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
Sunday 15 August 2010
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
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
Trapped!
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!
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!
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.
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
"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
Wednesday 27 January 2010
Wednesday 27th January 1873
Dear reader,
What a turn up for the books. A mysterious cloaked man leapt over the gardan wall last night. He had flaming eyes and a scary sword, and warned me I would soon meet my death under suspicious circumstances. He was WELL flirting with me! My new corset is obvious working! It has a built in kidney reducers.
Went into town to do some shopping yesterday. Bought lots of jam. Mainly beetroot. I heard it was Lord Primark's favourite flavour, and am thinking of making him a beetroot banquet. Beetroot pie, Beetroot icecream, Beetroot squeezy cheese. I certinely know the way to a mans heart. I practised kissing my hairbrush for 8 hours yesterday, so that when I become Lady Primark, I will be prepared for tickly moustacheness.
A letter from my estranged Uncle, the Count of Morrisons (he owns a large chain of food emporiums) arrived this morning. It was marked "muahahahaha!". I fear he could soon come back to Britain and lock me in an attic. But that may work out well, it shall be fine practise for when I am married.
I shall retire now, dear reader. One of the squirrels from the garden seems to be following me. Or perhaps I've just gone mad from all the opium I consume...
What a turn up for the books. A mysterious cloaked man leapt over the gardan wall last night. He had flaming eyes and a scary sword, and warned me I would soon meet my death under suspicious circumstances. He was WELL flirting with me! My new corset is obvious working! It has a built in kidney reducers.
Went into town to do some shopping yesterday. Bought lots of jam. Mainly beetroot. I heard it was Lord Primark's favourite flavour, and am thinking of making him a beetroot banquet. Beetroot pie, Beetroot icecream, Beetroot squeezy cheese. I certinely know the way to a mans heart. I practised kissing my hairbrush for 8 hours yesterday, so that when I become Lady Primark, I will be prepared for tickly moustacheness.
A letter from my estranged Uncle, the Count of Morrisons (he owns a large chain of food emporiums) arrived this morning. It was marked "muahahahaha!". I fear he could soon come back to Britain and lock me in an attic. But that may work out well, it shall be fine practise for when I am married.
I shall retire now, dear reader. One of the squirrels from the garden seems to be following me. Or perhaps I've just gone mad from all the opium I consume...
Saturday 23 January 2010
Saturday, 23rd January, 1873
Dear Reader,
A letter arrived from Lord Primark today. How I wooped for joy! Or possibly it might have been my whooping cough. The Letter explained how he recently set up his own clothing emporium for the poor, and would I like to come to the opening?
Would I? WOULD I!? Of Course not, I might get poor germs! But I decided it would be rude not to (I am a Lady, after all), and thus headed down to the shop, in deepest, murkiest London. In order to ensure that I did NOT get Poor Germs, I wrapped myself in bubble wrap, soaked in smirnoff ice (a reputable cure for poorness), and held my nose the entire time.
Lord Primark was delighted to see me (who wouldnt be? I'm VERY rich), even though I smelt a bit like smirnoff ice, and showed me round the shop. It was like a normal shop for ladies, only all the clothes were dirty and ragged and made by tiny children in India, or another glorious Empire country.
"Lord Primark", says I, through heavy nasal blockage "are you purposfully exploiting and ripping-off the poor, by selling them shoddy and badly made items?"
"Yes, yes I am! Muhahahahah!" He said, laughing and twiddling his moustache in an evil fashion
"How wonderful!" I said, and off we roared in his sports carriage.
On a more crucial note, it has been discovered that my Ladies' Maid and the Head Gardner are having an affair!!! I didnt even know poor people HAD genitals!
More soon, dear reader, I have to go and stare mournfully out of a window now.
A letter arrived from Lord Primark today. How I wooped for joy! Or possibly it might have been my whooping cough. The Letter explained how he recently set up his own clothing emporium for the poor, and would I like to come to the opening?
Would I? WOULD I!? Of Course not, I might get poor germs! But I decided it would be rude not to (I am a Lady, after all), and thus headed down to the shop, in deepest, murkiest London. In order to ensure that I did NOT get Poor Germs, I wrapped myself in bubble wrap, soaked in smirnoff ice (a reputable cure for poorness), and held my nose the entire time.
Lord Primark was delighted to see me (who wouldnt be? I'm VERY rich), even though I smelt a bit like smirnoff ice, and showed me round the shop. It was like a normal shop for ladies, only all the clothes were dirty and ragged and made by tiny children in India, or another glorious Empire country.
"Lord Primark", says I, through heavy nasal blockage "are you purposfully exploiting and ripping-off the poor, by selling them shoddy and badly made items?"
"Yes, yes I am! Muhahahahah!" He said, laughing and twiddling his moustache in an evil fashion
"How wonderful!" I said, and off we roared in his sports carriage.
On a more crucial note, it has been discovered that my Ladies' Maid and the Head Gardner are having an affair!!! I didnt even know poor people HAD genitals!
More soon, dear reader, I have to go and stare mournfully out of a window now.
Friday 22 January 2010
Friday, 22nd January 1873- Stricken
Dear Reader,
I am terribly ill. My eyes feel heavy, my nose is twitchy, and I keep nodding off. My Ladies Maid kindly suggested it might be that I was simply tired, but after I repeatedly beat her with my umbrella, she saw sense and agreed that it was definetly-
THE DREADED LURGI
Thats right! For weeks now, speculation has suggested that Britains will be struck down by a truly deadly diease. They are calling it peacock 'flu, and I'm sure that it will strike down AT LEAST 3 people. I myself must now retire to bed to wait out this dreaded illness.
On a lighter note, the lurgi HAS killed 18 million poor people. Hip hip hoorah for Britain!
I am terribly ill. My eyes feel heavy, my nose is twitchy, and I keep nodding off. My Ladies Maid kindly suggested it might be that I was simply tired, but after I repeatedly beat her with my umbrella, she saw sense and agreed that it was definetly-
THE DREADED LURGI
Thats right! For weeks now, speculation has suggested that Britains will be struck down by a truly deadly diease. They are calling it peacock 'flu, and I'm sure that it will strike down AT LEAST 3 people. I myself must now retire to bed to wait out this dreaded illness.
On a lighter note, the lurgi HAS killed 18 million poor people. Hip hip hoorah for Britain!
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Wednesday the 13th Janurary, 1873
Rising early this morning (12.30pm), I opened my paper, The Gentle Lady (it has the corners rounded off so Ladies don't hurt their fingers) to discover a shocking scandal! Brace yourself reader, for the news of the century!
It appears that some of the gentlmen of the House of Lords have been taking some of the money they have been allowed for the buying of newspapers and ink and small boys to use as footstools-and INSTEAD, have spent it on frivolities! Here are just some of the things purchased:
one small ornatmental lawn giraffe (plus cage and feeding equipment)
two cockney pearlie kings
one large print naughty comic (the adventurs of winky the dog and his owner the bishop of bath and wells), purchased on behalf of an MP's butler
A wide screen print of Milais "Scrictly Come Dancing"
An iphonograph
3 bottles of Dennis' Home Brew ( a beer made from grass and horse glue)
A giant novetly monocle (though Lord Stains insists he has very bad eyesight)
Some bagpipes made of marmalade
and, most horrifically of all, A train ticket to Milton Keynes
Shocking, I know. Gone are the days when MP's will use their money wisely and spend it on Palaces for Ducks, or a massive estate in wales. What HAS the world come to? I feel a faint coming on...
It appears that some of the gentlmen of the House of Lords have been taking some of the money they have been allowed for the buying of newspapers and ink and small boys to use as footstools-and INSTEAD, have spent it on frivolities! Here are just some of the things purchased:
one small ornatmental lawn giraffe (plus cage and feeding equipment)
two cockney pearlie kings
one large print naughty comic (the adventurs of winky the dog and his owner the bishop of bath and wells), purchased on behalf of an MP's butler
A wide screen print of Milais "Scrictly Come Dancing"
An iphonograph
3 bottles of Dennis' Home Brew ( a beer made from grass and horse glue)
A giant novetly monocle (though Lord Stains insists he has very bad eyesight)
Some bagpipes made of marmalade
and, most horrifically of all, A train ticket to Milton Keynes
Shocking, I know. Gone are the days when MP's will use their money wisely and spend it on Palaces for Ducks, or a massive estate in wales. What HAS the world come to? I feel a faint coming on...
Welcome, Dear Readers
Dear Readers, I welcome both of you to my memoirs-my life has been an exciting one-brekfast in the mornings, tea in the afternoon, and those cheesy biscuits between meals. I have ridden on trains, arranged flowers and once I rescued a squirrel from a badger with gangrene. But enough of these frivolities! In these pages, you will discover many of my adventures, including the time I saw some poor people, and my journey to egypt, where I discovered firsthand that some people are a slightly more browny shade of pink than we in Great Britain. You may also get to hear of my romance with Lord Primark, and how my evil Uncle, the Count of Morrisons, almost foiled our plans for marriage. Happy readings, and I wish you every success,
yours humbly, Lady Waitrose Selfridge, of Mayfair, RRD, MB, QI, LED, WTF
yours humbly, Lady Waitrose Selfridge, of Mayfair, RRD, MB, QI, LED, WTF
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