A French chap who doesn't know his own language, at least he pretended not to when I talked to him and said, `Il regarde comme un mouille jour.' Any ass would know what that meant; you would yourselves.

Then there's a lot of old fogies who belong to a society or something, and go and measure, old Blunderbore round the chest and biceps, and photograph him, and all sorts of tomfoolery.

How'd they like it themselves?
They say they're working in the interests of science.

I'd like to catch any one working in the interests of science on my biceps! Rather a rum go yesterday.

The governor and mater were asked to an `At Home' at Blunderbore's private house.