AND THEREBY HANGS A TALE (Continued)

Mobility (Continued)

After yesterday’s little adventure in the High Street I decided to give the old bathchair a miss today. Instead I had Bates make ready the Lagonda for a trip to the golf club, mind you these days I give the first eighteen holes a wide berth.

As we set off I was made aware that I had forgotten that Bates in a moment of uncharacteristic continental madness during the summer had seen fit to lower the ragtop and as much as he tried he couldn’t get the damn thing up again. Still he had found a pair of old leather flying helmets so with a cry of Biggles flies undone and chocks away Ginger we set off.

Now the golf club is not one of my normal haunts but the bar steward does make the best pink gin for miles around. Between you and me I never know whether bar steward should be one word or two in his case he really is the most bloody awful gossip and as we all know careless talk costs wives. I mean to say we all know what old Stinky Pemberton’s wife Daphne is like, well everyone except old Stinky that is.

Daphne has one of those vans with windows in they call ‘em people carriers. Don’t see the point meself but it takes all sorts. Hers has these darkened windows and what seems to be very soft suspension. It’s a wonder the poor gel doesn’t get seasick. Could have sworn blind I saw the clear outline of the sole of her foot on the side window the other week but by the time I has found my monocle the van had subsided into stillness and the foot had disappeared.

Jolly sociable filly is Daphers. Brings totally new meanings to expressions like, playing a round with the captains wife and playing a round with a male member. When she is stuck in the sand, the sand is not the only thing to get a good raking. She has her own handicap system which has nothing to do with golf I can tell you and rumour has it that Roger Carruthers plays off scratch. Actually his real name is Cecil but Roger describes his hobby for which he has enjoyed a certain reputation ever since he and the CO’s wife were found starkers playing a novel form of hoop la. Got him cashiered did that little skirmish. Smith the Bar Steward, he insists it is Smythe bloody ideas above his station that man, also spreads gossip about the captain Stinky Pemberton and his constant friend Fitz-William speculation is rife as to whether Stinky does Fitz-William if you get my drift but it is not something the hired help should gossip about, dashed bad form. Back in the regiment we would have boot blacked his todger for that sort of thing.

Meanwhile Bates had run the old banger down to the garage to try to get the damned rag top unjammed only to come back looking hot and bothered with some disconcerting news. Alf, the mechanic, had tried to release the fittings and managed to slice his finger off . Might be a blessing if it stops his disgusting habit of going mining up his nose with a filthy oily digit. The fact remained it was dashed inconvenient because until they had got Alf’s finger out of the Lagonda’s fittings we were without transport. Without more ado I concentrated on the problem while sinking a few more pink gins. Then Bates, stout man, came up with a brainwave and summoned a taxi.

On the way back I asked Bates how his grandson was getting on at the boarding school I had chosen for him. He seemed a bit worried about the nickname he had been given. But I pointed out at a school where the boys were addressed as master and given the surname he shared with his grandfather it was inevitable and might have nothing to do with his habits. Still Bates was not to be convinced so I dropped the subject and gave my full attention to my trusty hipflask.

It’s absolutely piddling down so I will have to forgo the evening snifter at the club. Wonder where the memsahib is. Oh well I’ll have a snooze while Bates prepares supper.