3rd Jan 2012

In retrospect it was a fine idea to take the hounds, and never let it be said that Argyll can't take control of a situation. I arrived in the village to find a tree had fallen through the Post Mistress' house, and there were some casualties here, a couple of amputations needed but nothing to halt the campaign as I saw it. I proceeded down the main street at a good gallop, well ahead of my pack, trumpeting my presence to all and sundry to let them know some order was about to be restored. Darwin had driven ahead in a motorised carriage, and I found him in conversation with a young fire chief. I overheard something about "frightened children", possibly having been "blown away", but nothing conclusive, so I pulled hard on the reins and sidled up to the pair of them to see what was to do. "Children missing?" I cried. "Then by God, damn lucky I brought the hounds. They'll round 'em up in a thrice, mark my words!"

I took a good swig of port and then blew the horn to rally the troops. This whipped the pack up into a frenzy, and off we galloped, following the wind to find the missing urchins. We galloped up to the top of the hill, but there were no blow-aways up there, so we galloped back down again. The pack had some sport with the sheep going both ways, but this was of little consequence when there were lives to be saved. I then set out to circle the village, making sure that there were no missing children in the gardens or the allotments – hard riding, vaulting their little garden fences – before charging back down the main street to make my report. I also needed to re-port, so I took another draught as I halted alongside a gaggle of wailing villagers. "Check the wells, damn you, they must have fallen down the wells!", I advised. The panting hounds had now caught up again, and were restless and hungry – indeed they were for more blood after the savage hiding they'd meted out to the sheep on the hill, so with a toot of my horn we again poured back up the main street, past the admiring townsfolk, and back to the safety of Inverary to reflect on the night's adventure.

It is now approaching noon, and I have several engagemnets after luncheon (mutton chops). The mayor of the village has asked to see me, no doubt to thank me for looking after things last night and probably to ask me to advise him on how to deal with future emergencies; and then Larkins of all people has an appointment at 4. The devil take the man, he has been nothing but a disappointment since I awarded him his parcel of land last year. Democracy in these things should never be allowed, but they tell me I must allow these things. Democracy doesn't get you round the Horn, I tell them. "Never in a month of Sundays would Democracy get you round the Horn!" Damn their eyes !

Darwin has just gonged for luncheon.

2nd Jan 2012

"By God, Darwin", I roared. "But doesn't this just remind you of going round the Cape?" I wasn't sure if he had heard me above the howling wind, so I loosed off both barrels in the general direction of the orchard, both to get his attention and to ward off any would-be scrumpers. He came lolloping over. "The Cape, Darwin! Do you see? The Cape, I say!"

I like to get up in the rigging on days like this, so we had been up on the battlements for most of the morning, admiring God's bellows as He tried His damndest to blow Inverary back whence it came. He was putting up a good show too, there hasn't been a wind like this up here for some time. Damn fine ballooning weather, but bloody silly weather for much else. You can see for miles up here, and I could make out Larkins' bothy even today, sandy coloured against the dull green of the hillside. I thought to myself that weather like this would be a shock to his system, blast him.

Pollard joined me for luncheon (goose) as she does not begin her full range of activities until after Epiphany, she tells me, and she started on to me again about the cottages. "But solid foundations and basic sanitation will in years to come be recognised as the origins of a more productive workforce," she argued. I don't think it will do, and I told her so. "It will never do" , I said, but I don't think I have heard the end of the matter. After port I informed the Duchess that I had papers to attend to and retired to the library.

Most of the afternoon had been taken up with planning my next voyage, so I had my maps out when Darwin came in with a telegram towards nightfall. It seems that there has been some damage done in the area by the weather, possibly some villagers missing, but it was all very vague. "This is not news", I growled. "Darwin, this is flim-flam. I deal in facts, man, facts!" I have had him saddle Belgrano, and I am going to ride over and take command of the situation myself. It will allow me to give the hounds a run out as well, so two birds, and so on.