Fighting them on the Beaches

So I return from shore leave to find the buggers have well and truly invaded - they even stole the floorboards. Apparently they need them for another room in the Barracks. I stood and viewed the devastation as, in my absence they removed all my brave lads from their shelves and housed them in temporary shacks dotted about the premises. 

For some it was their first taste of real battle and they relished the prospect of going over the top, others - particularly the elderly, took refuge in my luxury office suite below stairs, where they had to share shelf-space with Mao's memoirs and Hitler's Mein Kampf (shelved not too far from Lawrence's  Seven Pillars of Wisdom - for their own safety).

After the noise of battle receded and the sallies ceased, it was left to myself and my lovely assistant (recruited for the afternoon from the ranks of the Household Cavalry), to repair the damage caused by a team of maintenance workers whose knowledge of the Dewey Decimal system was - unsurprisingly - sadly lacking. I am now recuperating at home having been given special leave and a doctor's note.

photo copyright roh.org.uk

Back in the Indies, business continues at a rather more leisurely pace, though the welcome committee continue to ply me with drinks in order - I fear - to bribe me to obtain tickets for Wagner's Ring Cycle on the  black market. I've warned them that my contacts are unlikely to come up with the goods, but that I'll accept a glass of the finest red wine anyway. 

I wonder if I'll be able to buy time by acquiring a few anthologies of War Poetry...

in which our Librarian gets up and at 'em and arms herself with a defibrillator

photo by Waaargh! at
  http://www.fotopedia.com/items/flickr-416231916 

Well I have to say the last truce lasted longer than most. Before I'd even got to the door of the barracks this week however, the smell of toast wafted towards me delighting my nostrils so much that had I not already had breakfast, I may have almost been tempted to join the enemy for a quick repast .......before dismantling their barricade naturally. However, I'm made of sterner stuff than that and set to work dismantling their rather poorly constructed fortification, which consisted of a few dining chairs carelessly stacked against my office door. Having made short work of that, I valiantly attempted a roll-call of a few dozen elderly soldiers who'd been lying about undisturbed at the back of the luxury-office-suite-aka-broom-cupboard for several years without seeing active service. Frankly some of them were clearly in the wrong regiment so I despatched them to the London Library and I prepared to exercise the remaining regiments before entering them into the register. At this point, I realised that the enemy within known as the catering corps, must have entered into an alliance with my OPAC supplier as it was...well... kaput, meaning I couldn't achieve any meaningful progress on the cataloguing front. Instead I decided to sabotage their operations and armed myself with several pots of marmalade and a few forks and set about constructing a battering ram to be used when they least expect it. 'Up and at 'em the buggers' as my dear friend Richard Sharpe would say! (he's been rather quiet lately has he not?)

photo by R.S Gould at
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richardgould/ 

Meanwhile in the east Indies, Olympic fever appears to have taken hold, and many natives appeared to have disappeared down the road to watch the Beach Volleyball (rather dangerous at their age I'd have thought, but I daresay they'd taken precautions). I took the opportunity to raid the archives where, along with a rather elderly employee of the old firm I set about the process of 'weeding'. This turned out to rather dangerous as my accomplice was wheezing, shaking and sweating rather visibly and I was uncertain whether this was down to the Malaria he contracted out on the North West Frontier, the DTs he'd contracted in the hospitality suite, or an on coming heart condition. To be on the safe side, I armed myself with a bottle of Gin, some Smelling Salts and a Defibrillator. Forewarned is Forearmed as my dear friend Captain Hooke used to say.


And talking of Gin, old Colonel Gin-soaked of the eponymous Gordon's Highland Regiment, has taken leave (not of his senses - that happened decades since). Apparently he rather upset Bruno the Barman by wearing the same shirt for five days on the trot without bothering the laundry with it, and has been advised to sew some buttons on in order to prevent his rather shrivelled belly from making a guest appearance. 'The Horror The Horror' as my dear friend Mr Kurtz might have said.


That'll have to be it from me for a few weeks as I'm off to spend my shore-leave not fighting 'em on the beaches of a Sardonic Island....or was it Saronic?

In which our librarian finds herself propositioned by Rowley Birkin QC

Had a lucky escape this week at the old Naval barracks: A team of carpetbaggers had been scheduled to move in to re-arrange my carefully deployed troops, but I managed to fend them off by pelting them with ammo in the form of stale muffins left over from a wedding banquet the previous week (must remind Chef to clear up after hiring out my library for nuptial celebrations in future)

All this was not enough to stop me from completing my epic task of registering all troops in the OPAC (catalogue - to the uninitiated). It's been a struggle, but I can proudly announce that all recruits are now present and correct and ready for inspection. Huzzah!

And talking of My Struggle: Hitler's tome, having escaped from the broom cupboard last week, has been looking for trouble, so I placed him on a shelf next to the Palestine Commission Report and told the two of them not to argue behind my back and asked T E Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom to keep an eye on the pair of them. Not sure how well this will work as Lawrence tends to follow his own agenda and has in fact - to my annoyance - announced his retirement from acting only this week. Personally I preferred him in The Ruling Class, but there you go. I consoled myself with a Folio atlas from the 1860s which I'm hoping to flog for a vast profit if I can find a suitable buyer.

Meanwhile in the Indies, a chap called Billy Hogarth has been occupying much of my time, as I have been given the task of cataloguing his etchings, and a frankly disreputable bunch they are too, but what can you expect from a chap who hung out such such low-lifes as young Jack Sheppard who - incidentally is a good friend of mine and I think you should investigate his website:

picture  copyright www.shugmonkey.com

Several volumes have returned from the binders with a warning that they are not to be displayed lying down with their pages open unless propped up by pillows - a warning which seems to have gone down well with the company Chairman who promises not to display himself in public unless so positioned.

Poor old Colonel Gin-Soaked has had his nose well and truly put out of joint this week by Lothario, who spent a good deal of time telling me his life story and assuring me that should my good husband ever prove deficient in any sense, he would be more than happy to fill any situations that became vacant...that is if he can fit it in between his global business engagements and four ex-wives. Couldn't help but be reminded of this chap: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Cwyq3XWeHE

Toodle-pip

In which our unfortunate librarian is surprised in her boudoir by a naked chef

chef wasn't actually naked - but neither is Jamie

Damnit that Catering Corps will try anything to limit my operational capacities. Following last week's successful attempt to sabotage my artillery and substitute it with a dodgy laptop, they discovered my secret hideout this week. Chef himself surprised me in my luxury-office-suite-aka-broom-cupboard-which-will-now-definitely-not-be-converted-into-a-disabled-loo, while I was mid-cataloguing manoeuvres; and attempted to scupper them by asking me out on a date. I will not tolerate this sort of insurrection in the kitchen and am thinking of retaliating by leaving a pair of trainers in the fridge and socks in the microwave.




Meanwhile in the East Indies, inventorising activities are continuing apace, despite the best efforts of Colonel Gin-soaked (of the eponymous Gordon's Highland Regiment). Bless the old dodderer - he was trying to help, but he kept falling over chairs and dropping newspapers, so I had to anaesthetise him with his favourite tipple and put him to bed in the Smoking Room (which naturally is a non-smoking room these days thanks to Navy regulations).

And while all this was happening, the Company Chairman - newly appointed and by his own admission crazed with his new responsibilities - decided to send a deputation of natives claiming to be long-lost relatives. Fortunately, they weren't determined to offer me the chance to share in their grandfather's will or participate in any of their enterprising share-schemes, but I did manage to photograph one of them and shall use it as evidence if it all turns nasty.

In which our librarian re-enacts the battle of troy using scrap metal and opera singers

Troyens picture from www.roh.org.uk

So this week I decided it was time for some special manoeuvres in the field and attended a forces training event where the battle of Troy was to be re-enacted. I was somewhat gob-smacked when I learned that said re-enactment involved five an an half hours of operatics by one Hector Berlioz, as he isn't mentioned in any of the manuals: Where in Sun Tzu or Clausewitz does it imply that the result of the Battle of Ilium would have been different if it had been set to music? Where in Jomini or Wu Ch'i does it suggest that Hector B is a better fighter than his Trojan namesake?
Anyway, I decided to put aside my prejudices against civilian instructors and enjoy the show especially as an elderly gentleman had offered me a top-price seat in the Stalls (though I was puzzled by the lack of horses in said area). Was somewhat taken aback when another mature gentleman attempted to lure me to further operatic displays as his accomplice, despite my protestations that such behaviour could cause a scandal in the ranks. Must make sure his CO is warned about his behaviour before it gets out of hand.

So the following day I returned to the barracks armed with my new tactics and found, to my surprise that the enemy within known as the Catering Corps had voluntarily withdrawn from the tilt-yard in order to let me carry out my operations in peace, namely the enrolling of the Palmerston Biographical Regiment, who as yet hadn't managed to make it to roll-call. Sadly I discovered that like the gift of the  Greeks, the Catering Corps's gift-horse was not all it seemed and the buggers had sabotaged my equipment: every time I attempted to enter a soldier's details on the laptop, said piece of dodgy artillery wiped it, and I was forced to resort to Plan B involving trollies, pullies and a desk-top. Normal ops will resume next week I hope.


Oh and a quick mention for Meirion the Welsh Guardsman. He said that if anyone is looking for an online system for anything they should give him a shout. Toodle-pip.

In which Hitler invades the library

Have managed to re-negotiate the terms of  my most recent truce though frankly the concessions I've wrung from my apparent rulers, namely The Catering Corps, are fairly insubstantial. Namely, that I will be warned in advance of future invasions, whether they be by enemies within or those without. Talking of which: while scrabbling about in the lowest depths of my luxury office suite (AKA the broom cupboard which is now NOT to turned into a disabled loo as the CO has been warned that making policy on the hoof is now the sole prerogative of the Department for Education), I came across a 1936 copy of an obscure monograph entitled My Struggle - author one A. Hitler. I somehow doubt he was ever a member of the regiment and shall be asking questions about who sneaked him, but more importantly: making sure he's in a secure place so that whoever decides to take him out, doesn't run off and flog him to the highest bidder.

Other than that, the truce appears to be holding and I haven't had to negotiate a path through hungry diners, Freemasons or vicars (or even canons) for several weeks now, as a result of which the regimental register is looking very dapper: nearly 3000 of an estimated 4000 old soldiers can now be found at the click of a mouse via the OPAC (which I believe some people call an Online Public Access Catalogue).

t-shirt available from philosphyfootball.com

Meanwhile in the Indies, I have been undertaking a similar exercise with the firm's art works, much to the chagrin of Colonel Gordon Gin-soaked (of the eponymous Highland Regiment). Sadly the Colonel found that while in was engaged in inventorising duties, I had no time to sip G&Ts with him and his chums who were having a conference about Camus's contribution to sport in the lead-up to the Olympics: "All that I know most surely about morality and obligations I owe to football."

Not to be outdone, in terms of attention seeking, Britain's wealthy artist (allegedly) popped in to insist on discussing which of his etchings was my favourite, but in order to facilitate this, he kindly donated me a signed copy of his latest catalogue (not unlike IKEA's actually) and warned me not to leave it in the library as it was hot property and their were book thieves about. Lucky he reminded me of this or Hitler may have escaped...again

In which our heroine fights off kidnappers, Del-Boy Trotter and a lovesick Lithuanian

Dammit if the natives haven't been rebelling again in the Indies! I suspect the same subversives are responsible as those behind the anti-New-Labour conspiracy of some two months back, but this time the blackguards resorted to kidnapping....and they didn't even demand a ransom, merely hid the body (Peter Mandelson's The Third Man) behind a shelf of reference books. Now I'm not one for conspiracy theories (despite the fact that I'm currently half way through a hefty tome by Umberto Eco), but I suspect someone here definitely has it in for the previous Government. Questions will be asked of course, but a mere half of the population are now under suspicion and may be called in for questioning.


As a result of this constant sabotage, I have asked Colonel Gin-soaked of the Eponymous Gordon's Highland Regiment to stand guard for me and see if he can pick up any Intel., but he may well get caught with his trousers down while poring over our collection of Wisden's, in which case I will have to call in the SAS.

Copyright Chris Whippet. www.geograph.org.uk/profile/27922

Back at the old Naval barracks, my sale of regimental silver is not going as well as we'd hoped. After an initial flurry of interest, sales have fallen off dramatically and I am having to resort to the services of a second-hand book dealer. Let's hope he didn't learn all he knows from Messrs Daley (Arthur) and Trotter (Derek).








Work for the past few weeks has been hindered by the unwanted attention of a Lovesick Lithuanian who has been hanging around my luxury office suite (aka the broom-cupboard-soon-to-be-a-disabled-loo) like a lost puppy. I believe he is a member of the Household Cavalry (Maintenance Division), but I've had to warn the chap that - far though he may be from his Homeland - he cannot pitch his tent on my balcony which is already inhabited by a husband, two teen offspring and a selection of cats (plus any offerings those latter two beasts decide to proffer after their hunting sorties). Let's just hope he finds someone of his own age (about half of mine incidentally) on whom to lavish his attention soon, or I will have to report him to his Sargent Major.