Well it's been a busy old week in the Barracks. I am negotiating re-locating a whole platoon of really elderly veterans henceforth to be known as the Old Ledgers of 1862. If the move goes according to plan, I shall be able to put some of my finest soldiers on display: they are currently languishing in the office owing to the CO fearing they are too valuable to put in the lending front-line and frankly, some of them are somewhat champing at the bit (despite being frayed at the edges...and inside too in some cases). Tomes like the Armies of India and the Seven Pillars of Wisdom just can't wait to get out there and connect with their readers, and I for one, am determined not to hold them back
Meanwhile over in the Indies, General Gordon Gin-soaked of the eponymous Highland Regiment, seems to be on shore-leave and has failed to show his face for some weeks now, despite my attempt to entice him in with a cunningly fashioned display of books on the history of Cricket. He will be most upset if he misses it, especially since next month's theme: Explorers, is a subject which I happen to know he is particularly keen to avoid, having got into an argument once with Sir Richard Burton's widow about whether he, or Dr Livingstone was the best role-model for sensible footwear. The row was rather abruptly settled when Peter O'Toole entered the room dressed as Laurence of Arabia, sweeping aside all opposition and declared the contest invalid.
I was somewhat compensated for missing Gin-Soaked by a visit from Rowley Birkin QC, on fine form as ever. He felt it was his duty to warn me about the impending Islamic Apocalypse. When I told him I thought he was being somewhat alarmist, he instead decided to regale me with tales of his ex-wives and the problems of alimony, before attempting to recruit me to his harem. Naturally I refused, citing a whole pile of un-catalgoued histories of the East India Company as a pressing concern. He was most accommodating and left me with a recording of a recent TV appearance he made. Enjoy it at your leisure
Rowley Birkin on form as ever
Well chaps - it looks like things are about to get serious: the Phony War is over and the Real War starts. The previous skirmishes have a been a mere picnic. Which - come to think of it - may explain why the Catering Corps' weapon of choice thus far has been elderly diners armed with American Express cards. Now they are playing dirty (in fact as I write, they appear to have recruited a primate to distract me with Adam and the Ant videos). I will stand firm: the battle must be fought - and will be won.
So I am not sure who they are teaming up with now: is it the Library Mice who are angry that I have destroyed two of their leaders with the power of Poison and a pair of Marigold gloves? Or is that Kaiser Friederich Wilhlem von Bog-Brush not - as we had been led to believe - a kosher member of our Volunteer Resistance movement? Is he using his brilliant encryption skills to double cross us? Might that explain why at least three recently purchased volumes of World War One memoirs have mysteriously vanished without being signed out in the Loans Book (and no - before you ask - there are no computers in the library. The CO doesn't want young recruits to be tempted online by the siren lure of naked swords and bloody women... or was it?.....anyway, I'm sure you catch my drift)
What - you may well ask - has led me to come to this pass? Well: this week - as has been my habit of late - I was searching through the deepest darkest recesses of my Luxury Office Suite (aka the Broom-Cupboard, which may - or may not - be destined to be turned into a toilet for disabled veterans) and what did I find? Only a series of around thirty original blueprints for war-planes. I telephoned the most senior officer I could find, but he was unable to fathom out who the infiltrator might be. I may well have to resort to bringing in the RAF Museum, although a volunteer member of the Flying Corps has already expressed a keen interest. Come to think of it: have his credentials been thoroughly checked? Could he be our Fifth Columnist? In the words of that dashing young Fox Mulder Chappie: 'Trust No One'. The battle for the soul of the Library continues and the Librarian lives to Die Another Day.
Ye gods, will this war never end? The barracks has been under attack from yet another army this past fortnight: a smaller furrier enemy than usual, viz a family of mice. I have heard them for several weeks scratching about behind several dozen ancient leather tomes but not - until last week - seen the buggers. Fortunately young Tim from the Catering Corps has had the foresight to use the old entrapment technique and the furry scoundrels have been gorging themselves on poison with the rather unfortunate result that they've been literally dying in front of me. I have had to make extensive use of the old Marigold gloves to catch the buggers by their tails and dispose of htem in a humane and environmentally friendly fasion.
Needless to say this state of affairs did not impress the delightful visiting WRENS from the London Metropolitan Archives who muttered something about 'suitable environments' and 'integrity of the collection'. Since when has anyone ever questioned the morals of a bundle of minute books and ledgers I ask?
Anyway that all went off fairly smoothly, but last night I had to vacate the place, as the Men from the Ministry (of Defence no less) had decided to hold an extremely Top Secret meeting in my library. Apparently they are having another go at the old Entente Cordiale and had arranged an assignation with various of their French counterparts. Just don't spill Ribena on any of my books eh chaps or there will be hell to pay.
