I received a telegram to-day from Henrietta Penniweggs that I was QUITE overdue for the next installment of my tale of Old Siam. So true, so true. Let us re-enter that shadowy world of spice and ancient doings?

H. Penniweggs cannot be denied...

Let’s see, where was I? Oh yes! The moment I arrived at the port of Old Siam, most unsettled by a bad cask of wine and a devilish case of malaria from the foul insects that buzzed about, I ran SMACK into – who else? – Jerry Wombat. He had received a cable from that dastardly curr, Finch, that I had been sacked and trundled off for my role in accounts and ledgers with J. Theramungo. “But Jerry!” I exclaimed, “I’ve no doings with Theramungo since the Great War! However could Finch hold such a grudge against a fellow for such water passed?”

Jerry, stalwart and distractable sort he is, suggested we drown our sorrows in a pint of noodles before making our way to the steamer set back home. A fine fellow, but a little prone to bloat (on account of fried things – noodles and otherwise), so I ambled beside him.

We saw MANY things in our locomotion of Old Siam! The Siamese are a lovely and particular sort. For example, did you know that screaming is their preferred method of communication? Or that cross-eyes are QUITE the norm in Old Siam? Though I saw many things in the trenches of French those many years ago, I never quite experienced the otherness of travel until I found myself trying to keep up with a portly wombat in Old Siam.

UNCLE ROGER

As we weaved and dodged the funny little screaming Siamese, who should we encounter but my dear departed mum’s second cousin, Uncle Jerry. Jerry’s a bit of the black sheep in the family, you see, as he ran off with a Siamese lass of ill-repute nearly 40 years back – leaving a wife and 400 children behind to pick up his pieces. A right scoundrel, if you ask me, which you did. I made nice-nice with the gent, because that is what a true gentleman does, but I high-tailed it out of there post haste!

After tucking into four plates of noodles, Jerry decided that it was QUITE necessary that we visit a place of God. They do not have churches in Old Siam, but they DO have little huts with a golden man to worship. If you ask me, a sleepy chap like that isn’t up to the task of creation and it’s proper upkeep.

That is just this fellow’s most humble opine. What do you think?

He had gentle, albeit cold, hands.

Oh dear! There is EVER so much smoke coming from my stove just now! I do fear the shortbread, baking in time for the arrival of the most dear Hibiscus T. Porridge, is getting rather singed. More on Old Siam in due time…