Sunday, August 31, 2008

The Finer Things (9/1/08)

Lord Richard Gladly has been exploring the finer things in life for nearly two and a half decades. Generally regarded as the nation’s foremost authority on all things fine, he has consulted sultans, advised the trend-wise, and instructed the Hollywood-inducted.

In his serialized column, The Finer Things, Mr. Gladly rates and reviews everything from marmalade to wainscoting to haberdasheries, keeping an eye out for what’s finest for you, the Reader.

September 1st, 2008: Lord Richard in the Orient

Let me begin with an apology for my long absence, dear Reader. Mother's vertigo was acting up again and the Highland-Scotts from Blandy-on-the-Shore insisted that we spend some time at the compound with their herd of retarded ponies. When I was errant as a child, Father would force me to drink mediocre champagne and ride these same ponies. I'd hiccup and gasp, the ponies would buck and seek their imaginary foes, and Father would laugh and laugh.

Mother Gladly's take on alcohol was the same as her position on the Irish: as long as it made her feel superior and cared for her children, she was willing to tolerate the odor. I'd usually wake up to find a shandy accompanying my usual breakfast of quail eggs on toast with gold-dusted peppercorns. There's nothing quite like light, bubbly alcohol in the morning to clarify one's position in the world. It's how little Lord Richard learned to swagger.

But I digress. For those of you who do not already know, your dear Lord Richard is currently exploring the Orient. Torrential downpours have kept me inside of doors these last few days, and not even my brolly is enough to keep the rain off when I go out for the occasional cucumber sandwich. Cucumber sandwiches, by the way, are exceedingly difficult to come by here in the Orient.

As luck may have it, I found a little urchin who was willing to help with the more menial tasks (carrying my trunks, shucking my oysters, chewing my food, etc.) for a pittance. As his name was embarrassingly foreign, I have dubbed him Crispin. He is quiet and stores neatly in the wardrobe.

Cheers,
Lord Richard Gladly