A Crash Course...

Wot Ho Fellow Motorists!

Been a bit busy don'tcher know, what with all the fine specimens of the fairer sex that the old Singer attracts...nudge nudge! The birds are always wanting a ride.

Anyway, I happened to get a dingle from old Ollie Raggs the other day from down Brooklands way, where Ollie had stashed one of my other Singers down in the back of the Campbell sheds. I was a bit annoyed at the idea that the great man might find it and take offense, but Ollie assured me that it was the blue one that went like a bird and he'd never know the difference. Besides, he was always at sea these days. I wasn't convinced so I dashed down to take command. A riding drop is always a good way to decide an argument with the hired help.

Well, dammed me if that blighter Von Drips doesn't turn up to play with that silly Auto-whatsit thingie again. Fresh from playing golf and wearing an off-the-peg suit if you please! I mean, there used to be standards! I was wearing Saville Row, of course. Von Drips fired up that gormless V12 monster and blew smuts all over my jacket. Bugger! How rude can these foreigners get!

So, that was it! I was going to have words with him! I asked Ollie if the Baron knew English. Indeed he did...he had been at Oxford on the debating team. Had never been beaten evidently. He also spoke five languages and always outsmarted his adversaries.

Dammed and blast! He was obviously a master debator and a cunning linguist!

I sent Ollie in to give him what for and the last thing I remember seeing was the flash of a golf club and then a rather girly sqweak. Luckily a nice G&T in the clubhouse restored my composure and a bag of ice reduced Ollie's swelling.

Bah!