Together

I am not a religious man, I am afraid the concept of God completely escapes me and has done since I was very young. It follows therefore that religion leaves me cold and in my opinion has caused over the centuries more harm than good. Religious doctrines are all very well and perfectly understandable but really! I know humans have this insatiable desire to want to believe there is some existence after life. I just believe we cease to exist and that's as it should be. How arrogant is the human race to believe we are so special? I have formed many views in my life, some have been changed by experience and softened by age and a broader view of the world. However as I have got older I think my view of religion has hardened. I dislike more now than I did when I was a young man. Perhaps my admiration for those who have true belief might have altered but I avoid any discussion on the subject as I can hear myself become quite militant in my views. Most of us are free to believe and think whatever we choose, to many of us follow blindly what we are told to believe and far too many follow those beliefs without ever questioning them. I have always espoused we should consider all the evidence and then formulate our own beliefs. I have encouraged this in my sons. As I write religion is yet again at the centre of the major differences between countries and the trouble within them. The cloak of religious interpretation has once more lead a small minority to adopt a murderous and barbaric way of imposing their agenda on others. The chaos and disruption this has caused among millions, who only want a peaceful life and safety for their families has become untenable, displacing thousands and if the war is not killing them the flight to freedom often does. Sadly I am not sure there is a solution to any of it. If one element is defeated I fear another will spring up to take it's place. It may not happen straight away but it will happen. As usual we seem incapable or unwilling to learn the lessons from history.

And so to Christmas, which is where I was leading to. Not because of it's religious significance, I think you've got that by now, I like it because our family is all together and I like giving presents. 

Merry Xmas

The Return

Not written for a while been writing my memoirs. Written quite a lot actually, surprising how the memory opens up once you get going. Memories have flooded out. I did not believe I am a writer and yet it has flowed across the page and actually makes sense. Of course the good lady has laughed at my efforts but she does it good naturedly and says she will buy a copy should it ever be published. In actual fact I am not thinking that far ahead and may never actually put it into print. It has been an exercise in whether I can actually do it. 
So I will keep you informed as progress is made
Farewell for now

Holiday

Hello Guestling back again after a slight absence
Been away with the good lady in our holiday home on Crete
Absence also due to writing my memoirs.
So if I am a little tardy in writing on this esteemed page forgive me, normal service will be resumed eventually
Speak soon

Temptation

Hello I am the Sir Guestling and thus it will always be!

Many years past when both I and the world were younger, a rather naive Guestling Thorn, believed that most people in the diplomatic service were trustworthy and honest. I mistakenly thought that as a representative of Her Majesty's government one had integrity, was honest and would try one's hardest to achieve the best outcome. It did not take too long to dissuade me of that ideal. I was not so naive, that I thought diplomacy would always find a solution, history has shown that to many disputes and situations just cannot be solved by measured discussions but I did believe we could change things.
In every walk of life you meet those who take shortcuts or want an easy life, some who deliberately find obstacles where there are none, who cheat and lie for their own gain or who simply don't care. We've all met them. I like to think the best of people and until they prove me wrong and I try to treat everyone that way. Sometimes your view of a colleague can be misguided and they are not as bad as you believed and sometimes they are far worse!
It is far worse, when the person in question is the leader of the team. I had been posted to an embassy in a very volatile south american country, I am deliberately not saying which one, nor will I mention the Ambassador in question, not because of any qualms about the politics but because I do not wish to impugn the reputation of a person who is long passed or upset his family. This man had a distinguished career and was well thought of in the diplomatic community. I was honoured to join his team and looked forward to learning from him. There were only a few of us and the country was in a state of constant turmoil, corruption was rife, killings were frequent and the whole situation became increasingly volatile. The government was losing control and the president looked to Britain and the USA to help them out. The Americans had their own agenda and were reluctant to get involved, they were still involved in Vietnam and had no wish to embroil themselves in another conflict. The British position was, as always, to try and stay neutral and see if we could persuade all the protagonists to meet and discuss a peaceful end to all conflict. Our Ambassador dragged his feet and seemed to procrastinate and delay, instead of trying to move things quickly. At first I thought it was a clever tactic and believed in his ultimate aim as he put it 
To bring everyone to the brink and get them sat down
I had been left to my own devices one afternoon in our rather splendid old colonial style embassy and found myself in the ambassador's office where I was trying to organise a stack of documents.  By accident I triggered a secret compartment in the desk, it revealed a leather covered ledger. I opened the pages and found a complete set of figures which were the accounts of bribes and other payments that our gallant leader had been taking from all sides and where he had transferred the money too. To say I was shocked and horrified is an understatement but it did explain his reluctance to help settle matters. The longer he could keep things as they were, it seemed the more he could line his own filthy pockets! My faith, in a man I believed acted with integrity and diplomacy, was shattered. I am a Thorn and I knew what I had to do. A Thorn's approach to these problems is to face them head on and sometimes damn the consequences, clearly he was corrupt and clearly it had to be stopped. He returned and I asked for a private meeting. He greeted me all smiles and compliments, telling me he had been meaning to inform me what a good job I was doing and how he was sorry he had not found the time to say so. His bonhomie rapidly disappeared as I produced the ledger from behind my back and his hand strayed nervously to the secret compartment.  
What have you there?
I think you know sir I calmly replied, though I felt far from calm inside.
He coughed and laughed nervously And what do you propose to do with it?
I am hoping there is a rational explanation sir and it's not what it seems?
I was expecting a denial or some reasoning of it's content but to my surprise he said I'm afraid Guestling it is exactly what you think it is! So what are you going to do?
I hesitated, I had been expecting denial and I had got a flat admission of guilt, I confess it threw me off balance but a Thorn must do the right the thing, a little bending of rules can be tolerated especially for the right reason but flagrant corruption cannot. 
I am duty bound to report it sir, you have prolonged a dangerous situation for your own gain and it must have consequences. All pretence at bravado dissipated and he slumped in his chair and collapsed like a deflated balloon.
I have ruined a long career and besmirched my service, sometimes Guestling greed creeps up and even though you know it's wrong the temptation is to great. Age catches up with us all and I was only thinking of my comfort and not my duty. Make your call Thorn, I deserve it.
Somewhat shocked by his rapid capitulation, that's what I did.
Well the matter was dealt with quickly after that, of course it was all done quietly and with little fuss. All of the staff were replaced and investigated in case they too had been tainted, including myself. I'm pleased to report that none of the others were involved and all were ignorant of his crime.
Nor did my part in the affair do me any good and for a time my career was stalled but old Guestling usually comes bouncing back and so I did!
Well that was a long time ago but it is a timely reminder that no matter who or how high the office corruption will tempt even the best of us and one must be ever vigilant in resisting. Sound familiar?
Have a great week, tat ta for now.

You have to finish sometime!

My name is Sir Guestling Thorn and so it has been

Retirement is an odd thing 
Why for starters, is it called retirement, you have not opted out of society, you are no different than the day before. You can stop whatever you are employed at, whenever you like, at any age or never start "work" in the first place. Retirement is a reference to age, a relatively advanced age, usually 60 plus. We are supposedly winding down towards our demise, death. Well that is inevitable and should not be feared in any way, it is the natural conclusion to living. I'm no philosopher, I am pleased to say I don't know that much about life, to much of a bloody nuisance if you ask me. There are much cleverer people than good old Guesty who can spout about that! However, I have gleaned some insight into the vagaries of existence on planet earth. We take it too seriously, we are obsessed with advancing our "knowledge", extending our time, emphasising the differences between us and not what make us the same. 
The massive plethora of media, dissect, analyse and theorise endlessly about the human condition and how we can alter it. Books, DVD's, magazines, TV, Internet,radio, social media and so on. (and yes I get the irony of that statement!) I am impressed by the progress of the human race in all it's achievements, what a shame we so often forget the lessons that this progress and history has taught us. 
We inhabit the same planet but have a bewildering, if understandable need, of dividing land and imposing borders, then some foolish nutters try to take over their neighbours territory and we all know where that get's us. Peace is an aspiration for all but history dictates that we are very poor at maintaining that peace. Religious support systems have largely failed us. I freely admit that Sir Guestling is an atheist, though that label is to me an as much an anathema as being called a Christian or a Muslim or a Jew or any other derivative of these and all the other faiths that man has invented. I use "man" and "invented" deliberately! 
Off at a tangent as usual, never could keep to the point, well not in my personal twitterings, managed it in my professional career, just about.

So we live, we get older, so what. Physically we slow, mentally we can still have a mind like a rubber trap! Are we not the same person but older, more experienced, wiser, knowledgeable, kinder, more tolerant etc. Well perhaps not. 

The current attitude from our incumbent government is to cut benefits to the older residents in order to save money and cut the deficit. 
As usual they are looking at the issue from the wrong end of the telescope, instead of cutting, we should be looking at ways to improve everyone's comfort by increasing the overall collective wealth. The whole issue needs turning on it's head and the tired entrench thinking, has to be changed, enlightened fresh, radical idea's have to be found. I don't profess to have answers but I am perfectly entitled to ask the questions! 
We all have a responsibility to prepare for our older years but the welfare should be shared at a standard that provides for all, if needed. Once again our society is proving that exclusion is more prevalent than the opposite. The irony is, we are encouraged to be healthier, eat better, take care of ourselves and then are penalized for living longer! 
Lady Thorn a more caring individual than I sometimes portray in these pieces, would categorize it thus 
People don't matter, things do, make people matter more and things less!
She's right of course but then she usually is.
You have to laugh. 

Sporty

Sir Guestling on the WWW again
A word about the sporting life.
I am a sports fan and have when the spirit moved me taken part in quite a few. Can't say I ever excelled at any but I could hold my own from time to time. The nomad nature of the diplomatic life did not lend itself to regular participation, although opportunities were taken where possible and many a diplomatic solution has been agreed during 18 holes of the old dimpled white ball being whacked.
Britain is the inventor of many world wide sporting pursuits football, rugby, cricket etc. that we spread round the world, through empire and to all parts of the globe. Early amateur beginnings have grown into major giant commercial, worldwide cash generating industries, with huge sponsorship, massive governing bodies, large rewards and all of the attendant media that inevitably accompany, quite literally, the whole circus that these huge sports have become. If you are into sports, then I am sure many of us still enjoy watching or playing the actual sport itself, irrespective of the attendant politics and self-interest. Sport can be inspiring, breathtaking, thrilling and at times can lift you out of your seat. Who, when supporting one's favourite or national team, has not hidden behind the sofa whilst the tension becomes palpable during a vital match?  Sport enriches our cultural heritage and most of the time brings us closer together.
Like all endeavours, it does have a dark side, guilty of cheating, drugs, corruption, danger and bitter rivalries, it reflects society and mirrors all of its incumbent frailtities. Look at athletics, cycling and the machiavellian saga that is FIFA! 
It can be very amusing.
I once played in a football match many, many, years past, when pitches were not the best, only the outer parts of the playing area were really negotiable, the middle was like a quagmire. The ball was passed into the centre circle where the mud was at it's thickest, naturally it stuck fast, four players, two of each team came racing in as quickly as the pitch would allow, each of them eyes, fixed on the ball and each thinking that a big kick would be required to move it. They all converged at the same time and in their effort to collect the football all four lost their balance slid in a heap,in doing so the impact burst the ball, they managed to pick themselves up, however the mud was so clingy that each of them had their shorts pulled off! Much hilarity, embarrassment and abandoning of the game as it was the only ball that either team had. If YouTube had existed then, the video would have gone viral, it was like synchronised swimming so perfectly did they converge!
At my advanced age I only play the odd game of golf and go for a bike ride as often as I can. Much against my better judgement I was persuaded, when in my fifties, to play in a charity five a side match. Having not kicked a ball for many years I had no idea how I would perform. The good lady told me bluntly, that I was damn fool and I would regret it. When I asked if she was coming to watch, she scoffed, told me that wild horses wouldn't drag her to witness my stupidity. How correct she proved to be! My brain still understood what to do, I was reasonably fit but none of this helped. They say that it takes several miles for an oil tanker to turn and I knew exactly what that meant, by the time the synaptic nerves in my brain had relayed the message to my body it was too late. Of course there were slaps on the back and well dones handed out but I knew my fellow players were being kind. A good friend who had watched my pathetic display and who knows me well enough, told me some time after, that it was like everyone moving at normal pace whilst this one person, me, was in slow motion!
Anyway, if my plodding performance was not enough to put me off, the aches that set in for the next couple of days, did. To say I was stiff of limb, would have been an understatement, it took all of Pomfrey's considerable manipulative skills to keep me mobile.  
Lady Guestling tried to hide her amusement and to her great credit resisted the urge to say she had told me so.
I now confine my involvement to the armchair or the occasional invite to the venue or stadium, to spectate.
Sport, wonderful, uplifting, exciting, divisive, inclusive, disappointing, emotional, brutal, dramatic, poetic, it can hold communities together or tear them apart, split families or unite them, it can lift us, it can bring us down, sport encompasses all of these and much much more. Our lives would be the poorer without the human endeavour that provides such fantastic entertainment.
To watch a well struck six, a twenty five yard screamer that hits the back of the net, the jinking try, the chip from the edge of the green that pitches in the hole, the breathless surge as an athlete breaks the "tape", the grace and strength of the gymnast, artistry and skill in so many different activities, you sometimes have to suspend belief. 
Well I must go, I can hear the good lady's voice in my head. Your waxing lyrical again Guesty!

Confidence

Tis Sir Guestling and Sir Guestling is the name.
Now I am, some would say, not a modest man, I have an inflated view of my own importance. There maybe some truth to that but I would point out that these are traits that are misinterpreted and are really just confidence. When one is in the diplomacy business, it behoves a person to behave and act as though one is in full charge of what one is doing. There might be flapping going on below the water line but above it must be calm, clear and confident. I have always been confident or able to radiate it even if inside I am bricking it! Over time you become what you portray and experience teaches you how to handle given situations.
Let me give you an example.
In Paris at my last posting as Ambassador, I received a message from the foreign office asking me to meet with the French fisheries control. Now I freely admit I knew and know little about big offshore fishing, trawlers and all that but there is no way I would go into such a conference without having the basic facts. The French, naturally, wanted their quotas increased the UK did not. My task was to stall their progress so as Britain could protect our own position. Partners in Europe we maybe but self-interest does not disappear and at the time there was a bit of a fuss over the state of  the fishing industry in the UK and jobs were being lost, communities affected.
The French representatives were not chuffed about meeting the British Ambassador, they wanted to meet with the ministry and get things moving. The key to meeting with representatives of any industry is to learn enough to get you by but not to much as to appear an expert. You fill in the blanks by nodding sagely  and picking up cues from what you are being told. It also helps to have a Pomfrey in the room standing silently in the background.
The French are all quiet charm when they first meet with you if the agenda progresses they way they wish they remain polite and soft spoken but if things do not go their way things can get quite heated with galic charm disappearing rapidly, arms begin to gesticulate, fingers wag and shoulders shrugging!
There were five delegates, all men. Sure enough the discussion got off to a gentle start everyone cordial and polite but then when it became obvious that things were not progressing to their liking, the heat turned up and demands were made, the volume rose and the body language became more animated . A Mr Labern, who seemed to be in charge was the most vocal on their objective, which was to open immediate talks with the British fisheries agency. I sat quietly, a serious expression on my visage, as they made these points, got Pomfrey to replenish any refreshments and sat back until the storm of rhetoric calmed. I doubt if I can recall all that was said, my french is ok and their mixture of it with English was a little confusing but that was not the point, I had a job and whatever they proposed, I was going to do it. When they finally settled down Mr Labern looked at me and said
Well Mr Ambassador what do you propose to do?
I cogitated for a moment stroked my beard, took a sip of tea, looked him straight in the eye and replied
Sir, I take on board all you have said and it is obvious that you feel strongly about your position, you have given me plenty to think about and as I am sure you would expect I must now consult with my government to impress upon them the earnestness of your case. Once I have done this I promise you I will inform you in of their decision and that I will endeavour to do this as fast as possible, through the appropriate channels. I think therefore this meeting is concluded, may I thank you for your attendance, your well presented points and I am sure we talk again very soon. Pomfrey would you be so kind as to show these gentleman out?
Five slightly bewildered Frenchman rose and I shook each of their hands as Pomfrey showed them out.
Mission accomplished.
Confident, firm diplomacy the English way!

Pigs and Labour......and oh that middle east!

Hello I am the Sir Guestling and damn right to!
You know many people ask me to comment about current events? Why anyone would need the opinion of a retired diplomat like myself I don't know but there you are. 
Take this current furore about our Prime Minister and his alleged intimacy with a certain animal of the bacon variety, well storm in a teacup if you ask me, even if he did insert his cock in a porker, who bloody cares? Gives him some colour in his otherwise dreary background and after all which of us has not got some weird skeleton lurking somewhere in our back pages? David speaks to me from time to time, if he ever asked about this I'd tell him to big it up, in the modern vernacular, after all that would make his negotiations with other heads of state in Europe a bit more spicy, a man who fucked a dead pig, should not be messed with  eh Mrs Merkel!
Talking of leaders, this new Labour chappy, Corbyn, breath of fresh air, if you ask me, oh I know he's been around for ages, simmering on the back benches but now he is in charge, what a wheeze, he must look in the mirror every day and give a small smug snigger! That will teach you buggers for thinking I was the joke candidate, now look what the party has got! I'm no labour supporter, strictly a servant of whom ever is in power, in the diplomacy game but would it not be refreshing if he actually won a general election? He fooled his own party, who knows if he could not fool the electorate? I don't say he is not credible or serious about his policies, such as they are but a man in his sixties in mismatched clothing and a lefty, priceless!
Now about this migrant, refugee, asylum crisis. I can claim to have some expertise in this area from my days in the diplomatic service. Everywhere I served to a greater or lesser degree it was an issue one had to deal with, not on the current scale but I've dealt with a lot of displaced nationals who are trying to escape an untenable and often dangerous life threatening situation. Let us be clear, every person should have the right, to live in relative peace and want to protect their family and if I  and my family,was in serious danger of death, I'd bloody well want to get out too. It is a tragic and sickening disaster, what is going on in a number of middle east countries, Iraq, Syria, Libya, Palestine etc. human slaughter of the worst kind, crazy men trying desperately to either hang on to power or trying to obtain it, with religious divisions, even between those that are of the same faith. Twas ever thus!
The region has always been a powder keg, especially since the winning powers after WW2 carved things up as they always have done, throughout history. The West's and the rest of the world's, singular, in the main, poor mis-understanding of the tribal, religious, cultural and political nature of these countries has lead to the ever present turmoil that they are experiencing today. I'm not saying that the factions in these countries are not equally responsible for the suffering that goes on or that it might not have happened without our interference but I'm utterly convinced that we have made it 10 times worse. Good things have happened and not all relations between us are bad but I don't think we have helped as much as we have hindered!  The Iraq war of Blair and Bush, well need I say more!
The influx of displaced people from this region will not be solved, without the blindingly obvious, a solution to each country's internal struggles. Unfortunately it is hugely exacerbated by the fact that you cannot negotiate with ISIS or report on the war because they will just behead any reporter or journalist or it seems whomever it pleases them to execute! Complex, tragic, massively difficult, how do you change an ideology, how people think or believe and interpret their faith? It is very hard for most people, to understand how they are using the juxtaposition of modern social media and weapons to establish, what appears to us, as a barbaric middle ages type caliphate! And girls if you are tempted by this regime, think again they have no respect or use for women other than that that man has subjegated you for, over hundreds of years.
It really is a conundrum, shrouded in mystery and all wrapped up in an enigma! 
I will say this about fighting ISIS, you cannot go at it half hearted, if the West is going to bomb them, it is no good trying to be surgical about it, much as it pains me to say it, as a man of peace, they have to be wiped out, obliterated and if the consequences of such action means there will be collateral damage, perhaps that is a regrettable but necessary sacrifice. There is no peace with ISIS and no easy solution, every choice, will destroy peoples lives!
Easy for me to say!
Blimey, got all serious there for a line or two, well nobody said old Guesty was all fun and smiles. If the good lady reads this she'll tell me to keep my opinions to myself and stop being so bloody pretentious!
Guesty, she will say, nobody wants to read your scribblings on this stuff, delusions, you old fool, delusions!
She is probably right, after all opinions are like cocks, every other person has got one, eh! 

It's not all meetings and bone china!

Sir Guestling here
You know having been in Her Majesty's diplomatic service, I had over the years some odd and amusing requests from the many of the people that I've dealt with along the way. One such, was a very wealthy man in deepest Kazakhstan, who in return for shared water rights for a village close by, wanted a shirt and the autograph of all the players of the Plymouth Argyle football club! Apparently his father on his one trip to Britain had ended up watching a match they played and had become an instant fan. He had passed this love of "The Pilgrims"  to his son and though he had never been out of his own country, he followed their exploits and suffered as any fan would with their ups and downs. 
A farmer in a remote village in Kenya, was not keen on a road being built across his land. It was a British company that had won the contract and so we were asked to negotiate with him. Through an interpreter, it became clear that he was quite intransigent and was not going to budge. It seemed there was little he wanted and no inducement, large or small had any effect, in changing his mind. I noticed that he appeared to live alone and could see no evidence of any family, unusual for a land owning Kenyan man. I asked him where his family was and he replied that his wife had left him and that they had not had any children. He was a man of middling years, seemingly good natured, he suddenly smiled broadly, his impossibly white teeth showing, he tugged at my sleeve.
He spoke rapidly to the interpreter, who nodded and turned to me now also smiling. 
Sir, he wants another wife!
Well I joined in the communal smiling, in parts of Kenya it is not unusual for a man to have more than one wife and anyway his had left him. Arrangements were made, wife was found and road was built.
In Washington USA the capital and seat of government, as we all know anything can happen and does so on a daily basis. A more political fast paced arena you will not find anywhere else in the world. The intrigue, corruption and scandal is endemic and the accompanying media frenzy that feeds off of it, is mind boggling. Everyone is making a deal or trying to get something for something as they all endeavour to climb the greasy pole. In spite of this there is humour and genuinely odd moments that one encountered in the course of one's professional service. Britain is inexorably partnered with the USA and nothing is ever likely to change that, so it is always busy. Most Americans are pretty insular and their view of the world somewhat narrow, as far as they are concerned, although they know there are other countries, the States is far to important to know much about them!
A certain Senator, whom I had spent a lot of time with and knew moderately well, lingered after a meeting and when the others involved had left the room, shut the door and turning to me asked if he could discuss something of a personal nature. He explained that his daughter had fallen for an Englishman and she was talking about marrying him. The daughter was relatively young, although of legal age to make such a decision. He thought she was too young to get married anyway but certainly not to this man who his instinct told him not to trust. 
This "limey" who had won my precious little girls affection, as he put it, was up to no good! Guestling can you help me? 
Well I looked into it and it turned out that this "limey" was actual an Aussie and our dear Senator had confused a broad Adelaide accent with us Brits, typical American! He was a fine lad from a prominent family and it seemed it was true love. I contacted the father and informed him he had nothing to concern himself about. 
He's from Adelaide, he exclaimed, where the hell is that in the UK? I made my excuses and gave up!
Another negotiation, in yet another location involved a lady requiring a Rolls Royce and a live goat! Both were duly provided and it is perhaps prudent to gloss over the purpose of this request, suffice it to say that it was slightly on the wrong side of the legal line but a deal was done and diplomacy kept the peace.
I've provided all sorts of other odd items, in order to facilitate the smooth path of negotiation of local and/or international incident. People, animals, cars, boats, food, furniture, electronics, copious quantities of alcohol and tobacco products and many more far more bizarre items, including for one particular couple an entire shipment of erotic sex equipment, which were banned in their strict country.
One man would not budge from his position without every person in our embassy appearing before him and getting on their knees and and genuflecting. Even for the some of my staff this was a step to far and it took some persuasion on my part. 
Yes diplomacy is not all meetings and bone china, you have to get down and dirty sometimes, as they say! 

Sons

Tis me the Guestling.
You know when writing one's adventures it is sometimes easy to miss very important facts. I have introduced a number of the members of my family and many of the people in my life. I have up until now neglected to introduce proudest and most precious achievement, my children. Lady Thorn has always been the light in my life but my sons are the substance and carry the Thorn torch forward into the future. My sons are the only offspring on our generations tree, me and the good ladies siblings have not produced a single child between them.  So without them the tree would have withered and died!
Now you may have thought having read my previous ramblings that Lady Thorn and I had never had time for children but that was my fault for neglecting to write about them.
Somewhere in the hectic and my oft moving career in the world of diplomacy we managed to have two boys and nurture them well enough that they have grown into fine men and have made both their mother and I proud. 
Number one son was born on a Saturday, with all his fingers and toes and everything in the right place and yes I was present at the birth, a very prideful and emotional experience.
We named him, after some debate between his mother and I, Cole Beauregard Randolph Francis Thorn. He has grown into a wonderful chap. Highly intelligent, must be from his mother, a credit to himself and hopefully our parenting skills.
Two years later his brother came into our lives a little sooner than the full gestation period, so keen was he to get himself into the world, gave us a bit of a fright at first, incubators and all that but it turned out fine, though its safe to say he has been going at that speed ever since. We thought long and hard about names, did not help us in the slightest, he is Lucas Aaron Pierce Lennon Thorn.
He like his brother, has grown up to become a fine man. 
Naturally we have had our ups and downs with both of them, boys will be boys and none of us have not been off the rails from time to time but their mother and I could not have brought up two finer specimens of the Thorn clan.
So the family is complete. Of course credit must also go to Pomfrey. When each of them were born, his ever present smile grew into a wide grin and on both occasions it was the only time that I ever saw his composure slip as he danced a little jig upon the news. Pomfrey in many ways, like a kindly Uncle has imbued important values in both of them and guided them in ways that I would not have had the good sound sense to have done. He and Lady Thorn's wise council and no nonsense advice has in great part given them a grounded view of life. 
Me, I hope I have and will continue to help them understand this crazy world, I like to think that I have been the humor and discipline in their upbringing. The one thing I am proud to have imbued in them is their great respect and delight in the company of the opposite sex, equality of all people on this planet, to carry no prejudice, to give everyone a fair chance and when necessary treat anyone abusing those values with sympathy unless there is no other choice but to take action. I am not so foolish to believe that they would not have reached this understanding on their own but I am a firm believer that the child's perception of life comes largely from the environment they grow up in.
They have both met and settled down with lovely partners, wonderful women with whom I hope they will have, as great a long term relationship, as their parents.
I am not a sentimental man, my wife would disagree.
Your a soppy sod Guesty She will often comment but that being said, having children is one of life's great adventures and if it puts a smile on your face, you can't ask for more than that!
Bloody hell, she will call me a soppy sod after reading this!!

Sir Guestling

I am as you have, surmised by now, a knight of the realm. A great honor. I am the first of the Thorn clan to achieve this distinction. It is no great mystery why it was presented to me. It's recognition for my long years of representing Her Majesties Government all over the world, in what I immodestly like to think was a distinguished career in the foreign office. The knighthood was bestowed upon me after four stints as an Ambassador in four separate embassies, a feat, which I understand is unique. 
We were just leaving the last of those four embassies, Paris, where we had been in residence for two years. I had decided to bring my career to an end,the good lady and I had decided that it was time to settle down in Thorn Towers at last and retire from the diplomatic service. 
I was exhausted, Paris may sound like a comfortable and civilized embassy to be the ambassador of but on the contrary it was and is one of the busiest and sometimes most difficult places to practice British diplomacy. En ton cordial and all that we may have but the French can be the most infuriating of people to deal with, however charming they are. Not to mention the succession of other nationalities within our great European union, that one had to handle. France is a big player in the European community, there is a lot to do, with endless meetings, functions, events and people whom you have to meet. The UK is always sending lots of requests for all sorts of business they wish taken care of and so it had proved to be one of my toughest appointments. Lady Guestling, as she was about to become, played her full part to, I can tell you it is almost impossible to run an embassy without the help and support of your better half and of course I also had the faithful Pomfrey to look after me. Pomfrey would act as a butler when we had formal occasions. His subtle but imposing presence was always a comfort to me and often helped in tricky situations. I am sure that he intimidated many of the representatives, that I had to meet, seeing this silent 6' 7', bearded figure, being attentive in anticipation of everyone's needs, was a home advantage, that I make no excuse for using. I am sure many a visitor, whom may have been getting hot under the collar was put off by the ethereal presence of Pomfrey.

There were perks and Paris can be an exciting and culturally wonderful city, we have since visited it as private citizens and whilst naturally we had the advantage of my previous reputation to smooth the stay, found Paris to be a charming place, if not a little full of it's own importance!
Just before we had packed up ready to leave the embassy, I received a call from a member of the government asking if I would be amenable to receiving an honor in the Queens new year list. Well what does one say at such moments, I could only say yes. A few weeks later a very official letter arrived at our home back in blighty, which informed me that I would be made a Knight of the Realm but that I had to keep it secret until the list was released. Excitement and pride echoed through Thorn Towers and Mrs Thorn went straight out to her dressmaker to get the perfect outfit for the day. Pomfrey smile was more beaming than ever and as usual his comment was profound
Congratulations sir on becoming a Sir but always remember that you are still just Mr Guestling Thorn.
I have always tried to live up to that advice.
On the big day we arrived at the palace and after being briefed on the etiquette of the occasion, I eventually found myself kneeling before the Queen and was duly touched on the shoulder with a ceremonial sword and became Sir Guestling the humble writer of these pages.
So I am now and will forever be Sir Guestling Thorn. 

Advice

Guesty here my friends

Being famous for my sage and wise advice on a variety of subjects, from art to zoology and everything in between, I find that one has to be prepared to guide on almost anything. Naturally I do not claim to be knowledgeable on all the myriad of requests, that I receive letters about but I am jolly well ready to have a go at answering them! 
My replies are always brief and simple and I like to think I go directly to the heart of the matter. Correspondents are in the main requesting advice on how to handle some form of relationship or inter personnel issue, whatever the context might be. They know my reputation as an ex-diplomat and are keen for me to help resolve their everyday difficulties. 

You know us humans seem to have a knack for making stuff, more complicated than it needs to be, we over analyse, dissect and generally find extra ways to cock up an already uncomfortable situation, we really can make a drama out of a crisis!  
This is particularly true of the English, we are a nation who rather than offend anyone, no matter what the provocation, will do almost anything else and as for complaining, well we would rather cut off our own hand!

Perhaps this explains why us Brits make such excellent diplomats! 

Now I appreciate that that is a rather general sweeping statement and many of you reading this do not take that view or behave that way but we don't have a international reputation for the old stiff upper lip for nothing!

Let me illustrate. 
A young male student wrote to me regarding a tutor who was finding ways of keeping after him after her lectures and making not too subtle suggestions of a sexual nature. She was not an unattractive lady and had a reputation for advances of this nature to male students but had never been challenged, some had succumbed to her advances perhaps thinking this would enhance their chances. It made him feel uncomfortable and although in a way he was flattered, he did not want the attention and did not know how to resolve the situation without upsetting her and harming his chances in her lectures. In short he was prepared to endure and avoid her rather than speak up.  

My reply was straight to the point, there were two things he could do. One, call her bluff, if bluff it was and if she was not bluffing, then who knows he might have a great time, though naturally this was fraught with danger. Two, tell her straight that her attention was inappropriate and and make it crystal, to cease, firmly, politely and without any ambiguity. 

Now I have no way of knowing whether he took my advice and used it or if he is still in an awkward situation but my point is resolution can only be achieved by facing the issue and addressing it directly with the person or persons involved. Prevarication or avoidance in my experience only exacerbates the problem, it gets worse, more awkward and resolution becomes more and more difficult. The Guestling way is to nip it in the bud. 

Lady Guestling has a succinct way of expressing it.

It's like a boil Guesty she will say Lance it and let the poison out!

Well you can't say fairer than that, wise woman my wife.  

You never know!

In my time in the diplomatic service I have had a variety of postings in many places, where Her Majesties Government has an embassy's or some type of diplomatic representation. In my early years I seemed to move about quite often, newly married and with the faithful Pomfrey, we seemed to be packing and unpacking our belongings at regular intervals. When you are young, it seems exciting and adventurous and I have always been one to embrace change, to my great delight it seemed that Lady Guestling was of like mind and whilst she knew she had married a man in the diplomatic service, fortunately, took to the life like a fish to water. 
Often you would find yourself stationed with both new people and those whom you had served with in other locations. Sometimes a familiar face was a blessing, if it was someone who you liked or at least got along with but occasionally you would have the misfortune to reacquaint with someone who you hoped you might never meet again! 
Like any profession the diplomacy game has a cross section good and bad but there does seem to be a preponderance of pompous buffoons who somehow have managed to make a career in the service. Mostly men, the odd female, they strut about in a superior way making gaffs and generally thinking they are more capable than they are, usually leaving a mess which their colleagues have to clear up. Now and then you get a particularly nasty piece of work, who is not necessarily a bad diplomat but seem to reserve the worse side of their personality exclusively for those they work with.
One such was Viscount Percy Haldean. Haldean was the son of some minor royalty from out of Somerset. The family were large landowners,though they did no more than manage their holdings and it had made them very wealthy. When their youngest Percy showed no apptitude for the family business and had apparently committed some terrible  fo par, they persuaded a relative already in the service to get Percy in.
I first came across him, when posted to our German embassy in Berlin, this was still in the cold war days and there was a delicacy and sometimes a real danger in the work done there. Percy is a little older than me and had been in the service for a few years already. I first met him in a formal meeting with the East German representative's over some border dispute, which were common and as I discovered, part of the local game that the East and West played. I have to say that my first impression was favourable, Percy seemed to be the epitome of the British diplomat, polite, firm and with just the right tone of diplomatic language. I was still very young and impressionable and very much keen to "get on", so I thought I could learn from Percy. Later that week I had occasion to find myself alone with him and in a friendly way, introduced myself formally and just mentioned that I liked the way he had handled the meeting. Well imagine my surprise, when this "colleague" looked at me with total contempt as though I was something he had found on his shoe.
Your opinion is of no import to me young man and I'll thank you to keep your them to yourself. Now I have work to do I suggest you do to? Was his terse reply.
From that point onward, it seemed that Percy was nothing but antagonistic towards me. Putting me down at any opportunity and generally being thoroughly obnoxious. His sarcasm could be cutting and being young and truthfully a little intimidated, I was unable to reply in kind. I hardly noticed that he did not reserve his behaviour exclusively towards me and with the exception of those senior to him was like it with almost everyone. Because of his presence I did not enjoy my time and could not wait to be transferred elsewhere, fortunately after six months I moved on.   
Well shortly after our marriage and having arrived at my next posting, imagine how my heart sank, when on my first day of duty I was being introduced to my colleagues, mostly new to me, a couple I had met before, when who should walk in the room but Percy Haldean. It had been a few years since Berlin but I could see he recognised me and I swear a small evil smile crossed his face.
When I returned to our bungalow that evening, I was quite subdued. My darling wife asked me what was wrong, at first I did not want say but she persisted and I had already learnt that when she wanted to find something out, she did not let go until you told her. 
Her solution was simple, as it has been ever since and as I have mentioned I like simple, look him straight in the eye, stand up to him and tell him exactly what you think of his behaviour! 
Well emboldened by this plain speaking advice I determined to do just that, should the occasion arise. For some weeks we did not encounter each other and I began to quite enjoy the posting, I had been given the special task of concentrating on commercial opportunities for British firms and found myself meeting with many of the local business community. This often took me away from the Embassy and I got the chance to understand how the people actually lived and worked. I've always been a great one for immersing oneself in the local culture,it broadens the mind and in the diplomacy business is a distinct advantage. I was always amazed when I used to meet people who had been in a location for some time and yet seemed to be ignorant of the country they served in! 
However, returning one evening after a latish meeting, I found myself alone in the communication office, when who should walk in but old Percy himself. He looked tired and for him, unkempt and disheveled. At first he did not appear to notice me but then he in a resigned manner he spoke 
Sometimes this bloody job is a fucking pain!
I was completely shocked, I'd never heard anything but personnel sarcasm from him before and had never heard him swear
I'm sorry old man, tough day?
He slumped down in a chair 
If you look in the third draw down of Smethringtons desk you'll find a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Pour a couple out will you?
I did as asked.
We sat in silence sipping our snifters
I know you always thought I'm a bastard He smiled ruefully over the rim of his glass
I nodded 
A bit I replied
You don't have to be diplomatic 
Percy laughed at his own pun, first time I'd seen him do that as well.
I know what most people think of me 
He paused and drained his glass held it out and I obliged. 
It's a front you see, a shield if you will, my way of coping with the day to day task, I don't mean to alienate everyone, just seems to be my way! Well after the day I've had the shield has slipped but that's deal in this job,eh?
We talked for quite some time and I found him to be in reality a rather self depreciating, shy man, who found it difficult to fit in. I ended up inviting him back to our bungalow for dinner, Mrs Thorn was somewhat taken aback but she rose to the occasion with her usual good grace.
Percy and I became friends of a sort, oh he still could be cuttingly sarcastic but I knew the real man and understood some of his character.
We remained friends for many years and kept in touch in the way that Englishmen do, until his untimely death from cancer some ten years ago. I went to the funeral and was gratified to find that far from the poor turnout that I expected, many of the people he had worked alongside were there to pay their last respects. 
It seems you should never judge a book by it's cover and none of us are who we appear to be!

What's in a name?

Tis Sir Guestling again. Who else?
I am today off to what one might call the Thorn's spiritual home. I speak of the village of, yes, Guestling Thorn! Nestling in Sussex, it is situated between Hastings and Rye. And you are correct when you ask if I was named because of the village, indeed I was.
The reason is simple, my Grandfather Randolph Thorn, when a young man committed a rather serious social gaff, which necessitated a brief sojourn away from London life, when a particular family patriarch was intent on visiting much harm against him. Naturally a young lady was involved. The details are a tiny bit sketchy and I never could get the full story out of Grampy but the gist goes something along these lines.
Randolph was, like most of the male line of Thorns, when younger, was a bit of a rake. He had his eye on a young society beauty, who was by all accounts already spoken for and engaged to the son of a wealthy banker, whom her father was desperate to get his family related too. The mans finances had taken a bit of a down turn and he saw this as an opportunity to re-build them. The banker, in turn, was keen on the influence and contacts he had, so a mutual understanding had been agreed.
This mattered not a jot to Grampy, engaged or not, once he had his sights set, he went at his target with a one track mind. Of course he had no conception of the full consequences of his actions and the pact he would destroy by pursuing this girl, he wanted her and he was bound and  determined to get her.
Eventually he manipulated a situation where he could get her alone and once he had, his charm and that devilish twinkle in his eye did the rest. By the time I was old enough to get to know Grampy, though now in his late sixties he still had roguish good looks and a lazer like instinct for spotting a well turned ankle or the sway of the hips, the curve of a well formed female form! All male Thorn's have great respect for women, indeed we revere them and we appreciate their beauty!
Anyway back to the story, his dalliance ruined the match as the fiance of the girl refused to have anything more to do with her after he found out. Her father was so incensed that he threatened to have serious injury done to Randolph and his threat was taken seriously, very seriously. At the time relatives of the Thorns, the Stodards were living in Kent in Guestling Thorn. A small village south of Hastings, it is a pleasant place, close by is Guestling Green and just south of the two Guestling's is Icklesham followed by Winchelsea and then Rye.
The young Randolph was packed off to stay with the Stodards, Bert and Alicia, he did not like the idea but it was better than broken limbs! Bert and Alicia were given strict instructions to keep Grampy on the straight and narrow and not let him return until the whole affair had blown over.
The bright lights of London were left behind and the dullness of country life seemed to be all that stretched before him or so it seemed until on a walk through the village, as he turned a corner a vision appeared in front of him, a girl of stunning good looks, who immediately smiled at him and said hello. Randolph had met his future wife and my Grandmother, Victoria.
They had two children the first, my Aunt, Claudia and a couple of years later my father Albert Cecil Francis Thorn, the names chosen for his father and her mother.
Randolph and Victoria were married for sixty years and although Grampy never lost his roving eye he never strayed from his vows to Grandma.
So you ask how did I become Guestling? Simple really, just before I was expected, in tribute to the village where he met the future Mrs Thorn, Grampy asked a boon of my father, would he name me for that village, to honor his meeting Grandma there, after all, as the name went together so well, it was fate he said. Mother was not so keen but acquiesced after Grampy appealed to her better nature.
And so Guestling is my name and my name is Guestling but then what,s in a name?

Pomfrey

Good afternoon Sir Guestling back on the page.
In my ramblings up until now you will have read about my valet, confidant and all round gentleman's gentleman, Pomfrey or to give him his full name Yanish Mountlebano Pomfreyanitato, yes quite a mouthful! 
I met him many years ago in India or Calcutta to be more precise. I was there on a brief visit pending a possible permanent posting, which never did materialise. 
Whilst there, I had been invited to a ball held at a local Maharishi's palace, there were still a few around, although this one and I forget his name, was actually a minster in the Indian government. It was a grand affair with the local great and good attending plus a few of us diplomatic types to add the piquant colonial nostalgia. Indians of the time for all their hard won independence, still had a vague yearning for the past British Raj. 
Well I had had a few snifters before arriving and whilst my tolerance for alcohol is pretty formidable, that evening for some reason, I felt a little worse for wear. Perhaps it was the weather, hot and humid with the sniff of the monsoon season around the corner. Anyway, I drank a few more flutes of champers and was getting quite light headed and feeling slightly unwell. I rashly decided to get some air and to escape from the clutches of some old harridan who had been spouting some interminable drivel at me for what seemed like hours, I have no clue as to the gist of her diatribe but the combination or her droning and the drink sent me hurriedly looking for an exit.
I found a quiet spot under a juniper and sitting on the handy bench provided tried to catch my breath and stop my spinning head!
Not feeling any better I thought a walk my be the very thing to clear my head. I had no idea which direction to go in and just took off.
I must of left the estate and quite quickly found myself wandering through the outskirts of the city limits. As I turned the corner on what can only be described as a dirt track, a group of rather thuggish looking oiks spotted me and were soon confronting a rather drunk and unwell Guestling. Even in my stupor I knew they meant me harm. Now a Thorn never backs down and I was quite good with the old Marquise of Queensberry rules, light on my feet with a good right hook, but I was outnumbered and not at my best.So I took a bit of a pasting was relieved of any valuables and left half dead in the dust. 
When I eventually regained some form of consciousness, I discovered I was laying on a small cot, looking up I could see a straw roof with a hole and the stars peaking through.
I tried to sit up and a thousand small firecrackers seemed to explode in my head, a moan escaped my lips, a hand with a damp cloth in it gently pushed my head back down and a voice spoke in perfect English with a curious lilt to it 
Please sir try not to move, you are hurt and in no condition to rise
How long I lay there I was not sure as I drifted in and out of wakefulness. Eventually I fully revived, with a dry taste in my mouth and a still, if diminished, throbbing in my head.
Are you feeling better sir? I was handed a glass of water and helped to sit, once accomplished my benefactor stepped back
I sipped the proffered liquid and looked up, my host, was now standing in the middle of his simple mud and straw hut, an impossibly tall, slim man, with a beaming set of white teeth showing through a jet black luxuriant full set of whiskers.
He was dressed in a simple white knee length tunic with a dark waistcoat and sandals on his surprisingly small feet.
He explained having found me trying to crawl along the road, injured and covered in blood and dust, he brought me back to his abode and now had tended to my needs for nearly two days.
He introduced himself as Yanish Mountlebano Pomfreyanitato but told me I should call him Pomfrey. He further went on to inform that he was born of a Spanish father and an Indian mother both of whom had died in a tragic house fire when he was only seven. The Jesuit monks had taken him in and seen to his education, eventually winning a scholarship to University in Cambridge where he perfected his English and came away with a first degree in philosophy. Unfortunately when he returned to India, the Jesuit school had closed and nobody it seemed wanted to employ a 6' 7" Spanish/Indian man with a first in philosophy who now spoke like an English gentleman, albeit with a slight mix of his parents accents! He had since got by doing odd jobs and occasionally acting as an interpreter as he spoke three languages fluently and had a smattering of several others. 
He then produced my evening suit on a hangar perfectly pressed and although like me battered and slightly worse for wear, it was clean and still wearable. He grinned
I did what I could with it but I fear it is ruined.
Bloody hell I exclaimed what you've done is a miracle, my good chap!
Well I can tell you Guesty was taken with this unusual fellow who exuded calm efficiency and a an abundance of good natured common sense, not to mention his ability to repair and clean my suit. I had a sudden impulse and I immediately offered him the position of becoming my valet, he accepted with alacrity, and told me he thought it was destiny. I wasn't quite sure how the Thorn income could afford his services but he told me he perfectly understood and not to worry too much about it, he was sure providence would provide.
And so it has proved, Pomfrey has been with me for nearly 38 years, longer than the good Lady Guestling herself and has proved to be loyal and invaluable, with a practical ingenuity that sometimes defies belief and resources.
I can't tell you the number of scrapes and mishaps he has got me out of or how resourceful he has been. I once asked him how he learnt to become so knowledgeable? He shrugged and with that radiant smile of his said that he just picked things up along the way 
Once I just casually remarked if he would not like to find a Mrs Pomfrey?
His enigmatic reply was
Oh no sir that sort of thing holds no attraction for me!
Well I left it at that, I know when not to pry into a chaps private area.

Lady Guestling, that first meeting!

You have read on this page a little about my better half, Lady Guestling. She and I have been man and wife for 35 years. We met when I was attached to the embassy in Athens I was a very junior member of Sir Anthony Porringers staff, trying to climb my way further up the greasy pole of Her Majesties diplomatic service. If I say so myself I had a certain dash and charm about me and had some success with the ladies in my 27 years of life. A few had even been close, to becoming the future Mrs Thorn, though I had never made any proposal's but that was about to change forever.

The Embassy staff, had been invited to an opening of an art exhibition, at a rather prestigious gallery owned by one of those Greek shipping tycoons Theopolis Kastianos. I had not intended to go, as I had been challenged to a game of squash by my good friend Danny Blinkinsop. Danny and myself had hit it off due to our common interest in sport, whiskey and cigars, not to mention our collective eye for the fairer sex and dare I say had become a formidable duo of carousing and late night high jinks, for which occasionally we found ourselves up before the beak, or Rodney Snetterton, who was our immediate superior. Dear old Roders heart was never really in the business of a rollicking as he was pleasant chap,without a mean bone in his body, which was good luck for Danny and I!

Well Danny took ill and to his bed, I suspected he had been out the previous evening, I had been on telegram duty and Danny having had a bit to much of the bubbly and probably having returned in the wee small hours,  had obviously decided he was in no fit state to face the Guestling forehand on the squash court! 

The local rich and famous, be they politician or people of commerce, loved to have representation from the British Embassy, we lend a certain cache to these soirees and after all it's what in part we were there for in the first place. On this occasion Sir Anthony had decided to attend, he and Kastianos were more than acquaintances and I always suspected that for a backhander of the old cash, he had used his influence to help the Greek shipping magnate to secure lucrative contracts. Of course I had no proof but Sir Anthony's lifestyle was a little more lavish than his Ambassador's salary would allow! Over time of course and with more experience, Sir Guestling has found ways of enhancing ones remuneration in subtle and Machiavellian ways but once again that is a tale for another time. It is a process as old as the world itself and is probably more prevalent today than ever!

I dare say, that the paintings exhibited by some artist I had never heard of and never heard of again, were very good, I certainly overheard lots of pretentious comments from the gathering as they pretended they had an understanding of the painters style and subjects. No such pretense from Guestling, I did not like them and I certainly did not understand them and nor did I want to, waste of paint if you ask me! I was just beginning to think the whole evening was becoming a  huge boor and was planning to slip away and frequent a few of Danny and I's favored nightspots, when a gap parted in the room and I saw Theopolis Kastianos himself standing there holding forth to a small gathering including Sir Anthony.

Kastianos was a huge man with a pencil mustache and swept back greasy hair, he had the appearance of an overweight Argentinian tango dancer, though I doubt he was have been capable of any of the steps! However, as he turned to one side pointing out some detail of a painting, from his shadow emerged the most handsome girl I had ever seen. I don't mind telling you I was mesmerized, if you had slapped me in the face I would not have noticed, so entranced was I by this heavenly creature. Imagine if you will a combination of Ava Gardner, with hair the colour of Rita Hayworth and a figure that either actress would have died for! She wore a scarlet dress and red heels, there was a small gold chain with a locket hung round her perfect throat and a scarlet ribbon tied in her stunning auburn hair. Well I up until then was not one to believe in love at first sight but I was smitten, I had to meet this beauty and although I felt light headed and giddy, it had to be now, after all I am a Thorn!

I decided boldness was the approach and strode towards her determined to at least find out who this vision was and if nothing else get closer to her ?

I got within a few paces, my focus totally on her, I did not see the waiter coming from my left and apparently he did not see me, we came together, tray, glasses of champers and the two of us hit the deck, glass skidding all over the polished marble floor, liquid staining my suit and flowing in rivulets across the tiles. Embarrassed, I tried to stand up but the floor was slippy and I fell back down and then a silk gloved hand stretched out before me I held it and with remarkable strength, she pulled me upright,  and then the first words I ever heard the future Lady Guestling speak.

You silly arse, your trousers are all wet

I knew right then it was love!

My tailor

As you may have read in my rant earlier about how the English dress, my tailor had written to me with a rather insistent tone about my outstanding account. Now I don't want you dear reader to think that Sir Guestling does not settle his accounts promptly but now and then the Thorn funds are not as liquid as one would wish. It was a mere oversight, ones tailors bill must always be settled promptly, after all news of tardiness in that area will spread and that would never do!
Lady Thorn does not always realise the delicate nature of  our ever fluid financial situation and would not brook any argument if she required to dip into the old bank account and I tried to dissuade her, so one must be ever inventive. I am not one to fret about money, it's vulgar and a gentleman does not concern himself with such trifles. Having said that, the upkeep of  Thorn Towers and keeping the good Lady in the manner to which she expects, can take quite a bit of juggling and of course Pomfrey and our cook Mrs Milton, whilst loyal members of the Thorn household, do require remuneration for their services.
Still over the years I've managed to keep our heads above water and am quite adept at securing funds. Oh there are a few debts here and there but I'm pretty good at the old Texas two step, when needing to avoid a creditor.
Once more I ramble on, so back to the original thrust of this missive. Pomfrey drove me into town. The Bentley purred along, sounding in  fine fettle, for which I have Pomfrey and his seemingly inexhaustible ingenuity in keeping the old girl running, to thank.
Saville Row is where most English gentlemen and the many well heeled customers from all over the globe would think is the centre of traditional English tailoring but the Thorns have always been clients of the little known but exclusive Futtock and Walsh tucked away in Germane Street. They have been clothing the Thorns for nearly one hundred and fifty years and my brother and I were first introduced to their treasure house of tailoring when we were still boys. Father took us there and with pride and in hushed tones reverently told us, Boys this is a sacred place never to be abused and always to be held in the highest esteem. Both of us have always tried to uphold fathers wish.
Old Futtock died some long years ago, there never did seem to be a Walsh. Now the two Futtock sons, Ransom and Gilmour run the business and go about it with quiet efficiency having learnt the fine art from an early age at their fathers knee.
Entering Futtock and Walsh's portals is an act of pure joy as the wafting smell of fine cloths, tailors chalk and polished leather drift into your nostrils, it's a place where a fellow feels immediately that all is right with life and traditional values are still adhered too. You are transported into a haven where the nasty realities of the everyday world are left behind and the treasure palace of  cloth greets you like a friend!
As always the dulcet tones of Ransom Futtock greet you with a slight nod of his balding head, Gilmour  runs everything behind the scenes, whilst Ransom patrols the front of store like a captain on the bridge of his vessel.
Sir Guestling how good of you to call sir, I trust you are here to settle your account, he beams an expectant smile.
Indeed, sir, indeed, you will of course accept cash?
Another issue resolved in the world of Sir Guestling, win at golf and settle your tailors bill, now that's what I call a result!

Techno

It's your friendly Sir Guestling, back again on this page.
A word about technology, you know mobiles, pads and all that other stuff that everyone seems terrified to be unattached from.
Now I'm no Luddite, indeed in the vernacular, I am actually quite tech savvy but I don't let on! I learnt many years ago that if it's known that you are actually quite proficient with technology and people get wind of it, they start asking all sorts of advice and frankly I have enough to deal with all ready. I mean you would not believe the avalanche of letters and cards I get asking for my guidance on subjects as diverse as, Llama care and whether transvestism is contrary to the religious teachings of Buddha!
So can you imagine what would happen if I had an email address or a mobile phone? If asked for either I can put my hand on heart and truthfully say I do not have them. In a world where constant contact is a disease, I am not on "the grid" and I bloody well aim to keep it that way.
Lady Guestling has a mobile phone, don't know her number, never want to. She uses it to keep in touch with her girls, doubt she would give me the number even if I showed any interest! Besides it's best to keep contact with the good lady to a minimum, don't want to rock the boat, eh!
I am viewed with a certain suspicion by some in the society in which I roam for my lack of gadgets but that's their problem, I couldn't care a jot.
A old school chum of mine Tommy Handsworth or Racket as we call him, he always had one on the go in our school days. Well Racket, still runs many a scheme and whenever we meet, he seems to be juggling at least four devices, they ring, buzz,vibrate and constantly interrupt any semblance of a normal conversation! Much as I like to see old Tommy, I'm fond of his amusing tales of his current strange and bizarre business dealings, his telling of them is related between phone calls, text alerts and him monitoring his twitter and other social media feeds! Racket is always uttering those words "Sorry I just need to take this"! He is always shocked by my insistence that I will never own one mobile, never mind fill each available pocket with one. After all English tailoring was never designed to accommodate technology and besides I have to consider Pomfrey, he maybe my valet and all round gentleman's, gentleman but I could not in all conscience bear his look of disquiet and disgust if I put a mobile phone in my tweeds! Good valet's are hard to find and another like Pomfrey impossible, he's unique!
Ah, I hear you ask how do I keep contact with everyone, well I have perfected the art of getting everyone to keep in touch with me. It's a lot easier and cuts out all that chasing around and leaving voicemail's, not to mention keeping a long list of contact numbers. My belief is, as always, simple, if you want Sir Guestling, well you can bally well find him!
So long for now.

Siblings

Guestling on the page again. I astound myself with the frequency of my scribbling s but if you've got a story to tell best to tell it, my Uncle Norbert always told me. Uncle Norbert was an interesting man, he's long gone now, always turned out in his Edwardian garb a long cigarette holder clamped in his mouth, monocle glinting in the light, he used to shuffle around his vast baronial property, imparting advice and useless knowledge to anyone who would listen but occasionally if you caught him in a more lucid mood he could supply you with some sound guidance!
I digress,as is my habit, I want to tell you about my younger siblings.
I have two, a brother five years younger and a sister who is a lot younger and surprised my middle aged parents with her somewhat late arrival in their and our lives. My brother came along just as I had begun to believe I was the sole focus of my parents world, put my young nose out of joint for a while, I can tell you but I reluctantly accepted he was here to stay. He glories in the name of Bartholomew Middling Gilbern Thorn, we call him Barty and sometimes when he really irritates me , which is often, I refer to him as the Madling one, see what I did there!
My sister, a creature of such grace and beauty, that one could hardly credit that she is from the same seed that spawned Barty and I, was and is named Mirabelle Paroshka Candice Thorn and naturally we call her Mira.
When Mira was born I was in my mid-teens and Barty about ten, we were immediately both captivated and jealous of this creature who had mysteriously arrived so late to the family tree and have remained in her thrall ever since. I know she has us wrapped around a her finger as is the case with any man she encounters!
Barty and I have a fractious relationship, if that is the right description? Most of the time when were in out formative years and to this day, we rub along pretty well.
Barty wanted to do everything his big brother did, which is to be expected, however it was fairly obvious that in sporting matters at lest, he was the one who had been blessed with all the talent. A natural with anything to do with a ball or bat, it was often embarrassing to be outplayed by ones younger offspring. However when it comes to any common sense or modicum of  restraint, I'm afraid Barty was at the back of the line. He's not a bad cove but his judgement can be a little lacking and often his mouth and brain are not connected. Still he's done well for himself over the years and he and his wife Bobbie have a good life together, Bobbie is a fine designer and is sort after in that world. Sadly they have not produced any offspring for the good Lady and I to become Uncle and Aunt to but you can't have everything!. He does "something" in the banking world and all the recent troubles experienced in that business certainly did not stop Barty getting his "bonus". As he puts it,
I'm comfortable thank you Guesty old boy and if you need a few bob, well just ask
I never do, Lady Guestling and Barty, well lets just say they don't see eye to eye and if she even got a whiff that I had borrowed money from him, my stay in the doghouse would be prolonged! Trouble being that Barty could not keep it to himself and would be bound to let it slip at the most inappropriate moment. Shame, the old Guestling funds could do with the odd bung from ones younger brother to top up now and then but such is life!
As for Mira, well she grew in to the most delicate and beautiful young woman, an ethereal angel, with boys trailing in her wake, all trying to win her love, whilst she carelessly ignored them and broke their hearts. Oddly her own sex, seem to be just as fascinated with her and she has had many a proposal from females whom I understand prefer the love of another lady, strange but each to their own, I say, one mans, or woman's, meat and all that! She did let slip once that she had tried both sides of the fence, as it were, well I stopped her in short measure, there are some things even a brother should not know!
 I love her dearly, even though she does not quite exist in the  same time and space that the most of us resides in! The normal conventions of life do not seem to touch her and her beauty has ensured that there is always a willing man who is prepared to keep her in luxury.
She does descend from her cloud from time to time and is a very erratic but quite successful artist, whose pieces command outrageous sums and can be seen displayed in the private abodes of the rich and famous.
So there you have it a brief introduction to my two sibling's. It goes without saying that they look up to old Guesty and when guidance is needed they turn to their big brother, well where else would you turn, family is family eh!

Dress

Morning good people, fans of tales from Sir Guestling.
Today I am going to write one of my periodic rants, my old Gramps, as I called him used to say that sometimes you have to get things off your chest, it cleanses the mind!
I'm a proud Englishman, okay if your delved back far enough, it may not be 100% but the Thorn family has been here a long time. So I feel I am eminently qualified to comment on my fellow English. Lady Guestling would disagree, she maintains I be hard pressed to describe two flies on a window but she has never had much time for opinions other than her own of course.
I pride myself that I have a certain sartorial style and the very lest know that you don't wear sandals with socks or mix check shirts with check shorts or trousers. In a world where there are a veritable plethora of fashion advice in magazines, newspapers and something called the internet, why is it that the so many Brits have no clue how to dress? The English have for years had a certain style of dress which while it may not carry the panache of the Italians or the chic of the French, ours is the cut of the gentleman and the couture of the lady.
Lady Guestling would never think of leaving Thorn Towers without being turned out smartly for whichever of her myriad of events that she constantly seems to be attending.
Guesty I am off she will call to me.
Have fun dearest, is my reply, I have no clue where or what she is doing but I'm certain she is dressed appropriately. 
If you look like a four hundred pound hippo why would you inflict all of that bulbous flesh on the rest of us in your shorts and vest? When they leave their houses it is obvious that they do not posses a mirror or in some cases perhaps it is not wide enough to show them the full view!
It seems that there is a vast army of Brits who have eschewed any attempt to wear anything but baggy ensembles that would be best kept in the back of the wardrobe for when they are lazing around the home, instead it would seem they are content to inflict their lack of dress sense on the rest of us.
Now, I hear you saying, Sir Guestling how do you know anything about it, your clothes are laid out for you by your faithful Pomfrey and you are always turned out like the true English gent and you positively avoid any contact with the great unwashed wherever possible. I grant you being a snob is not easy and there are certain rules and standards one needs to adhere too but I am not blind and even from the window of the Bentley I regrettably observe the horrifying array of fashion walking through our towns and cities. 
One last thing, now whilst at my advanced middle age I am no longer the svelte lad I used to be and perhaps there is a touch of the old green eye, who is perpetuating this current fashion for men, of skinny clothing so tight you can see how excited they maybe getting. 
It is not attractive and makes them all look like they have no conception of size, their's or the clothes!
Well I'll finish my rant there, I can hear Pomfrey's plodding steps coming down the hall to my chamber. He'll be assisting me to ready myself for a visit to my tailor, I am not buying or getting measured for anything but they have sent me a rather insistent letter claiming that my account is long overdue for payment and I feel obliged to pay them a call!
It' all go!

Golf

Hello it's me again Guestling.
In my younger days I was quite the sportsman, participating in all those pursuits that young men try, cricket of course, a little of the old kick it about game, a touch of rackets and of course the gentleman's game Golf. I pursued a number of other activities of a different sporting nature but as I often say that is a story for another time!
The other day I was surprised to be contacted by an old friend of mine Hugo "Batty" Balfour.
Guest haven't seen you for ages you dear old thing and well we need a fourth for a round of golf, thought of you, know you used to be quite handy with the little white ball, what do you say?
I like Batty and to be honest upon realising who it was I was a little concerned he might be reminding me that I still owed him a trifling little sum borrowed some years earlier when I came up short for a bar bill after some riotous evening the details of which completely escape me but knowing Batty he'd probably forgotten as well and the man is loaded having inherited some vast family fortune and despite his best efforts to squander it was still well heeled.
Well I readily agreed not having played the game for some time and having been slaving nose to the grindstone and all that thought I deserved a day on the greens.

So resplendent in my matching mustard yellow shirt and trews, which Pomfrey my valet and general factotum, had laid out the night before and safe in the knowledge that Lady Guestling was off on one of her frequent jaunts, I arrived at Swanicome Lakes Golf Club, as the sign said an exclusive club set in the green jewel of the south coast.
I guided the old Bentley up the long entrance drive and pulled her up in the car park.  I opened the boot, there had been some panic the previous evening when Pomfrey and I had had some difficulty locating the old golf bats but in the end we found them tucked away among some junk the good lady had put out for removal, don't know why they were there, she'd probably made a mistake!
I was just hefting them on my old trolley when a shout came from across the other side of the car park
Guest old chap is that you?
It was Batty, I hardly recognised him, it had been some time but the difference in his appearance was striking, I mean it was Batty but what appeared to be rather younger version than the one I had last seen! Well seeing the look of bewilderment on my face he cleared it up straight away
Had some work done on the old face, dear boy, you know a pull here and a tuck there.
Well you look good on Batty I hardly recognised you. He didn't , he had the appearance of someone who was in a permanent state of surprise and could not alter their expression but of course I said nothing and shook his proffered hand.
Anyway in short order I was introduced to our playing partners, a rather innocuous man who name was John something, he was a thin faced, thin framed, with a hand shake like a wet halibut and I'm afraid I dismissed him immediately. Our fourth player I took too straight away, Henry Gore-Jones was a big bluff bloke with a ruddy face, a firm handshake and a ready smile.
Preliminaries done,we made our way to the first tee, Batty and Henry paired up and I was left with thin faced John. They were swigging from a generously sized hip flask which Batty proffered, I refused, I like a drink but I never start until after the yard arm descends!
So off we teed, now I don't play often but I have a natural hand eye co-ordination which rarely lets me down, my game plan is simple, keep the little dimpled projectile on the short stuff and don't try to knock seven bells of hell out of it. My playing partner, surprisingly, had a swing almost like a pro and for a man built like a wet whippet, sent the ball a fair distance. Naturally with Batty being the host there was a not inconsiderable wager placed on the outcome between the us. I grimaced a touch when the sum was mentioned but not wanting to put a damper on things and being a guest and all that agreed. I needn't have worried, after a few holes I was pretty confident that the spoils would be going home with team Guestling. I was warming to my partner, who was quietly scoring well and with my steady contribution I thought we'd have in the bag so to speak. Batty was his normal cheery self, his play can best be described as erratic, brilliant one minute, spraying the ball all over the next but he took it all in good part. However Henry was a different kettle of fish altogether, the bluff good natured fellow I met by the clubhouse disappeared and he become a seething, brooding, bad tempered player, prone to outbursts of profanity and whacking, for that's the only way to describe his game, the ball all over the course!
Well half way round it was obvious that we would win unless we fell apart or they had a somewhat spectacular improvement. Unfortunately not only were they loosing but much to my disgust it seemed that Henry was also a cheat, If his shot had gone in the heavy stuff he would miraculously find it and several times I observed him, surreptitiously drop a ball from his pocket and with a cheerful wave claim he'd found it! His other misdemeanor came in the form of the toe flick or the nudge with a club as he moved his ball in the longer grass to a slightly improved lie.  Well these things are beyond the pale and just not cricket when it comes to the strict honor code of personnel integrity that the game engenders. I kept a diplomatic silence, my thinking being lets get to the end shake hands take the winnings and scarper. I had no idea if my partner had noticed, if he had he gave no indication.
On the 18th green we had all putted out, our team had frankly slaughtered them, so I was all for making my excuses, money in hand and taking my leave.
To my great amazement when Henry went to shake hands with my playing partner, he refused and fixing the somewhat larger man with a look of total contempt said very directly
Henry Gore-Jones, we may have won handsomely but I cannot in all conscience accept such a win because you sir are a cheat and a bounder of the highest order. We all know how you behaved and I am not going to point out your misdemeanors but suffice to say as your families accountant for over 25 years I take a very dim view of your behaviour and may have to consider taking this up further.
Well for a man who at hardly said more than 10 words for the whole round of golf, not only was it surprising but it was like he had suddenly recited the the Gettysburg address! Both Batty and I were stood there with ours mouths agape, slightly embarrassed but for myself full of admiration for his directness. I wondered how the accused would react?
Henry raised himself to his full height and for a moment I thought trouble was brewing but then he sagged like an empty sack of potatoes and wore the expression of a schoolboy brought up before the head, I suspect a situation, in the past, with which he was not unfamiliar.
So that evening I drove home with a smile on my face having trousered a considerable sum of the old moular, which in his somewhat contrite position Henry had insisted I took as recompense for his awful crime, for crime it was, John insisted that the money should be donated to our favourite charity and to which I readily agreed. Of course there would not be a word to the good lady and the charity in question would be the Sir Guestling Thorn foundation, a private charity with only one recipient, me.
So dear friends the moral as always is that cheats never prosper but that does not stop you doing so!
Cheerio