Wednesday, January 25, 2012

the case of the missing password II

Usually when I lose things, Old Rogers has them. He’s a regular magpie, picking up shiny objects to eat for, he claims, the sparkle. Whether he had my blog password was a long shot, but I was ready to make it and, spying him on the horizon sniffing for truffles I aimed my musket and fired. Two hours later he reported to my drawing room, where I was putting the finishing touches to a rather fine nose-blown sketch of tits on a twig.

‘You shot for me, ma’am?’ he queried, pausing only to dab at a freshly blown-out eye socket with a hay-rag.

‘Yes Rogers,’ I murmured, barely stopping to rest my quill. ‘I wonder if you had any idea about my password.’

Though I did not turn, I had a very good notion that Rogers had simultaneously blanched while turning a shade of beetroot. ‘Ma’am?’ he gasped.

His disturbed demeanour suggested to me that Rogers most certainly knew something about this mystery.

‘That’s right, Rogers, my password! Password!’ I commanded, authoritatively.

‘Oh, password!’ he laughed, relaxing, something I hoped never to see in a servant, particularly Rogers. ‘I thought ye said arse word. And the arse word is a word I hope never to hear used in the presence of a lady. Because confidentially…’ here he dropped his tone to a whisper and leant down to my ear trumpet, ‘… the arse word is arse.’

He stood again, to attention this time. ‘As for your password, m’lady,’ he murmured, ‘I know nothing of such. I assumed you, ma’am, with your direct line to Him Upstairs, would have no need of any such magickery.’

The plot was thickening, much like the snot-ink I had been using for my tit pic. Clearly Old Rogers knew nothing; but who else was in my employ? It seemed appropriate to call on other people in my day-to-day life to help me with this mystery, but sadly their identity was also somewhat outside my memory sphere. I quickly grabbed a copy of my poorly-performing recent book Advice to Young People on Leaving Home to jog my recollection of who else there might be in my existence here at Lax Manors. What I saw amazed me... if you have a copy to hand, turn to page 57 and you’ll see what I mean!

No comments:

Post a Comment