Omar's Diary - Monday 11th November 2019

As-Saalam-Alikum (Translated from Arabic to: Peace Be Unto You)

Today at Omar Towers it really did feel like winter was beginning to bite.

Even more so at five minutes past nine. Oh how I hate to say this but we had trade come through the front door again and they did insist on leaving the front door open. This created an Arctic wind tunnel cold enough to chill any Dry Martini and strong enough to test the airflow around an Airbus A380 Dreamliner.

Today, 11th November, is St. Martin’s Day and the myth surrounding it is that today is it is when the summer is supposed to embrace us with its last breath of warmth before conceding to winter. Well, today dispelled that myth with a vengeance.

I can also tell it is officially winter as the dominant subject of conversation between Man and Lady Servant is centered on the equines.

“What rug should we put on today?”

“Should we put them in heavyweight rugs today?”

“Oh no, I think we have over rugged them!”

Rarely and I am not going to say who said it to whom,

“You were right about the rugs today.”

Don’t equines have their own thermo-regulation systems?

Earlier today the Servants went to the local food emporium for supplies. Man Servant refers to this activity humorously as ‘hunter gathering.’ They returned to Omar Towers somewhat disgruntled. They had three complaints. Firstly, the shelves were badly stocked. If this is how they are coping pre-BREXIT what will the shelves be like post BREXIT? Secondly there was no store-baked bread. Apparently, the oven had been condemned for whatever reason and has been out of action for at least three weeks. Thirdly, one of the reusable carrier bags they bought at the checkout split in the driveway here.

Now, as regular readers of this diary know Omar Towers is located at the top of a hill. So, at great cost to Man Servant’s dignity after the bag split, he then had to pursue a tin of produce down the hill. I know it was nothing Mitsi and I eat as all our foods come in foil packages. I do hope that whatever was in the tin was worth the effort and not just a tin of baked beans.

As soon as this diary is completed Man Servant will be dashing off a letter to the head office detailing the complaints and he will include the remnants of the offending carrier bag. In fact, I can sense him getting anxious for us to complete this diary so he can crack on with that letter.

Included in the shopping was today’s edition of The Times. Man Servant knows I really appreciate this publication despite it going tabloid.

We read it in the comfort of the library where there was no need for me to thermo-regulate as it was quite cosy. There were many column inches dedicated to British politics and the forthcoming election to choose Larry’s new servant at 10 Downing Street. Two inside pages were dedicated to the large Remembrance Service in London yesterday. I truly feel that this coverage should have been on the first two pages relegating politics to the pages between the leading articles and obituaries or after obituaries and just before the sports pages.

I do enjoy reading the letters. Not so much the esoteric ones, which I do understand, but the ones the editors use as fillers. The penultimate letter today was headed A True Gentleman of which I have included a copy below.

“The essence of being a gentleman is to treat all people with respect, which means acknowledging and celebrating individuality.”

And this is something all members of the servant species should strive to live by especially those holding public offices.

I received my first envelope from Paddington Bear this morning from Bangladesh. Paddington Bear is a UNICEF Ambassador who is travelling the world and sending me envelopes from his different destinations. I do like receiving post.

In the envelope were several cards illustrating information about Bangladesh. Such as the national animal is the “Royal Bengal Tiger.” I wonder of we are even remotely related. The Sundarbans Forest at over 4,000 square miles is the world’s largest mangrove swamp. The national game is “Kabaddi.” This is a form of tag where participants tag as many members of the opposing team in 30 seconds while holding their breath. Sounds far too energetic for me.

Very accidentally the television this morning defaulted to Good Morning Britain on a commercial channel; so tabloid. The only item we watched for a few seconds before we switched channels was about trying to ban the game of “tag” in school playgrounds by, what Man Servant describes as, “health and safety geeks.” They claimed it was too competitive, too rough and too dangerous.

Gosh, I would like to see them export their views to Bangladesh and try to ban “Kabaddi.” This is probably the only game that can be played in a country where no one can afford to buy rugby balls, footballs or cricket balls.

I am afraid I have to wind this diary up now as I can see Man Servant is becoming increasingly agitated about drafting his letter of complaint to Waitrose.

Dhon-no- bad and dunobad

(Thank you and goodbye in Bengali.)