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