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.........

Dr Livingstone I Presume

Well it's been another week of battles on the home front. Apparently a group of distinguished journalists  PR people and COs had hired the barracks for manoeuvres and objected to the presence of a civvy such as myself in their midst. I was forced to retaliate in the only way I know: firing an assortment of cheese straws, vintage claret and rubber stamps at them from the safety of my luxury office suite (aka the broom cupboard). When this failed, I had to use the option of last resort and bring in the big guns in the shape of the Iron Duke himself no less. He saw the buggers off in no time at all, and unrestricted access to the library was restored....for now, but I pity the poor bugger that attempts to take on the Duke of Wellington.

photo by Francesco Gola at http://www.fotopedia.com/items/flickr-4929974975

After that minor skirmish, I decided it was time to undertake some exploratory work on my rear trench, where several dozen leather-bound ledgers have lain virtually undisturbed since the 1860s. This was dirty work as anyone with experience of trenches will tell you, but I emerged after around 24 hours having completely reorganised the show, and erected a barbed wire fence to keep out a certain Volunteer from the RAF who appears convinced we are holding his archive hostage in there. On surfacing, I was so caked in dirt that I was very nearly escorted of the premises by my CO, until he recognised me by the unusual footwear (lucky I'd remembered the Ruby Slippers what?)

Meanwhile over in the Indies, it was decided that a similar series of excavations were long overdue and I headed for the upper floors accompanied by a Sub-Lieutenant from the IT Division and a Deputy Field Marshal from the Home Guard. The state of the latter's health continues to give me cause for concern, particularly as the regimental defibrillator is busy undertaking its annual service, but fortunately he held out.


I did however, secure a promise from the Regimental Secretary that I would be sent on a First Aid Course. Imagine my surprise when they decided that the most appropriate course of action was to enrol me - not in the Royal Army Medical Corps, but on a two-day Bookbinding course. I very much doubt I will bump into H.M. Stanley there!

Invasion of the Carpet-snatchers (siege of the broom-cupboard)

photo: Willapalens www.flickr.com/photos/76798465@N00

This week has seen an invasion of a totally different nature: the usual armies of diners were replaced by an army of miniature menaces. I don't know how long the buggers have been hiding away in the dark recesses of my luxury office suite (aka broom-cupboard), but until recently, the results of their blitzkrieg have been hidden by several dozen volumes of unwanted books and the odd leather tome from 1873. However the ongoing reorganisation has unearthed the true horror of their dastardly deeds. To put it simply: I have moths in my archive and they've eaten half the carpet. The Horror, The Horror. Not one to take this lying down, I immediately called in the SAS, who oddly enough, said it was not their territory and recommended a pest-controller instead. Sadly I had to retire before I saw what ammo they had chosen, but I hope they killed the buggers without destroying my office.

After the excitement of yet another battle, I repaired to the gym, where the Zumba teacher was on fine form as usual, though as a favourer of the highly-pulled-up trouser, I suspect him of secret tendencies towards believing he is in fact Simon Cowell. If I find this to be the case, I shall act at 50,000,000 times the speed of a BBC controller who uncovers a suspected child-molester.

Back to the Indies after all this excitement, where life continues at a far more civilised pace - apart from a brief Napoleonic invasion, which I repelled with a few carefully selected volumes of poetry. Oh and this week's visit from old Captain Gordon Gin-soaked of the eponymous Highland Regiment, who was in convivial mood ...as ever, and had brought his friend who told me that frankly he wanted him shot for the crime of having egg on his tie and a few buttons missing.
Ah the joys of war and peace eh.

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.

In which our brave heroine battles the Freemasons and sells letters to the French

photo by Paul Dodd at www.geograph.org.uk/photo/115694

Well it's been another strange old week in the old barracks. The long awaited day of the regimental boot sale dawned and I arrived in the library to find the old enemy within known as the Catering Corps had laid the place out for lunch yet again. For a while I thought they might actually be working on the same side as I my intelligence officer informed me they'd scheduled in a Book Club Lunch, so my regiment and I stood to attention awaiting a scene resembling the first day of the Harrods Sale. Alas this was not to be: said Book Club were only interested in eating and drinking and in fact succeeded in their secret mission of expelling all my potential recruits from the field of battle. The Library looked like Hastings after the defeat of Harold Godwinson.

picture by David Hawgood www.goegraph.or.uk/photo/104440

I recovered some territory after lunch only to find the Masonic regiment booked in for dinner, so I was forced to hide any soldiers that looked as though they might be on the lookout for strange handshakes, aprons or men in charcoal grey suits with briefcases. All was set for battle to commence, until I realised it was home time and retired leaving the field to said Freemasons (who frankly have a much nicer regimental mess down the road at Covent Garden, where I can only assume the chef was having an off day).


I expect to find the books re-arranged on my return, and can only hope the chaps have learned from the Librarian at the Unseen University in Discworld and not shelved certain magic tomes together where they can be allowed to reach a critical mass.


Meanwhile events in the east Indies have been continuing along as one would imagine: flags hung out for jubilee celebrations, French Foreign Legionaires visiting for a quick peek at my Balzacs. They were mightily impressed apparently, especially at their close proximity to Montaigne. Personally I believe that if it's French Letters you're after, you should buy your own at the chemist, but when your library's under fire, I suppose anything goes.

In which our heroine takes on the Iron Lady and the Iron Duke with a tub of Universal Book Cleaner

Well damn me if, what with all the excitement of the past few weeks, I haven't been remiss in my dispatch-writing duties. Sorry chaps.



After last month's truce, it is with deep regret that I have to report that war has broken out once again. This time, the enemy within known as the catering corps sent a particularly vicious Lieutenant in a charcoal grey suit to commandeer my library for the purpose of serving breakfast and lunch to an assorted bunch of civilians. Naturally I attempted to fight back, firing volleys of books at her, but every time I sallied forth from the bunker (aka the Luxury Office Suite, aka the Broom Cupboard-soon-to-be-a-Disabled-Loo) she retaliated by locking me in said bunker, so my only remaining weapon was a pair of field glasses which I used to peer round diners in order to attempt to navigate the library without putting them off their food. I had to be 'cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University' as my old army mate Baldrick used to say, as the buggers had tried to outfox me by strategically placing the CO in the midst of the diners in an attempt to demoralise my troops by giving the impression he'd switched sides.

(booksale picture by Susanica at susanica.com)

I'm in the midst of organising a fundraising
bash where we will be selling off some of the regimental silver in order to raise dosh for new uniforms for some of the younger chaps. In doing this I'm imitating my idol the Iron Lady: not sure the Iron Duke would approve, but I'm sure Gideon Osborne would; in fact I'm offering him first refusal on some of the leftover wallpaper as I hear his family has a particular interest. Have already done a deal with a retired Naval commander over some volumes of Jane's Fighting Ships which were surplus to requirements, so I'm the very model of a modern major general.


Meanwhile all's quiet on the Eastern Front: Have been sprucing up some of the regiments courtesy of large amounts of universal book cleaner - that caused a stink I can tell you. Balzac and De Foe objected at first, thinking I was attempting some sort of Bowdlerisation, but frankly they look so much better now, they may even end up getting read.


Must go - Rigsby's asked me to organise a regimental dinner the week after next and I have to write the agenda. Toodle-pip

Barbarians at the gate

This week sees me utterly flabbergasted. After a year in which the promised supplies of ammo repeatedly failed to make it through to my camp and excuses varying from a wounded CO, bankrupt suppliers and broken down armoured vehicles, I arrived at HQ to find that said equipment had been secretly delivered overnight. 


The operation had been so furtive that no-one within the camp (apart from a Kosovan reservist who had the task of unloading the provisions) was aware that they had arrived. Needless to say joy was unconfined - the regimental cup truly overflowed and two battalions of homeless soldiers, who were temporarily living in a cage on wheels in the Luxury Office Suite (aka Broom-Cupboard-soon-to-be-Disabled Loo), are now rehoused happily on shelves. Several even had time to make it to roll-call (the OPAC  - my online register of personnel - now has some 2,300 names in it - a mere 1,700 to go). No more illegal cage-fights for me!


Meanwhile in the East Indies, more disturbances have occurred. This time the saboteurs (who had previously attempted to execute a few volumes of memoirs by Tony Blair and Peter Mandelson) locked me out of my computer. The buggers. 

Needless to say I took my cue from my favourite role model Richard Sharpe, and was 'up and at 'em' in the twinkling of a sabre..... I held down the 'off' button. That'll teach the b*stards. This time however, they left clues as to who they were: I found a bag with their logo which revealed them to be a marauding hoard of Barbarians  - as I had suspected - a primitive race of uncultured non-Greeks as we all know. However, later enquiries revealed to me the truth -  that said Barbarians are in fact a famous team of sportsmen who had visited the camp with the sole purpose of delivering some satirical magazines. Oh well, another line of enquiry closes - I shall have to re-interview anyone who has seen George Galloway in the past two weeks.......

Happily old Colonel Gin-Soaked of the eponymous regiment of Highlanders re-appeared this week. I was frankly worried about his state of health. 




Fortunately, his absence in the past fortnight was not due to any recurrence of his Gout problem or to his having fallen off the library ladders while attempting to reach his treasured copies of Dickens novels. Apparently it had been in protest at his not being able to retrieve a copy of Wisden's from 1949, which had been separated from its fellows and placed in a locked cabinet in the Conference Room. Investigations continue.....

One man and his books

Well now the natives in East India are definitely getting restless: one of them appears to have taken it upon himself to court-martial Tony Blair and Peter Mandelson, as I entered the barracks on Friday to find them both with their backs to the wall. My prime suspect is one George Galloway and an investigation is taking place as to how he got obtained pass into the building. Happily (?) I intervened in time to prevent a bloody massacre and put all four volumes back the right way round.






And talking of Third Men: I was rather excited to hear that a large number of Private Eyes had turned up on the doorstep. Imagine my disappointment when said sleuths turned out not to be of the variety that wear trench-coats and trilbies, but a large consignment of frankly scurrilous magazines. Will have to look into this, but am planning to house them with Hogarth - he seems to thrive on muck and mischief and I'm sure they will all feel at home together.





Meanwhile over the road, the Meirion the Welsh Guardsman continues to do a stirling job on the old OPAC (a sort of on-line register of soldiers, sailors and other military personnel if you like), though he seems to have mislaid a whole battalion of Argentine footsoldiers - I hope he isn't planning a thirtieth anniversary re-enactment of the Falklands war using books as ammo - His Excellency, the Ambassador to Dominican Republic (a generous donor to the Canning Regiment) will not be amused.


And this brings me to the crux of this weeks invasion issues: the regiments formerly housed in the barracks known as the Billiards Room, have now been formally evicted and housed temporarily in a wire cage on wheels. I am attempting a thorough roll-call in order to complete the Welsh Guardsman's OPAC but frankly a 1x2x3m wire cage in my luxury office suite (known as the broom-cupboard-but-soon-to-be-disabled-loo) is making conditions on the Front quite tiresome....may have to start digging a trench.

Onward wounded soldiers

Well it's been a week of peace talks back at HQ which gave many of my front-line troops some time off. Some of them took advantage of this by gathering dust on the shelves, some were packed off to be re-bound, but most lined up smartly waiting to be included in the new role of honour code-named OPAC (for the civvies among you, this is military speak for On-line Public Access Catalogue), which mighty PR initiative (how we modern military folks love our fancy new ways) is to be launched within the next week or so; and which will allow members of the great British public (and any others for that matter) to inspect my troops free of charge, though obviously not to actually hire them out (unless by special arrangement....all bribes carefully considered and cash to be left in a brown envelope beside a bin next to Starbucks in Piccadilly Circus).


Slightly worrying development on the Barracks front however: it appears that my luxury suite of offices (more often referred to as a Broom Cupboard) is to be turned into a WC for soldiers wounded in the call of duty.





 Now I'm all for equality, disability-access and fraternity and all that, but I am rather puzzled as to how I will manage to manoeuvre my troops from a field tent on the second floor. Awaiting further orders on that one, especially as I have now been led to believe that my (currently) homeless battalions temporarily housed in the Billiards Room and Second Floor office suite, are likely to be moved to some sort of cardboard city in a corridor on the third floor. I have suggested building a shelf next to a scale model of HMS Victory so that Nelson keep an eye on them.



Meanwhile in India I received a visit from Lord Clive himself - or someone claiming to be him. On closer inspection it turned out to be none other than old Colonel Gin-soaked himself (Gordon's Gin-soaked Highland Regiment, (Retired)) who, having had one over his usual ration, had raided the closet under the stairs (next to the statue of a bulldog). Having discovered that the chain-mail suit was too tight for him, he'd seized the next best costume and was parading around in it in an attempt to intimidate the members of the Rugby Club who had taken over one of the dining rooms for a particularly long and boozy lunch. Gawd bless the lot of 'em.

(Veterans Parade photo © Copyright Hugh Scott http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1600230)

In which the Library is yet again attacked by the enemy within

Well bugger me sideways! This week, the catering corps have launched their most vicious assault for some months now and quite without warning. Their CO informed me that they will be permanently requisitioning two of my field depots within the next few weeks leaving several of my boys (including a dozen volumes of Jane's Fighting Ships and a score of illustrated tomes of military uniforms) entirely homeless. 


Naturally I retaliated with - well frankly I didn't have much left to strike with, having exhausted my supplies of space several months ago following the bankruptcy of a certain artillery supplier. Said arms dealer, had promised to deliver two shelving units and is about to find himself on the receiving end of a barrage lunched by the top brass at CHQ have assured me they will  open up an entirely new battlefield with the aid of bailiffs in order to recover our dosh.


Rather took the shine off my - I thought - major victory, namely the signing off of the Catalogue Campaign (strategic OPAC initiative), thanks to the splendid efforts of a member of the Welsh Guards who has now re-run the conversion at least three times and got it looking almost orderly enough to present to the Iron Duke himself.







Meanwhile over in the east Indies, matters are proceeding in a more subdued fashion. Managed to screw a few more pennies out of Rigsby in order to complete a few regiments whose soldiers had either gone AWOL or been assassinated by over-zealous admirers (rather like the ear-less bunny that Bosh cameraman accidentally obliterated this week, poor sod).










Also rather relieved to see the return of my #1 customer this week: Col. Gin-soaked (Gordon's Highlanders - Retd.) indulging in his favourite pastime of snoozing in the library over a volume or two of Dickens, a copy of the Daily Mail and - of course - a G&T. And all without getting his whiskers wet. DON'T PANIC!

In which our brave heroine fails to celebrate with Our Brave Boys

Well, some of the chaps have been out square-bashing this week to celebrate a very important birthday. I warned 'em it could be dangerous at their age, but they wouldn't have it - even invited some Royals along to watch the damned show apparently. It must have been a success, because the exercise degenerated into some sort of Bacchanalian session and the next day, my library had to be rearranged yet again. I complained to the CO, but he had a hangover and advised me to take an early bath.


Good news on the navigation front though: chap from the Library Management Systems corps delivered the first prototype of our new secret weapon - looks good, but will need some tweaking, so I sent him away and ordered him to spend a week with the Army Physical Training Corps and report back to me afterwards.


Meanwhile over in the eastern Indian territories, operations are going smoothly: working on the all new Ordnance Survey style map designed to help my favourite bewhiskered colonel (Gordon's Highlander's Gin-soaked Regiment - retired) navigate some as-yet undiscovered regions of the Library. Needless to say, he was most grateful. Almost made up for my accidental requisition of his copy of Silas Marner (which he suspected I was holding hostage, but which in fact, I had merely gathered during a mine-sweeping operation in which I nearly detonated several staple guns and a fire extinguisher).  Must be more careful in future.


Sadly the officers' Mess is still - well - frankly messy. Must put in that purchase order for a feather duster and a hoover before my next tour of duty.  Toodle-pip

Up and at 'em

So the buggers tried a new tactic this week and attempted to bar my entrance using my own ammo - namely a cunningly crafted display of new books fashioned from a leather-bound limited edition copy of the SAS War Diaries and Sun Tzu's L'art de la Guerre. The b*astards, as Sean would have said.


Undeterred, I tunnelled in via the back entrance and installed a back-up copy of the (as-yet unfinished) Library Catalogue in order to stake my claim on the computer.

The history-walla made an unexpected incursion this week, which nearly blew my southern defences, but I fought her off with a strategically inserted USB and a few Official Histories of the Great War dictated by former Club members, she retired back to Oxford down, but not out.




Meanwhile, over in Eastern India,
reinforcements are continuing to pour in via the Amazon supply line and territories are being gradually marked out so that the hapless Library explorer may, at some point in the near future, be able to negotiate the overgrown jungle of books, with greater ease, (though I suspect the signage may have to be improved yet further before said whiskered and frankly occasionally tipsy explorers  succeed in successfully circumnavigating the library).


Well that's me for another week. Toodle-pip

All quiet on the Eastern Front

This week a truce seems to have been declared and for the first time in months, I was able to take up my position without dismantling any barricades. The cannon had returned to its post guarding the front desk and there was not a vicar in sight - must make a note to reassure George Carey that we are not shooting Christians.

What's more, the CO seems to be in the mood for compromise: the old carrot-and-stick manoeuvre. Chances are, if we relinquish our hold on the western library front, we'll be moved to a new fort complete with bespoke ammo (bookcases) and maybe even a few toy soldiers should we care to re-enact any of Napoleon's campaigns in the near future. The Scouse Historian has not reappeared to demand the right to rifle through my archives in search of secret despatches from the lines at Waterloo - must make a note to distract him when he does.

Meanwhile the expansion into East India is proceeding smoothly - shame I don't drink tea as offers are flooding in from all sides and the locals are terribly friendly: they include a man from Dagenham - don't know his name, but he's certainly Barking - must make a note to get him promoted.


Must sign off now - Royal Engineers expected to sort out the officers mess (I know  - at their age they ought to clean it up themselves) - must make a note to buy them a broom.

concerning barricades manned and empires extended

Returned to the field this week to find my office barricaded once again, this time by judicious placing of an oak table and a large cannon. I managed to negotiate said obstacles and put my own fortifications in place, namely a 'themed' display of books relating to Operation Desert Storm. 'That'll teach the buggers' I thought.

No sooner was this plan put into action than the enemy within retaliated with strategic placement of a bar, complete with barman and assorted wines, spirits and mixers; who attempted appeasement in the form of vodka and tonics. Naturally, being a reasonable sort of soldier, I accepted, while retaining the right to strike back if need be.

Shortly after this, a vicar appeared at the bar. One can only assume that he'd received a dispatch relating to the removal of the Cannon and thought he'd better investigate. He was seen off with a large glass of cranberry juice (must have been C of E) and I returned to my cataloguing.

Meanwhile, I have been indulging in a spot of imperialist expansionism myself and have taken control of the Library on the other side of the square. I would like to add that the fact that their wine cellar extends half way across the square, had nothing to do with my acceptance of their offer of an alliance. I'd like to add that.....

in which our heroine puts down several mutinies

Sadly no time to re-enact the battle of Waterloo this month as planned as several unfortunate skirmishes took place.

Turns out the chaps in the Catering Corps have - through some sort of bloodless coup, seized control of the whole damn operation as far as the Library goes and we should have been answering to them all along. Will have to try subterfuge in the future.

Meanwhile the history-wallah seems to be staging some sort of go-slow. Damn natives eh, may have to call in the Big Guns to sort this one out.

On the positive front: been the beneficiary of a legacy consisting of books belonging to a damn fine Lady...can't think why Winston Churchill called her ugly, but then he was never really One of Us was he? Sadly still nowhere to put them as the promised ammo (in the shape of shelves) has still not made it through...really must get the chaps to sort out these supply lines.....