he had dissapeared, my uncle leapt out from behind the bushed, cackling, and holding up a tiny kitten made of rainbow. Dear reader, I feel sure that you will be all too aware that this was too much for my womanly heart to resist, and in a moment i was off in pursuit of said kitten, dragging the table behind me. The Count placed the kitten strategically in front of the shrubs, and, as i bent down to pick it up, the villian rushed out and stuck a paper bag over my head!

Reader, I was completly powerless! As you must know, once a lady has a paper bag on her head, she is completly at the mercy of her attacker!

It was removed some time later, and I found myself in a room of dreadful squalor. A large ornate mirror, several cushioned chairs, and a window overlooking a lake-honestly, i cannot imagine the sort of conditions plebs must endure on a daily basis if they are forced to inhabit rooms such as this.

As I write this, I am waiting for my Uncle to return and reveal his evil plan to me (as all the best villians must). Oh, I hear footsteps-wish me luck reader, I have only a tiny kitten and a brain made of wool to protect me!

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Tuesday, 13 April 1873

Dear reader,

How exciting, elections almost upon us! We all know what that means, yes? Thats right, not voting!

I love not voting. Every year, on election day, I can wake up, put on a frilly dress, go down to polls, and hang around sighing and saying loudly, "oh! If only I could vote!" Until a handsome man comes up and says "You poor, dear, sweet little thing, i'll have to take you out to tea".

Now reader, dont worry yourself, of course I dont really want to vote! I'm a woman, it would make me giddy and id probably faint trying to choose between the whigs and the tories, both parties full of lovely gentlemen with lovely moustaches. I dont know what their policies are, mind you, but im pretty sure they involve stamping on poor people, hoorah!

Lord Primark says he is having trouble deciding which party to vote for- The Whigs, who have given him £7000, or the Tories, who have given him a small house in Buckinghamshire. Oh, politics!

Anyway, must dash, im having badger for lunch and I dont want it getting cold! Afterwards, meeting Lord Primark so we can throw stale beef at urchins in the park.

No sign of my Uncle for a while now....am begginning to worry he may have an evil plan afoot....

Till next time!

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Sunday, 14 March 1873

Dear reader,

Last night I attended the most delightful concert with my friend Lady Fanny Sparkler. The musicians in question were a popular four piece band known as "Take That, you blaggard!" They perform their songs whilst thrusting and parrying with their swords, in a most energetic way. I myself got quite hot under the collar, I can tell you!

After they had performed several requests, including "Smack my bitch up" "Gangsta Paradise", and my personal favourite, "Have a wombling merry christmas", Fanny and I retired to the refreshments.

"You simply must tell me how its going with Lord Primark! Has he taken you roughly in the shrubbery yet?"

"No, but I did let him trim my rhododendron bush the other day" I said coyly-Oh, to reveal ones personal details!

As we talked (and once Fanny had shown me her new and unusual piercing) I noticed someone apperead to be hanging around the punch bowel, listening in on our conversation! Sipping my WKD delicately, I realised at once who it was! None other than my evil Uncle, the Count of Morrisons! How dare he listen to my private conversations! As I fumed in a delicate and lady like manner, fanning myself and fainting in an angry way, the Count sidled over to us.

"Ah, good evening. I do hope your enjoying yourselves" He said this in a way which would sugges that this was exactly what he didnt hope at all!

"I just wanted to say, ahem, muahahahaha." He twiddled his moustache and leered "And also, that you and your lover will soon meet a horrible death, by which time I can get my hands on your enourmous fortune!"

"Was that a euphamism?" enquired Miss Sparkler.

"No, she explained that in her last post" Said my uncle impatiently. "Do try the pringles, they're sour cream and chive" And with a whisk of his cloak, he was off.

Dear reader, what am I to do? How shall I evade death at the hands of such a fellow? Oh, dear, dear me!

On a lighter note, Fanny has been explaining to me the latest craze of the upper middle class lady-lesbianism! It does sound delightful, and I may be trying it out in the future. Whatever next? Ahahahhahaha!

More later, dear reader, I must go and have my elbow bath.

Sunday, 21 February 2010

Sunday, 21 Feburary 1873

Went out walking in the countryside today-a beautiful day-sun, blue sky, birds tweeting, and the smell of burning cottages as peasants were thrown off their land. A shame, for their grubby faces really did add to the scenery. I came across a poor old man, leaning on a gate.

"Penny for the poor?" he said,
I considered
"I'll give you a kick" I offered
He declined my offer, (ungratfully!), and I walked on.

I was just on the edge of a scary dark creepy wood, when a carriage suddenly pulled up beside me, and outstepped a man I had feared all my life I would have to meet! No, not a welshman, but my uncle, The Count of Morrisons! He was even more evil looking than my parents had described-his moustache curled evily, his eyes were cold and full of evil, and he had a pet rat with a wooden leg perched on his shoulder. He was resting his foot on a small child, who was crying. It appeared that my uncle was not only using him as a footstool, he was also eating the boys sweets. Oh, so evil.

"so" said my uncle, laughing evily. This made it hard to understand what he was saying, so the small boy wrote it down on a slate as well.
"Well, well, well, we meet again!" He laughed/dictated
"Listen, wicked uncle, you have no place here! If you dare to try and steal my huge fortune, i'll have no choice but to slap you with a wet fish!"

"hmmm, then I shall have to find another way to get my hands on your enourmous assets!"
"Thats not a eumphemism, is it?"
"No!.....and I dont know what that means anyway"

And with that, off he drove, the small boy running ahead. Pulling the carriage. With his teeth.

So! This is the way he wants to play it! He wont be stealing my fortune, thats for sure! No, I must save my money, to give to Lord Primark when I marry him. There are two people in this world who will never be in charge of my money-my evil uncle-and me.

Home to bed now, dear reader-I must get at least 22 hours of beauty sleep a day