The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

I used the excuse of having to weigh out the spices for the baking to have Amber join me when the time for making the cake approached.

She creamed half a pound of slightly salted butter with the same weight of soft dark sugar, then beat in four eggs, consecutively, and finally I added what amounted to a few drops of almond essence, and a teaspoonful of vanilla essence.

She certainly will have no problem of appearing to be of just about average intelligence, but she seems to have learned her lesson and is not taking calls from anyone to do with her uncle, who seems to have vanished, at the moment.

The long kilt as worn by Mister McGreagor does seem to be exciting interest amongst the gels, and there is much speculation.
'Boxers.' I told her. She seemed very disappointed.
'His father on the other hand is a traditionalist.'
Her eyes opened and her mouth contracted so that with her hair under the obligatory head scarf she looked not unlike a bowling ball. There must have been a collision of two, or even more brain cells.
'How do you know?'
'Mister McGreagor was taken to the infirmary and stripped off when the heat was too much for him at the disco, his father helped me run up stairs to get him some cooler clothing.'
She giggled.

I went on weighing out approximately one teaspoonful of the ground spices; cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, clove and mixed spice, and adding them to one pound of plain flour.

'I have always found it advisable to assume that all men come with the same equipment, which they keep in the same place - and have not found much variation, though admittedly I have not examined a wide sample. I have never quite understood the urge to find out - I mean - what do you do once you know?'
She did not seem to have an answer and not wanting to strain her I turned my attention to combining the flour and fruit mixtures, a little at a time with the butter and sugar. Finally I added two teaspoons of baking powder, sprinkled onto the surface and mixed in well. The mixture was then placed in tins lined with three layers of greaseproof paper, the innermost given a rubbing with butter to reduce the possibility of it sticking, and then the tops decorated in a pattern of blanched almonds. The covers were put on the tins, and I programmed the oven to cook for two hours at 325 degrees Fahrenheit, and then for a further two hours at 300 degrees. I would not have to return to remove them until the following day, and I locked the doors so that they could not be removed before then.

That evening I met the Minister, who seems to be a rather jovial sort - though it could have been the preprandial drinks with the directors which caused that. His wife is ever so much a diplomat's wife, poor dear, but she seems to be very fond of him. Madam Erzulie was talking to her most of the time as they had at one time been in the same part of Africa and knew lots of people from there.

I wore my rather faded Black Watch kilt, with a deep green velvet jacket, and Mister Brown said I looked like an officer in the rifles, which I think he meant as a compliment even though it could not be true. After dinner and port he came to talk to me. We have never taken to the ritual of the ladies leaving the men after dinner, not since one of the earlier directors declared that if she went out, the port was going with her.

He seems very exercised about this Globo-Fashion business. I think he means to do something quite drastic - the sort of thing that involves lots of burly men smashing down doors and rushing around shouting a lot. He seemed quite perplexed that I tried to persuade him that there were more civilised ways of doing things.

[Pleater]

I suppose it is extra security for the Minister's visit, but it is just unfortunate that there are any number of furtive fellows around the grounds and even on the roof and the weather has changed from very pleasant to frankly awful.

The ones up in the belvedere have some shelter, but I saw the ones on the Rotunda make a strategic withdrawal when it started get really bad with the hailstones plus thunder and lightening. It is bitterly cold too and the students have found that their academic gowns of warm gray wool are suddenly quite the thing. We are quite high up here, and open to all the weather, so there is a real need for warm clothes. I handed out the rabbit fur waistcoats, and saw that Madam Erzulie has once again brought out the cloak I made for her the first year she was here. I found a few things for our visitors too, though the younger couple don't seem inclined to get out of bed at all.

[davedove]

He seems very exercised about this Globo-Fashion business. I think he means to do something quite drastic - the sort of thing that involves lots of burly men smashing down doors and rushing around shouting a lot.

We all know that's the only real way to get a job done.

[Pleater]

Mister McGreagor seemed quite concerned about my not doing my usual security check last night. He worries too much - I mean all those men around the place - who's going to break in? I should be so lucky hey?

I'm just going to get some carrots for the rabbits, and maybe find some peas for the hens - they must get really bored with the food here - Is that fear fare fier? - I mean - we get to eat them and enjoy - and they get those pellets all ti thime.

[Pleater]

Hee hee they thought I was dnurk - just because I fell over a bit - they're ovely bepole but such fishputs.

They said I ought to have a lid down - don't know why - I feel great.

dassssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss sssssssss

[Pleater]

They are a pair of wicked old biddies!!

I mean - when opening up a freshly baked Christmas cake who is not going to take a good deep breath of that lovely aroma? And get a good big dose of the concentrated spice oils.

I am so embarrassed - I just hope none of the students saw me base over apex in the shrubbery.

Apparently they were just testing it - me being the director most likely to show the greatest alteration.

Fancy someone leaving behind their notebook in a pocket - a pocket of something just left in a wardrobe - well - it was not just lying around, the last person to use the bed in that room was probably one of Queen Victoria's naughty cousins, and the wardrobe could probably hide the doorways to several magical kingdoms.

At least it does not leave you with a hangover.

I was probably affected by it yesterday - thinking about it with that dreadful clarity which comes post antidote. Actually I don't think it was entirely counteracted, or I would be far angrier than this.

No wonder everyone gets misty eyed about world peace and goodwill to all men at this time of year.

[Pleater]

HA!!

They are really pleased that their 'little experiment' went so well. They were going to tell the Minister, but I advised against it. He will want it put with the other things in the vault - or somewhere else even further away. Or even worse he will want to try to use it to make everybody friends, or maybe just Britain's friend.

The notebook is now in the safe, for when it is needed.

Mister Brown is delighted that his bugs are letting him eavesdrop on some flaming rows between the 'subjects' in which people are being named, and really useful information screamed and bellowed loud and clear.

Daphne is going to contact her Harrod's man so that a small but very select hamper can be delivered - hopefully before the two kill eachother, but not until Mister Brown - whoever he is - has got all he needs.

[Pleater]

The minister took a phone call, and came into the North dining room looking serious. He had no hesitation in telling all those assembled of the content of that call, and that Hamish was being transported home from the USA in an airship - it surely could only be the Saltire.
'I hope that you don't mind, I suggested that he be brought here, to recuperate - I know you did such sterling work in the wars.'
'Will he be safe?' I enquired. 'Our security has been shaky recently.'
'Not at night.' said Mister McGreagor, wryly.
'Why wouldn't he be safe here?'
'He wasn't safe at home.' I pointed out.
'I'll have my man look at things - see how it can be improved.'
'Waterproof lookout posts will probably be his first thought.'
'Yes - it has been rather wild here recently.'
'A house in Storrington was hit by lightning,' said the Minster's wife, quite casually.
'That's where Hamish lives.' I gasped.
'Several places were hit, I believe - it was a bad storm.'
I rose from the table clumsily, and made a hurried exit. Could it be that leaving Ivana Rulital and her Globo-Fashion associates free to act had resulted in a revenge attack on the Kollection? Was there now a smouldering ruin where once had resided the Ace of kilt wearers and his many beautiful well chosen garments?