I woke up this morning at 6 a.m, owing to the efforts of a whistling tramp who had the effrontery to knock at my door requesting alms. I sicked Cribbins on him, which turned out to be a bad idea - It transpired that the tramp is in fact an ex-boxer, who blacked Cribbins' eye for him before the poor fellow had the chance to set about the vagrant in his old Cockney style. 'You really must learn the art of pugilism, dear fellow' I told him. 'That's the ticket for soup - None of this windmilling business with those chaps: A straight left with a right cut would have seen that fellow oozing claret afore he had a chance to lay one on you.' He proceeded to curse me in good order, whereat I drew my riding crop - Damned handy, those things - And he fled into the servants' cloister to minister his injured optic and pride.
In other news, I have finally relocated and am building my new website. That's three cheers and a tiger, please! Hurrah!
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