Fred Astaire? Meet Alexander Graham Bell...

There has been yet another crisis - or should that be hiatus? Either way, there has been one. The details are fairly academic now, of course, but the main thing was that I got nicked for it. (Nicked: placed on a governor's disciplinary report; under a cloud; before the beak explaining myself; pinched.)

I was accused of disobeying a lawful order. The fact that I wasn't actually given an order, lawful or otherwise, is neither here nor there - and besides, how can a person be ordered to do something that is voluntary? I refused to go on "home leave" to the hostel.

I explained matters to the Number One and he just cautioned me not to do it again, gave me back all of my days out and finished by saying, "For fuck's sake, go on home leave!"

I suppose I'll have to go next time - well, it's a tick in a box if it's nothing else.

So, I got all of my days out back and on Sunday I went out and about with Lucretia Borgia and Madame Tussaud - names witheld to prevent me getting a slap around the ear.  Had a good day too, thoroughly enjoyed myself. I even managed to walk around and worked my phone!

It was quite funny really. There we were, wandering around the shops (those that were actually open on a Sunday) and a phone kept ringing.

"Is that your phone?" mother asked daughter. "Because it's not mine."

I wandered on, oblivious. It rang again.

"I can hear a phone," said she, "but it's not mine."

"Not mine either," replied Lucretia.

More wanderings and the phone rang again. This time she was actually standing next to me.

"It's yours!" she accused.

"Is it?" asked myself innocently, and took it out of my pocket. It stopped. "It's stopped," said I and put it away again. The phone rang again.

"Answer the bloody thing then!"

I took it out. "Hello," said I.

"Turn the bloody thing on," I was ordered.

Poxy phones! Alexander Graham Bell should be dug up and whipped.

You know what I don't care much for? It is females who pretend that they are sparrows when they eat - or rabbits nibbling lettuce. Not so Mata Hari and Lily of the Lamplight - they got tucked into their plate of feed like storm troopers.

So, there we were, sitting on the riverside terrace, dining al fresco, and putting it away like a gang of navvies. After that we sat quaffing tea and chatting away -  very pleasant too, I might add. The bistro serving wench came out from time to time to see if we needed anything and I quite enjoyed it. I may  do it again one day soon.

The best part of the whole day was when I bought an umbrella. Needless to say, it didn't rain any more all day - but I gave a good impression of Fred Astaire in "Singing In The Rain".

I'm quite looking forward to going again in two weeks' time - unless something else untoward takes place. That's my first nicking since somewhere around the year 2000 - and that's a long time ago. I'm practically a saint these days.

So. I've got the Russian Hat, I've got the umbrella - where do I buy a bucket of sarin?

The Voice In The Wilderness