The Bold Adventurer returns – with a bang and a whimper.

Pip-pip.

To begin with, dear, sweet, reader, please accept a thousand apologies for my absence. I accepted an invitation to spend a month or so with my old school chum Jeremy McEwen-Price at his remote country retreat in the highlands of Scotland, and in my haste to pack and load my vanity cases onto the Blithely carriage, I neglected to update my bally journal.
I said to my mole-resembling driver, Blinkerton, “Blast, old chap! Forgot to ride the interweb and tell my avid readership that I would be absent for a time.”

The 3 day drive to the Highlands in the Austin Healey (christened “Dennis” by the former Lady Blithely) was a joy – rarely reaching speeds upwards of 30mph meant that we could take in the breathtaking scenery of the glorious array of bushes and shrubs that surround the M25.

Suffice it to say, we stopped numerous times on our journey, and met many gentlemen in the lovely uniform of the Automobile Association.

It was a healthy 2.30am when we managed to push the carriage up the last part of the drive and onto the gravel forecourt of “Chez McEwen-Price” or Castle Occai as it is officially known to both the Ordnance Survey and the Taxman - or woman – don’t want to be sexist… Can be awfully troublesome.

Had a picket line of three hundred large – and hairy – handed feminine-types outside Beastly Hall last summer for asking the owner of a local teashop if they only employed lesbians because it was the nearest they could get to chaps. Blasted woofter only told the local newspaper who began a campaign to bring me to task.

In the end, I issued a press statement apologising for the whole thing. I no longer frequent the place, as when I’m having tea and toast, I want to know which side my toast has been buttered. And chaps can wield a steadier butter knife.

My first night was endured while bent at awkward angles on the back seat of the automobile, as no one would open the door, despite Blinkerton dealing out numerous thunderings to the door and myself letting out my most blood-curdling yell of “Tally-ho chaps, Beastly’s here!”

The next morning I was served with a full English breakfast in the Healey. Despite the cold toast (shoddily buttered I might add, as the cook here is a woman, and I wasn’t given a choice between pre-buttered toast and butter on the side), it was a good start. My old chum, “Pinky” McEwen-Price came to greet me and escorted me to the bathroom where he obviously left me to wash.

That particular day was spent hunting Famous Grouse and Haggis on Pinky’s estate.

In the next entry, I shall elucidate on the adventures had when we were joined by some mildly famous persons. And of course, the moment I saw Hazel Irvine from afar…

Until next time, my dear friends, bon voyage. Miss you already.

Sir Leonard.