Has Anybody Seen My Man?

What Ho Proles!

It’s the night after Valentines Day and I’m still stuck in London. To make matters worse, I have lost contact with My Man, which makes life rather difficult since only he knows where he’s parked the Bentley. Between you and me, I think he’s gone off with some of those ladies of easy virtues that are making such a name for themselves in the world of blogging. You know the sorts. They loiter around lamp posts… Have habitual winks and always have to ask the time yet never consider buying themselves a watch. If you happen to run across some account of a man driving a quality automobile in one of ‘those’ blogs, could you give me a nod or leave a comment to tell him get his hide back here to the Dorchester. I really need the car tomorrow.

As I sit here late in the hotel while the man I pay a good five shillings a week is out there with women who I am led to believe wear cheek blusher on all FOUR cheeks, it makes me wonder what I’m doing trying to keep a blog. I should be more like Belle de Jour and give your some salacious gossip about my nether regions.

Only I’m a gentleman and an English gentleman at that. I don’t have nether regions, and if I did, they’d vote Tory. Not only would they vote Tory, but they’d have a Tory county council and we’d immediately ban the use of the term ‘nether regions’ and would probably choose to name the area ‘Gentialshire’ or ‘Greater Crotchshire Under Tweed’ or something even more pleasing.

I’m rambling.

It’s late at night and My Man is probably out there in Soho up to heaven knows what. I don’t know what you can get up to in London on five shillings but it will not be last he hears of this. Mark my words.

Goodnight.