Ye Olde Diary

Ye Olde Diary


Dear Journal:

We had a bit of excitement down in Garfield Street this afternoon. That old cinema, The Aladdin, went up in flames.  Created clouds of smoke that drifted all the way across the downs.  Put the horses in the stables in a right state, too.  Naturally, I lent a hand.  My time as batman to Colonel Whittingham stood me in good stead, as I was able to keep the colts calm, whilst the stableboys lead the mares out to the lower paddock.

I have high hopes for my entries in the upcoming garden show, although that new family down the way, The Simpsons, are doing their best to derail me.  A right snoopy lot, them.  More than once, I've caught them trying to make off with my special gardening mix.  Barely in the neighborhood five years, and they think they have a chance at the show.  Certainly, they see themselves as the underdog, but, I say - espionage!  Completely underhanded - they haven't a chance.

The lads got into it again this afternoon.  Felix, the cat, may be getting on, but he gave a good account of himself against those devil-dogs, Tom and Jerry; the pups will carry their battle scars a good two weeks.  I should imagine, though, that Felix will think twice, before facing them both head-on again (a flanking attack from the ferns, I shouldn't wonder; a quick slash, then a leap to the elm and safety).

Well, I just heard old Henry call "Time, gentlemen!" from Sir Richard's next door, so it's to bed for this old campaigner. 

Cheers!

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