H.R.H. Victoria

According to Albert there is something called a hard-drive in this machine; well, at present this hard-drive is making noises akin to a chicken being throttled. One fears that one may be 'offline' for a few days in the near future. Should this occur do not despair plebians, I will return with renewed vigour.

My daughter Louise, the artist, had some of her bohemian friends call on her this afternoon. She insisted on cooking a very large mushroom omelette which they all consumed with fervour. Since then they have been giggling like idiots. I don't know quite what my children are growing at Swiss Cottage but I intend to find out.

This evening one of Louise's male companions is to pose for an art class, au naturel, I think that I might feel disposed to do some sketching myself.

I have to go now as another young woman, called Annie Chapman, has just arrived saying that she too was most brutally murdered by my grandson Eddie. This really is insufferable!. Stupid girl.

H.R.H. Victoria

It seems that my hard-drive is all right and that it was in fact a chicken. Signor Francatelli was wrestling with the creature in the corridor, it had made its escape from the kitchen after declining to be cooked. Stupid chicken.

I asked Signor Francatelli to inspect the various vegetables and herbs that my children have been supplying to him from their allotments at Swiss Cottage. It transpires that many of them are of an 'interesting' nature, possessing as they do, hallucinatory qualities.

This could possibly account for my son Arthur's claim that he is being pursued by a meringue, of a most menacing and unpleasant nature. Personally if any meringue should be foolish enough to pursue me I should not hesitate in eating it.

I have to go now as Arthur is on the roof gesticulating wildly at the heavens and cursing all forms of pastry. Stupid boy.