Douglas Wryckham of the Jilberry Jam Co., 1925 est.
Hello, I am Douglas Wryckham of Jilberry & So. Co., est. 1925, Crackton upon Tyne.
We are purveyors of jams, jellies, relishes and a rather lovely chutney called 'Basil's' which is named after Lord Basil St. John Primptyton of the British Raj, founder of the East Quilby trading Co., 1804, est.
Every day, after some fruit, honey, a little yoghurt, and of course, jaffacakes, tea and some scrumptious wheezing over biscuits and jellies, I unguent my sore legs with foxoil lineament and then circumambulate my estate in Crackton. After whipping my woman, Egret Somethsbottom, into a frenzy of prurient desires through a combined farrago of insults and egregious display of my round red bottom, I descend into the kennels to flagellate my hunting dogs with a large cracked piece of bamboo.
It is very important to crack the bamboo, or to find a piece already tainted by the years and thus running with cracks, because of the most aurally satisfying whistling noise thus produced as one brandishes it with minatory gestures. I learned such techniques while in the Raj among the Muslim men of Chindoory in the Bengal Province. I confess, indeed declaim, on the efficacy of enraging one's hounds before the hunt.
At this point in my day, a Kurdish slave is let loose on the estate, I repair to the viewing point atop my portico with my goggles. It is so fine in the misty morning to see the sparagmos of a young man, so ripe in his limbs and the blush of dawn upon his cheeks; the foul reek of death exuding from the jowls of my hounds. Yes, I quite relish it, in the same way another man might delight in the symphonies of Brahms, or the refinements of Monet or Racine.
Upon the last reapings of my grim four-legged lieutenants, I repair to my auto, a fine Austin M24, and wind about the lanes of Crackton until I reach our factory at Bosnell, 15 and-a-half minutes out of town on the M4.
the rest tomorrow,
Wryckham
We are purveyors of jams, jellies, relishes and a rather lovely chutney called 'Basil's' which is named after Lord Basil St. John Primptyton of the British Raj, founder of the East Quilby trading Co., 1804, est.
Every day, after some fruit, honey, a little yoghurt, and of course, jaffacakes, tea and some scrumptious wheezing over biscuits and jellies, I unguent my sore legs with foxoil lineament and then circumambulate my estate in Crackton. After whipping my woman, Egret Somethsbottom, into a frenzy of prurient desires through a combined farrago of insults and egregious display of my round red bottom, I descend into the kennels to flagellate my hunting dogs with a large cracked piece of bamboo.
It is very important to crack the bamboo, or to find a piece already tainted by the years and thus running with cracks, because of the most aurally satisfying whistling noise thus produced as one brandishes it with minatory gestures. I learned such techniques while in the Raj among the Muslim men of Chindoory in the Bengal Province. I confess, indeed declaim, on the efficacy of enraging one's hounds before the hunt.
At this point in my day, a Kurdish slave is let loose on the estate, I repair to the viewing point atop my portico with my goggles. It is so fine in the misty morning to see the sparagmos of a young man, so ripe in his limbs and the blush of dawn upon his cheeks; the foul reek of death exuding from the jowls of my hounds. Yes, I quite relish it, in the same way another man might delight in the symphonies of Brahms, or the refinements of Monet or Racine.
Upon the last reapings of my grim four-legged lieutenants, I repair to my auto, a fine Austin M24, and wind about the lanes of Crackton until I reach our factory at Bosnell, 15 and-a-half minutes out of town on the M4.
the rest tomorrow,
Wryckham
posted by Stallionforce at 9:29 AM
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