Spam for Tiffin. HUZZAH!

My dear insert name,

If you haven't already done so, please feel free to suggest one's "page" within the so-called "Face Book" {http://www.facebook.com/pages/Brigadier-Sir-Arthur-Weirdy-Beardy-re...}
to any and all of your friends and associates that you feel may find its content of interest: for it will be through this marvellous medium of the modern millennium that one will first commune with the world of your particular period in history {at least, until www.thesteampunkclub.com is once more fit for human habitation} and through which one will be announcing all of the regular Steampunk/Chrononautical events occurring therein, and indeed thenin; whether brought to one's attention from elsewhere, or which one has arranged one's self. {No, that won't do - "arranged one's self" makes it sound like one was adjusting one's trouser-treasures. Strike that out would you, Miss Spelling. Exchange it for... "arranged PERSONALLY." Yes, far less ambiguous.}

Where was I?

Oh yes. As well as details regarding the progress of 'The Imperial Empyreanautical, Crytogeographical & Chrononautical Society' {aka 'The Club'} and our "making safe" both the virtual Victorian Gentleman's {and Lady's} Club of this name, which will occupy a plot amid the very aether, and its 'Brigadoon'-like occasional physical manifestation within your own Time, one will be keeping one's fans posted - by means of notes upon the wall, discussion board, and upon forums like this - with regard to the filming of London-based moving pictures that require Victorian-looking 'Extras', tit-bits of information, and numerous humorous anecdotes for one's fan's amusement.

You getting all this down? Do say if I'm going too fast for you, my dear. Wouldn't want that lovely wrist to get cramp...

Hmmm? Yes. Quite right. Letter. For example, please note that you may wish to clear your diary of engagements and brace yourself for a somewhat SPECTACULAR celebration to mark the centenary of the launch of that princely paragon amongst printed periodicals, 'The Chrononautical Times', which shall be taking place near Abney Park Cemetery, on the evening of the 23rd of April {St George's Day} in the year 2010; which will feature the very best Burlesque and Music Hall acts from all Time; and which we have rightly christened 'THE CHRONONAUTICAL CABARET'!

Are those stockings or tights? No, no - just curious...

Furthermore, this - one hopes - will become a regular quarterly event thereafter... providing one can stabilise the wormhole whatdyamacallit after all that "Hadrian's Colander" hullabaloo. {Damned Swiss and their obsession with making holes in everything! And those blasted cuckoo-clocks! Might've known they'd end up ripping a hole in Time itself! Obvious really. Should've seen it coming!}

YOU have a hole, Miss spelling. Quite a large one, actually. I'm looking at it right now. There, in your stocking, on the left one, just where the shapely ankle curves invitingly, seductively, into the soft flesh of your calf...
Do you... do you LIKE holes? I have a fine collection of 'em, doncherknow. I could perhaps show them to you later, if you'd like?*

Yes, the letter, quite. One has also been asked by the Landlady of The Abrook Arms in Uxbridge to arrange a CLUEDO-themed '"Murder Mystery" night for the spring season {bagsie Colonel Mustard}; and to be the Master of Ceremonies for a Music Hall night, for which I will be recommending suitable acts, during the summer season.

Of course, in the summer one won't have need of so VIOLENT, so PASSIONATE, a fire in the grate, Miss Spelling, as one's study faces south, and therefore catches the sun adequately. If you do find yourself getting a little too hot sitting there, do feel free to remove your jacket...

Also, prior to that, one is assisting, in some small capacity, our friends at White Mischief with the arrangements for an event of their own, at the end of March. Again, one shall be making recommendations. {The details are in the drawer here somewhere, you can fill them in later}.

And may I say what a charming blouse that is you are wearing. Very... flattering for a gel like you, with a, erm, FULLER figure. Dick what? Oh, dictation! Yes, quite. Where did we get to?

Furthermore, before that, those of you interested in breaking into "moving pictures" should know that both 'Bel Ami' and 'Burke & Hare' are filming in the London area during February and March, and their respective casting agencies will be looking for suitable people with whom to populate the 'background', around the time this message reaches you; whilst a previously shot moving picture {in the production of which, both your's truly and Lady Sybil played a small part}, namely 'The Wolfman', shall be viewable at a cinematic theatre close to you, both spatially and temporally, and comes highly recommended.

You ever thought about getting into moving pictures, my dear? You have the looks for it, and one DOES know the right people. I've even got a small camera of my own, if you ever wanted to... No, no, you're quite right. "Light secretarial work". And may I say what an EXCELLENT secretary you're going to make - despite your utter lack of previous experience, and the reservations expressed by Lady Sybil.

What? Yes, yes Extras get paid. About £85 a day in this particular era, plus refreshments, less agent's commission of course... Yes that IS more than you get as my Private Secretary, but then you were TECHNICALLY employed in 1885, when 8 shillings was MORE than the going rate...

Yes, good thinking. Perhaps you'd better mention that the film work is paid. That should get their attention. Those of 'em that can READ, anyway.

That'll do for now. Finish it off with the usual yours, and all that, and leave it on my desk to be signed after I've had my afternoon nap.

But before you type it up, if you would, fetch me a cup of tea: all this dictation has quite dried out one's mouth. And it IS frightfully warm in here...

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Comment by Victor Von Straβinburger on February 17, 2010 at 5:20am: I have just read your hole interview, it is hilarious, well done Herr Weirdy-Beardy

Comment by Baldur Makepeace Bear on February 10, 2010 at 9:27am: Dear Sir Arthur Weirdy-Beardy {ret.},

Please allow me to commend you on your splendid contributions to cavumology.
Indeed my own collection is not nearly as expansive as your own, but may indeed be of a substantial scientific interest. To whit my personal treasure contains but a solitary example.
Alow me fine Sir this brief elaboration.
Decades ago, when just a stripling lad myself, my great uncle Pius Ursus had me accompany him for several years in his labors as a missionary. During this period he mainly restricted his work to the Liaoning Province, China.
What a delight for a young boy, given free reign to explore the flora and fauna of a hitherto unknown (to myself) region of the world.
One rather muddy afternoon, there in front of my person appeared an odd small roadside shrine.
This was built of a flattened piece of bronze bridging the space between two plinths of carved greenish stone.
The characters upon this were entirely undecipherable, having been worn dow by centuries of weather and the touch of myriads of human hands.
Nonetheless there was a bounteous offering of unwilted flowers and several pieces of still fresh luscious fruit, cut into sections and presented in gleaming piles.
A small group of locals appeared and using my Pocket Encyclopaedia of Rustic Sino Dialects (long since missing from my library) I inquired as to the purpose of the shrine.
Eventually after much page flipping and augmentary hand gestures the story came out.
The Shrine was both a memorial and a warning to and of the great hole that lay beyond it in the lush bamboo grove. Many from the nearby village of Gaiping had fallen in and perished over the centuries.
I followed a narrow torturous path and indeed there before me was what I ascertained to be the original Gaiping Hole.
By my curiousity this wondrous ancient artifact was thrust into my very possession. In youthful abandon I danced with glee and made immediate plans to abscond with it forthwith.
Circumventing several near disastrous mishaps it was eventually successfully moved and now graces a location on my estate.
It has resulted in the loss of an occasional groundsman, but indeed it remains as glorious as the day it was first espied.

Yours,
Baldur Bear, Esq.

Comment by Brgdr. Sir Arthur Weirdy-Beardy on February 10, 2010 at 7:38am: * Regarding The Brigadier's famous Hole Collection:

INTERVIEWER:
Today, I have the pleasure of interviewing a world famous collector – ladies and gentlemen, all the way from 1885, please welcome Brigadier Sir Arthur Weirdy-Beardy {retired}.

SIR ARTHUR:
Good evening. And “hello, listeners at home”.

INTERVIEWER:
How do you do, Sir Arthur. Now, I understand that you have a somewhat unique collection. What exactly is it that you collect?

SIR ARTHUR:
Holes.

INTERVIEWER:
I beg your pardon?

SIR ARTHUR:
Holes. I collect holes. Big holes, small holes, knot holes, worm holes, fox holes, mole holes, man holes…

INTERVIEWER:
Fascinating. Have you been doing this for very long?

SIR ARTHUR:
My whole life. I discovered my first hole when I was but a naked babe, loved 'em from the get-go, but I didn't get around to starting my collection until my school years - with a hole I had made myself in a conservatory window, with a stray cricket ball. I still have it.

INTERVIEWER:
The cricket ball?

SIR ARTHUR:
The hole. Ah, I remember it fondly {one never forgets one’s first hole}. I looked at it there {ignoring the angry face of the bloody-nosed gardener behind it} and rather than seeing the negative pessimistic lack of glass, saw instead the positive optimistic hole which had replaced the broken shards. {Much rather have a hole than a lot of broken glass, wouldn’t you?} Over the many, many, many years since that fateful day, I have amassed an extensive collection of well over eleven holes – some of which are worthy of historical note. These include the hole in King Harold’s spectacle lens, the hole from Nelson’s tunic, the infamous Black Hole of Calcutta, the lesser known Red Hole of Madras, part of the hole from the side of the Titanic (the rest is sadly still lost under the North Atlantic), a hole from a leaf from a grassy knoll in Dallas…

INTERVIEWER:
Do you have any examples I could perhaps see?

SIR ARTHUR:
What? Oh, yes… here’s one of my two most favourite holes, the ones I keep in my wallet. Please, do be careful with it, it’s rather delicate… Dash it all, it’s not here! Must have fallen out through the other hole. {I really should stop carrying two around together at the same time.} And there's a hole in my pocket, too. Oh well, there's always a bright side.

INTERVIEWER:
So, collecting holes can be a difficult business at times?

SIR ARTHUR:
Oh yes. Quite. I recall, on one occasion in 1922, I was – erm, sorry, will be, no, was - collecting an ancient, valuable and considerably large hole from an archaeological dig in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings. Despite their protests that the hole might be subject to the ‘Curse Of The Pharaoh’, I eventually managed to convince the local wallahs to carefully load the hole onto the back of a truck in order to began the long journey home to England with my prize. Whether the ‘curse’ is true or not, disaster dogged my trail all the way… Rum business, all round.

INTERVIEWER:
A cursed hole, you say?

SIR ARTHUR:
So the natives would have one believe. Either way, the first noticeably rum incident, of many, occurred before we had travelled no more than a few miles from the dig site. We were on the dirt road north to Alexandria, not far from Beni Suef, when the hole became dislodged and fell from the back of the truck. I noticed it fall from my own Rolls Royce ‘Silver Turin’ travelling in convoy behind - or rather, my chauffer did, as I had finished the rum and was having a little nap at the time - and shouted at the driver of the truck to stop. He did so, reversed back up the road in order to collect the fallen load, promptly drove straight into the hole, and was never seen again!
Nor was the damnable truck.
The wallahs had to carry the blasted thing by hand from there on.

INTERVIEWER:
The whole way? Couldn’t you have carried it in your car?

SIR ARTHUR:
What? And risk getting a hole in the Rolls’ trimmed leather upholstery? Are you quite mad?

INTERVIEWER:
Sorry. Do carry on.

SIR ARTHUR:
I will.

INTERVIEWER:
Good.

SIR ARTHUR:
Quite. And do stop interrupting me when I’m in my flow.

INTERVIEWER:
I won’t.

SIR ARTHUR:
Good. Erm… Oh… Where was I?

INTERVIEWER:
Tell me, do you still have the hole?

SIR ARTHUR:
Whole what? What are you implying?

INTERVIEWER:
No, no. The hole… H-O-L-E.

SIR ARTHUR:
Which one? I’ve got more than eleven, donchaknow.

INTERVIEWER:
The Egyptian one? With the supposed curse?

SIR ARTHUR:
Oh that one! Yes, well, sadly not. The ship I’d chartered in Port Said to fetch it back to Blighty mysteriously sank for no apparent reason…
…as did the other twelve I charted…
…until I ran out of sailors to persuade, at which point I abandoned the whole project.

INTERVIEWER:
Hole Project?

SIR ARTHUR:
No, no. Whole project… W-H-O-L-E.

Of course, collecting holes is not a challenge these days. It’s become so much easier, too easy. Since the war, and the proliferation of perorations that gave us, every Tom, Dick and Harry has jumped on the bandwagon. Mass production, Market forces, and all that.

INTERVIEWER:
How do you mean?

SIR ARTHUR:
Well, in my day, one had to go out and find individual holes for one’s self. Nowadays, one simply contacts a holesaler.

And it gets worse: not content with the holes the Good Lord gave us, some damned-fool boffin’s in Switzerland - where they put holes into everything, even cheese – have devised a mechanical contraption that will generate man-made holes such as have never been seen before…

INTERVIEWER:
Ah, you’re referring to the The Large Hadron Collider (LHC), which lies in a tunnel 27 kilometres (17 mi) in circumference, and as much as 175 metres (570 ft) beneath the Franco-Swiss border near Geneva, and is the world's largest and highest-energy particle accelerator, intended to collide opposing particle beams, of either protons at an energy of 7 TeV per particle, or lead nuclei at an energy of 574 TeV per nucleus, built by the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN) with the intention of testing various predictions of high-energy physics, including the existence of the hypothesized Higgs boson and of the large family of new particles predicted by supersymmetry, but which many fear will result in the creation of an artificial Black Hole…

SIR ARTHUR:
Am I? Well, if you say so… It’s playing God, I tell you. Wouldn’t happen in Britain. Bloody Swiss. Whole bally country’s cuckoo…

INTERVIEWER:
Relax. It’s perfectly safe. On 10th September 2008, the proton beams were successfully circulated in the main ring for the first time.

SIR ARTHUR:
Yes, sending shockwaves throughout the, erm, the whatjamacallit? Timespace…

INTERVIEWER:
Continue…

SIR ARTHUR:
Um…

You know, the so-called “Very Fabric of Reality”. {Why 'very' fabric? Fabric isn't quantifiable. It either is, or it isn't. One never says, "I say, those trousers are very fabric, aren't they..." Anyway, the Swiss made holes in this Very Fabric, like little Alpine moths. Creates merry hell with those of us who like to travel through Time, let me tell you. Practically impossible to visit this part of history without getting out at 2006 and walking the last couple of years. All because of that damnable Hadrian’s Colander. Bloody thing’s faulty.

INTERVIEWER:
Well, on 19th September, the operations were indeed halted due to a serious fault between two superconducting bending magnets.

SIR ARTHUR:
There, you see.

INTERVIEWER:
But there were no reported side effects of it being switched on.

[Not strictly speaking true: According to accounts from the future, a Mr E. M. Maidop of Whitley in Yorkshire reported to the local police that, after the Hadron Collider had been switched on, he’d discovered that a packet of six individual pork pies he had put into his refrigerator just the night before, at about eight o’clock, now mysteriously only contained FIVE individual pork pies… rum indeed!]

Due to the time required to repair the resulting damage, and to add additional safety features, the LHC isn’t scheduled to be operational again any sooner than September 2009.

SIR ARTHUR:
Humph. Early estimate. 2012 is when it all goes wrong.

INTERVIEWER:
I’m sorry?

SIR ARTHUR:
Nothing. Forget I said it.

Yes. But mine is still the finest collection in the hole world. Even finer, when it’s complete.

INTERVIEWER:
And what do you plan to do with your collection, once it is complete? Display them?

SIR ARTHUR:
Well, when I have enough of them, I shall sew them all together and make a net.

INTERVIEWER:
Sir Arthur, good evening.

SIR ARTHUR:
Is that it? The whole interview?

INTERVIEWER:
Get out.