Showing posts with label Thomas Macaulay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thomas Macaulay. Show all posts

Thursday, 3 May 2012

Chicken broth and flannel





. . .  I'd shared Langtry with him, behind his back, and done my duty by pretty Daisy — as who hadn't ? Not La Keppel, though; she was after my time, worse luck, not heaving into view until I'd reached what Macaulay calls the years of chicken broth and flannel, when you realise how dam’ ridiculous you'd look chasing dollymops young enough to be your daughter, and seek solace in booze, baccy, and books. Regrettable, of course, but less tiring and expensive.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.223, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Tuesday, 24 June 2008

Fat-headed remark


‘Why of course,’ says she. ‘we are quite an Indian gathering, with Mr Macaulay here.’ The name meant nothing to me then, he was looking at me damned hard, though, with his pretty little mouth set hard. I later learned that he had spent several years in government out there, so my fat-headed remark had not been lost on him, either.



Flashman, p.272, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.




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Monday, 23 June 2008

Without thinking I said

...he opened his eyes and said did I speak the language, and would I say something in it. So without thinking I said the first words that came into my head: ‘Hamare ghali ana, achha din,’ which is what the harlots chant at passers-by, and means ‘Good day, come into our street.’ He [Prince Albert] seemed very interested, but the man beside him stiffened and stared hard at me.
  ‘What does it mean, Mr Flashman?’ says the Queen.
  ‘It is a Hindu greeting, marm,’ says the Duke, and my guts turned over as I recalled that he had served in India.



Flashman, p.272, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.




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