Post by roryo on Mar 25, 2013 10:01:02 GMT
25th day of September in the year of our Lord 1802.
Dear Muvva, and Farva,
Tis I, your son Cornelius, penning my disdain from va far outer stretches of this God forsaken antipodes, that which will someday be named "Australia", but for present tense is erstwhiley named as New Souf Wales. Capt'n Cook wished most earnestly to call it "New Syphilis", but dey shouted 'im down at va Souf Sydney Returned Servicemens League. So New Souf Wales it is then. My job is to take samples of plant life and record various birdlife 'ere and dere. Vi uva day we trapped a hooked beak, small greenish feavered bird which I would 'ave called a "****** munching ********" on account of va injury I most gratuitously obtained upon capture of va beast, but our Capt'n, Lord Sir Captain Hargraves MBE, OBE, SFA, insisted that we name it a "budgerigar".
For dinner we ate a meal of freshly caught scallops, scnapper, oysters and calamari, and the local Aboriginal tribe whipped us up a Black forrest cake, which in dese god forsaken parts is 2 bits of rainforest timber with a lashing of green moss. If I were back 'ome in Ol' Blighty tonight, I'd be tucking in to a most rambunctious offering of water, mixed wif shreds of newspaper, an' salt, lots of salt. I could be back there freezing my ***** off, instead of being 'ere, losing my pasty white complexion in va southern sun, I could be sleepin' in my dreary little damp stone cottage instead of out in a warm night under the horrible, horrible stars.... 'Ow I miss my dear little village; Buttfordshire On Tyne.
I 'ave attempted most perniciously to connect wif va local Aboriginal tribe, I can speak va language, an' today I bailed up va brothers and said; "Yo homeboy, my bruvva in da hood, hows about we wup yo ***, *****?" But vey just stood an' stared at me.
Someday vey will create va perfect society in New Souf Wales; one where we can all marry our cousins in peace an' harmony. As my skin is toasting to a golden brown, my flab is turning to muscle and my blood pressure has lowered, I fear vat time is short, vat I may never set foot in Ol' Blighty again. Woe is me. Woe is me.
Kindest Regards
Your son,
Cornelius
25th day of September, 1802
Dear Muvva, and Farva,
Tis I, your son Cornelius, penning my disdain from va far outer stretches of this God forsaken antipodes, that which will someday be named "Australia", but for present tense is erstwhiley named as New Souf Wales. Capt'n Cook wished most earnestly to call it "New Syphilis", but dey shouted 'im down at va Souf Sydney Returned Servicemens League. So New Souf Wales it is then. My job is to take samples of plant life and record various birdlife 'ere and dere. Vi uva day we trapped a hooked beak, small greenish feavered bird which I would 'ave called a "****** munching ********" on account of va injury I most gratuitously obtained upon capture of va beast, but our Capt'n, Lord Sir Captain Hargraves MBE, OBE, SFA, insisted that we name it a "budgerigar".
For dinner we ate a meal of freshly caught scallops, scnapper, oysters and calamari, and the local Aboriginal tribe whipped us up a Black forrest cake, which in dese god forsaken parts is 2 bits of rainforest timber with a lashing of green moss. If I were back 'ome in Ol' Blighty tonight, I'd be tucking in to a most rambunctious offering of water, mixed wif shreds of newspaper, an' salt, lots of salt. I could be back there freezing my ***** off, instead of being 'ere, losing my pasty white complexion in va southern sun, I could be sleepin' in my dreary little damp stone cottage instead of out in a warm night under the horrible, horrible stars.... 'Ow I miss my dear little village; Buttfordshire On Tyne.
I 'ave attempted most perniciously to connect wif va local Aboriginal tribe, I can speak va language, an' today I bailed up va brothers and said; "Yo homeboy, my bruvva in da hood, hows about we wup yo ***, *****?" But vey just stood an' stared at me.
Someday vey will create va perfect society in New Souf Wales; one where we can all marry our cousins in peace an' harmony. As my skin is toasting to a golden brown, my flab is turning to muscle and my blood pressure has lowered, I fear vat time is short, vat I may never set foot in Ol' Blighty again. Woe is me. Woe is me.
Kindest Regards
Your son,
Cornelius
25th day of September, 1802
