An Anarchist is in our Midst

I have a lot of time for the ex Composer to the Royal Household’s Pets, Boogaloo D’Ormant. However, my patience is beginning to wear thin in light of his latest revolutionary activity.

As those of you who have had the misfortune to spend an hour or two with him in a backstreet ale house, the briefest of time passes before he recounts tales of challenging Dr Brian Mawhinny to a duel, or blathering on about how the railways have gone to the dogs.

This evening he accompanied me to a recital, to which I had been invited to add gravitas and a soupcon of style. I should have realised trouble was in the air when he arrived at my mansion and declared that he was a tad peckish and insisted on mixing with the local riff-raff by going down to what is commonly called “the chippie.”

Upon his return, rather than eat said peasant food in the servants quarters, he insisted on eating it in the Royal Dining Room whilst reading one of  my leather bound first editions. The stench of the working class emanated through my mansion.

We then took the phaeton to the music hall where we imbibed a glass or two of cheap wine and patronised the local dignitaries before listening to a chap play his wind instrument to great affect. I thought the evening had passed without incident; that Boogaloo had been kept off the subject of the railways, until I made the mistake of introducing him to the Mayor.

They shook hands and Boogaloo, sensing an opportunity for notoriety, trod on the Mayor’s frock and she promptly stumbled down the stairs. The militia were quick off the mark, but not before Boogaloo realised  an evening in the stocks was imminent and feigned gallantry by stopping her fall.

The Mayor was all gratitude and graciousness but I knew that all was not what it seemed. I knew that Boogaloo’s revolutionary tendencies had got the better of him but, as with all anarchists, he soon realised that he would be cut off if his Pater discovered such caddish behaviour, and quite frankly, he enjoyed Pater’s benevolence a little too much to stick to these revolutionary whimsies.

1 Comment

  1. Boogaloo D'Ormant said,

    October 22, 2009 at 10:36 pm

    My Dear Daft

    I must complain most vigorously about the appalling way I have been misrepresented in your most recent article. For a long time you have kept us all amused with your rambling observations, vivid recollections and unsound pronouncements. It is no secret that you are not one to let the facts get in the way of a good story, I feel however that just now you have gone too far.
    You have clearly been ignoring your physicians advice regarding your wine consumption and the effect it is having on your increasingly erratic behaviour. As your friend I feel obliged to address a few inconsistencies in your last article.
    When I called on you the other evening, it was clear from your flushed complexion and slightly dishevelled look that you had spent most of the day at the club. Your butler barely had time to take my cane before you bundled me into the dinning room. Pouring your self a large brandy and in a most animated fashion you told me about your new political ambitions, you, Lord William Daft, had set your sights on the office of Mayor!
    I don’t think you heard me point out that this office was unlikely to excuse you the quite considerable debts accumulated at the club, you just seemed to get increasingly excited.
    You write that you were invited to add a “soupcon of style”, can I remind you that it was me who pointed out that it is not the done thing to whistle during the largo and one certainly does not ponder out loud during the more pianissimo sections if the orchestra know a “quick march”. Still, I enjoyed myself enormously and I had no idea what fiendish plan you had cooked up until I saw you invite that dear old lady to the balcony.
    Really, Daft, what got into you man? It’s less than a month to the elections and it is simply not the way to deal with ones political opponents. Racing up the steps I was just able to catch her Worship’s arm and, whilst not the most gracious of descents, there were no bones broken and after some smoothing of lapels and adjusting of collars we continued as if nothing had happened.
    Now, I read that you, my friend of many years, are accusing me of trying to despatch the Feudal Lord Bailiff, this is simply not true.

    Your obedient servant

    Boogaloo D’Ormant

Post a Comment