Wednesday, 25 August 2010
I have been unable to attend to any of my adventurising this week as my dear old Mother has been down to visit from her country estate. She really doesn't like London and its inhabitants, or "Scumbags" as she calls them. Fortunately it was only a brief stay and I am now able to concentrate on more pressing matters.
However, I thought maybe I could take this opportunity to talk a little about my family as it may give you, the reader, an insight into why I became an Explorer.
My Mother, Consternita Durkin is heir to the Durkin Gherkin dynasty and when younger was viewed as a very desirable prospect for young society gentlemen. She, however, did not care for the limp suitors that were on offer and decided instead to travel around Europe, thus avoiding the subject of marriage. It was on these travels she met my late Father, Albert Fschniddle. As a Swiss pilchard fisherman he had very few prospects but was extremely handsome and soon my Mother and he began a relationship. Unlike many couple of the time they decided not to follow society's rules and marry as a business union or for social climbing, but for love. Unfortunately it turned out that it was a love of money on my Father's behalf and a love of pilchards from my Mother. The marriage was short-lived and disasterous. Almost as disasterous as their Pilchard and Gherkin Jam business venture. (I'm so glad that Wortha and I's relationship is built of stronger stuff. Wortha never complains when I go away on my expeditions, in fact she seems to really look forward to them..)
My Father left not long after I was born, but would always return on full moons to take me out on fishing excursions. He regaled me with tales of adventure and spoke of monsters from the deep, pirates, pilchards as big as a cow etc. etc. It was on one of these trips I decided to become an adventurer and explorator myself and as I walked back from the canal, waving goodbye to my Father, I vowed that I would never rest until I had become the greatest Explorator and Adventurist of all time. I never saw my Father after that night. Some say he died wrestling with a monster, others that he was swallowed by a giant pilchard. The papers say he was drunk and slipped on some dog shit and fell into the river, but those hacks will believe anything.
So, dear reader, that is a little glimpse into who I am. I hope it was illuminating. Now I must go and prepare my packed lunch, for who knows what exciting adventurisms tomorrow holds?
Posted by Bertram Fiddle at 20:56