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.
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.
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
