A day out!
I do so adore Irish folk doncha know! One day here at Dunoppressin Manor, the country home of generations of Bustops, I felt myself hankering after a few gin and tonics down at my Gentlemen’s Club in Mayfair. Herein lies the point of my tale, all my staff here are Irish. In fact they are all of the O’Bogg family. All of 'em! They have been faithful servants to the Bustops for generations, staying loyal even during that minor kerfuffle that started in 1919. My chauffeur was one Sean O’Bogg, the fifth son of Mary O’Bogg, a fine Irish woman, though like all Irish somewhat dim.
I rang the bell for Sean to alert him to bring up the Rolls.He didn’t appear. Somewhat surprised at his being missing and irritated at his lack of professionalism I ventured down to the ten car garage. Passing by the Bentleys, the Aston Martins and the Ferraris I arrived at my beautiful Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. Sean had buffed the whole car to perfection. The radiator grille shell and the Spirit of Ecstasy gleamed under the garage lights. I got into the Rolls and started her up.
Sure that Sean must be in the spacious grounds of Dunoppressin I ventured forth out of the garage as soon as the door opened silently on it’s electric motor. I drove for miles along the gravel drives of the grounds, looking for Sean. I would have driven myself to the Club but it’s simply not done, old boy! It just lacks style too. Plus, should I be unfortunate enough to be breathylised on my return journey I would have to ask my fellow Mason, Archie, the Chief Constable, to drop the charges yet again. A minor favour perhaps but Archie would expect something in return.
So I drove round and round looking for Sean. I rounded a corner at a mere 75 mph and there was Sean in the middle of my way! The damnable idiot! He bounced off the front of the car with a sickening thud. I was truly appalled and immediately leapt from the Rolls. I looked intently and heaved an enormous sigh of relief! The Rolls’ grille shell was unmarked and undamaged save for some blood spatter and some intestinal fluid. The Spirit of Ectasy was fine too, apart from a few drops of blood and a few pieces of brain and hair stuck to her.
Thankfully a hose down and a polish would see it all bang to rights. I then turned my attention to Sean’s dreadfully mangled body, RR stamped backwards on his forehead. He was stone dead, deader than Michael Collins- Hah! This was awful- I’d now have to drive myself to the Club. How terribly inconvenient.
I sallied forth to see the gardener Murphy O’Bogg, Sean’s brother and asked him to take his brother’s body to Cook, his sister Coleen O’Bogg, and she cut him up into pieces to feed to my pack of hounds. Waste not, want not, ho! I may be an old fossil but I do believe in recycling. The Chauffeur’s uniform Sean wore had to be dry cleaned of course and someone else stepped into his boots as soon as possible. Literally- I engaged his twin brother Michael as soon as I was back from the Club. Thankfully both had the same size feet, and the uniform fits fine. I did ask Michael to try not to get in the way when I’m driving or we’ll run out of O’Boggs! We both had as jolly good laugh about it all!. Ta ta for now!
General Mortimer Brewster Bustop, VC.(Retd.)
It is said that the civilised man seeks out good and intelligent company so that by learned discourse he may rise above the savage and closer to God…Personally, however, I like to start the day with a blithering idiot to remind me I’m best.