Ruminations on my life...continued...

Damn and Blast! Apologies Home Team, but a planet sized Old One sauntered past the Endless Vortex and banjaxed the squawk box. Judging by its vast flailing limbs its a Greater Amygdala - nasty bugger; think it was one of those that did for the unlucky denizens of Guarrrag Yeth.  Its got a rheumy eye bigger than the Congo, and if takes one gander at your homeworld, it'll be atomised in a flash!!...Bally unsportsmanlike what!

Anyway rubbed a few of the old grey cells together and got the line back up again! Rain stopped play... but bat freshly oiled and padded up, so lets once more sally forth to the crease!

Foreign blackguard buggered the line!!

Gosh, quite lost my train of thought, where were we. Oh yes, life in Yahar'Gul (the Unseen Village).

The Foreign Desk has demanded some juicy gossip as if this place was the Happy Valley. Unfortunately it could not less resemble a gin-soaked planters paradise.

The closest comparison  - to this foul situation - was when I alone maintained the Queen's Honour in the snow capped hills of Kandahar. The fort had been breached from one side.. and I lay upon the rubble, one leg slowly rotting from Balti-Fungus. I had rifle, bayonet, a bag of bullets and a fair supply of opium chews. Surrounded by the corpses of my regiment, I single-handedly kept the mobs of rabid Pashtuns at bay for 40 days and nights. The days were all flash and action: my face regularly bathed in the rancid blood of Turbaned Thuggees. But it was the long lonely nights that were the very devil. The loneliness brought me closer to thoughts of suicide than I care to admit.. only the portrait of my darling Abigail upon my pendant kept me sane. I would speak and sing to her in hushed tones.. and yes I am man enough to admit.. shed a tear or two.

the only respite from heathen despair

I do not have that pendant now. I am truly alone, drowned both physically and psychically and cast among heathens more merciless than the Qashqai Castraters of Calcutta! It is too heavy a weight for a single man to bear.

Hard years of service have given me the stamina to handle all manner of privation. I hunt, scale mountains, dig shelter, fight fever, consume foreign food and endure the hoots of foreign tongue.. with a stolid equanimity...

But the lack of company... of Jolly English humour and boisterous horseplay... the empty days and endless nights ... alone...without my Abigail.. it is more than I can stand...

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