The 'Saucy Robin Teverson' at Oakham Quay
And so it was that this morning the driver and I were waved through Cornish customs and took a charabanc laden with pasties over the Tamar into England. We delivered it to a warehouse owned by a fellow called Gregg (who appeared to be doing Terribly Well in the baked goods business) and were given a cheque in return. This, of course, I have already mailed to Squire Rogerson – less my expenses, petrol costs et cetera.
All seems right with the old demesne, despite my absence. The Reverend Hughes Church Lads Table Tennis Club (credited with single-handedly reducing crime in Rutland to a statistically insignificant level) is meeting in St Asquith’s Parish Hall as I write. It is true that Meadowcroft has been complaining about the Elves of Rockingham Forest taking plants from his glasshouses to make their elixirs, but he is prone to grumble and, besides, these elven remedies are the only thing to ease my wound from the Aylesbury by-election of 1938.
The only problem was explaining to Matron what I had done with the Well-Behaved Orphans, but the gift of a bottle of Nicholson’s gin smoothed things over eventually. She will be with me tomorrow morning when the Saucy Robin Teverson ties up at Oakham Quay.
Previously in Lord Bonkers' Cornish adventure
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