A debate turns ugly... and a pleasant surprise!

Sirs, a befuddling day.

Myself and Lumpy have spent the better part of the afternoon working up a plan for our forthcoming expedition, for which we have set our date of departure as 1 September.

Despite this date, we have come no closer to deciding on a route, and we sat in my study discussing this while attempting to swallow the terrible lunch prepared by Brown.

Ah yes – Brown. Despite the mass domestic walkout caused by my increasingly troublesome old retainer, he has somehow managed to remain in my service. Lord alone knows how he managed to wriggle his way out of that one. New servants are being sent to take over the vacated roles soon.

In the meantime, myself and Lumpy are having to make do with Brown's wretched asparagus and eggs - burned to a cinder, of course. Godspeed those domestic saviours.

So, as I was saying, we were discussing our options in the study. I had noticed that Lumpy had been drinking rather a lot of my whiskey all afternoon and had become increasingly defiant towards my opinions. I’d had a few myself too, to be honest.

My suggestion was that we plot a route though the North Winwood Pass, thus emerging in some unknown region of the Upper Lowlands. However, Lumpy pooh-poohed the suggestion, claiming such a journey to be impossible.

I admit my response to his criticism was rather heated. Indeed, I believe I suggested that Lumpy take leave of my residence if he did not wish to pay me ample respect. At this, he launched at me with the ferocity of a puma, and we fell to the floor with an almighty bang, causing asparagus and eggs and whiskey to spatter across the rug and ourselves. We then proceeding to tear and gouge at each other's persons, while remonstrating in an unholy fashion. How these scientific discussions so frequently turn ugly, in my experience!

It was at the point when Lumpy Pete had me clasped by the neck and was firmly hammering my egg-splattered head against a bookcase that Brown entered the room with the telephone upon a silver platter.

“Sir,” he said to me as Lumpy and I looked up at him. “I have a lady upon the telephone by the name of Mandy.”

It was she! The delicious Mandy who had stolen my heart at the London Hospital. Our fight forgotten, I dragged myself out of the arms of Lumpy and took the receiver. Our call was perfunctory but dreamy – in her customary belch-speak, she wished to take me up on my offer of a guide around London, and we arranged to meet on Saturday lunchtime on the South Bank.

Ah happy day! The rest of the day proceeded in pink-tinged heavenliness, and I take to my bed with a self-congratulatory air. Night!