Right, Stuart has been acting-up as the guy resonsible for the MacDuff, since he did shoot the last Captain for crimes against humanity during the Harris Prisoner Fiasco. It's only temporary though.
The Admiralty was notified of my current medical condition following the horrid hi-jinx at the Annual Christmas Hootenanny and Gentlemen's Hogmonay De-bagging on Cambridge. I awoke anxiously on Boxing Day completely coated in a liquid whose colour and consistency leads me to conclude that when the cheeky chaps in the officers' club promised to "coat my pudding in brandy butter" they weren't being literal. I haven't had egg on my face of this sort since my days as a don in New Eton.
They should have this monstrous miseltoe removed from my posterior's port-hole in a few days. The horrendous holly may prove more difficult, considering it has ably anchored itself rather firmly in my leaky lower intestine and some of the bulbous berries bear a close and uncanny resemblance to my infamous worrisome warts and pernicious piles.
I have perused my posting and considered this commission. Where's the dratted Derby again? It's not near any ne'er do wells or working-class whelps, one hopes. I shall be requesting a burly squad of muscular young ensigns to move my drinking cabinet and complete collection of hunting rifles.
Shall the Wellesely have any trouble docking there? I hasten to add that squeezing a large object into confined spaces is a task many of my crew may dread initially but seem to rather enjoy once they get warmed up. My considerable experience in commanding awkward insertion missions has certainly stood to me these many years.
My advice to all pilots would be to line your vessel up as flush to the entry-way as possible. Thrust. A vigorous burning of the aft thrusters may be necessary to ensure that the docking clamps grip one's head comfortably.
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