In which our Brave Librarian rescues several old soldiers and fights of Rowley Birkin

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

Fifth Columns, Warplanes and Internet Pornography: the Real War starts

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.

Of Mice, Men and Archives

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.

It Ain't Half a Classification System: Our unfortunate Librarian faces ambush in the jungle

Von Bog-Brush

Well it's blooming freezing in the barracks, so I asked Major Business-Suit if I could start a Hot-Toddies fund. He was frightfully pleased with the idea, but so far I've only raised 20p - don't think that's going to go very far. So meanwhile, it's Brass Monkeys rather than Top Brass or Regimental Silverware for me.

The soldiers around here are all being remarkably well behaved - no subordination in the Ranks (not even the notoriously rebellious Catering or Volunteer Corps) since before Christmas. I am getting increasingly nervous and fear they are about to launch a major assault, particularly if Kaiser Friederich Wilhelm von Bog-Brush gets his hands on Catering's stale bread rolls and launches an assault from under the dining room table. If that were to happen, we're all for it I'm afraid.

Meanwhile at the Indies, the bosses were all very excited about a beauty contest they wanted to organise to entertain the troops, who are out on jungle manoeuvres. I was all for it, having got several years experience organizing concert parties on behalf of ENSA (well - ok - I had a minor role in It Ain't Half Hot Mum, but that's almost the same thing).

Anyway - imagine my dismay when I realized the true intentions behind said beauty contest: they actually want me to rearrange all the books in the Library, with the most attractive facing the door in order to entice members in (rather like an Amsterdam 'shop window' if you catch my drift). It seems that Melville Dewey, the American Library of Congress and several others (did someone mention Ranganathan?) have got it all wrong. Henceforth all books shall be arranged according to appearance. Either that, or I'm retrospectively joining the Indian Mutiny of 1857.

Onwards and Upwards.

Rum, Sodomy, the Lash and Death in the Family

It's a rum do as we say in the Navy. Having silenced Kaiser Wilhelm Friedrich Von Bog-Brush of the 9th Volunteer Rifle Brigade (who - incidentally - felt it best to warn me not to bet the firm on one ship's cat: ie 'back-up' my data, as if he was the only person who's ever considered it), by the cunning insertion of a link to a digital Drop-Box (works every time), and dispatched the Catering Corps by frightening them with an Iron Cross I found hidden in the archives, I went on shore-leave for Christmas.

The Old Boy does Fred Astaire

Said leave didn't go according to plan. My father, that well-known Red-under-the-bed, Enemy of the State, took ill and was dispatched off to the Sick Bay for Christmas. Sadly the old chap (93 and a bit) didn't make it, and the old bugger - in true subversive style - died on Christmas Day. Naturally at this time of year, the old Wheels of Bureaucracy ground to a halt completely so it took a devil of a time to get the old  Death Certificate sorted; and for some poilitico-environmentalist reason the old chap chose to be buried in the woods rather than the more traditional Burial at Sea (or even Synagogue as I'm sure his antecedents would have wished) so we will have to wait another week to say toodle-pip to the old boy.





I'm anticipating something along the lines of a French Cabaret as a woodland burial offers no protection from the elements and the little'uns have requested the inclusionof various farewell rituals ranging from a Bach Cello Suite (infant prodigy grandson) and a self-penned poem (naked-rapper granddaughter  who actually wears no fewer clothes than Rihanna, so may be re-named soon). It's what he would have wanted, bless the old Radical.

The Old Man (centre) attempts to flog the
Daily Worker  in the East End of London

So that's it from me for this week. Next week I hope normal service will be resumed, to bring you more tales of rum doings in the Navy and adventures from my old friend Sir Richard Burton in the enticing East. But meanwhile, it's goodnight from me and goodnight from him.

Come the revolution

So the battle with the catering corps appears - for the moment - to have been won following a bloodless coup and the ousting of their chief supporter, Colonel Flowers of the Petunia Rifle brigade. However, the war is most definitely not over as a new recruit, Kaiser Wilhelm Freiderich Bog-Brush (Volunteer Corps), has decided he wants to take over the entire section and has started garnering intelligence from several of our rival units. Little does the Kaiser know that his intel is flawed as I have pre-empted his forces on every front with my use of double-agents (and the odd moth). Plans include having Bog-Brush detained by a shadow unit, sent on spurious intelligence-gathering missions to Kazakhstan and dressed as an elephant for a victory parade on Hampstead Heath (see picture above). This Librarian will not be overcome.

On the plus side, I have been delving into the regimental archives and finding some fascinating stuff: court cases involving some of the Army's top brass, Generals suing for loss of overcoats and subalterns driven out of the unit for gambling. Ahhh the tales I will have to swap with Commander Norman 'the Ninja' Rollaston when we dine in Claridges as part of our mission to inform the masses.

Meanwhile, In the Indies, we have been executing lawyers. The Law collection was falling apart and dying from loneliness following a distinct lack of interest from readers. I am however pleased to report that, far from having them taken out and shot at dawn, we will be finding nice new homes for them. We are after all, a civilised country. This last fact is probably why my CO considered me unsuitably attired to make an appearance in the Officers Mess for a celebration dinner hosted by members of my management team. Must remember not to wear fuchsia leggings next time. Long live Punk. (see picture attached for what I probably should have worn)

Toodle pip.

Mutiny on several fronts

photo by Fernando Tucedo

Things have been quite calm at the barracks this week and the old Catering Corps haven't launched a deadly sally for some time. However, no sooner does one front close with its soldiers limping off in defeat, than a new one opens, this time led by the Volunteer Corps who are determined to 'shake things up' They are going to need some serious discipline instilled into them before they run riot all over the Library and plant petunias in the archives.

Surprise but welcome visit from the Major this week. He popped in to fill me in on his latest adventures. He appears to have retired from Commando duties and a series of dubious night-time outings with various members of Royalty and the Brat Pack, but at ninety years of age is still going strong and being thrown out of Annabel's in the wee small hours - good on you major. Managed to wangle an invitation to lunch at Claridge's with him under the pretences of a request for help with my historical research (it's a tough job, as they say, but someone has to do it)

Meanwhile over at the East Indies, the staff are revolting: the chef in the Officer's Mess is refusing them their normal rations and I anticipate a mutiny on the scale of the one in 1857 - our Sepoys are not ones to take events lying down. Maybe they could help me sort out my volunteer problem and form an Army of Retribution.........