“Q: What do you get when you cross an insomniac, an agnostic, and a dyslexic? A: Someone who stays up all night wondering if there is a Dog.”

………and the tale continue’s…………

ƒ

The widowed Mrs. Florence Baird, so it turned out was a first cousin of the Colonel McDonald, Laird of the Manor of Glenfinnan, and haled from the neighbouring village of ‘’Fort William’. We had quite a merry chat for nearly an hour, in the course of which I told her of my predicament.
To reiterate, I am yet to believe in luck, yet I do believe that our meeting was the nearest thing to it.
Mrs. Baird, recently widowed also, was in London tying off those loose ends that are want to occur when marital life is shattered by a husbands’ death. We chatted further, and with a semi-concealed grin, she asked that we meet again tomorrow, saying that she “may be of some small service to me.”

What a world we live in. Without my knowledge, in the 24 hours between our meetings; Mrs. Baird had telegrammed the Colonel to confirm my identity, that of my predicament, and lastly, of my financial status. Querying as to whether I held, if any, moneys/land/debt/etc. to his knowledge. Being the keeper of all of those things of mine, he confirmed all in the affirmative, with the exception to moneys left owing by myself, which of course there were none, within twelve hours of her sending her telegram.

ƒ

To be continued, of course. Feel free to click upon the picture, delights of mystery and the exotic follow.

Hamish. Still smoking. Bollocks.