I am exercised by the need to retain my youthful vigour even as I take a step nearer towards my inevitable dotage. An old friend, who is resident in Sussex, informed me recently of an establishment in which a skilled practitioner can work to remove the outward effects of ageing.
My visage being decidedly wrinkled and discoloured from the soot of my London townhouse, I ventured to the coast last week to avail myself of a service to which hitherto I had been oblivious.
On arrival at a salon in the sea-side town of Hove, I was met by a lady who wagered she could make an improvement to my appearance within a mere five and fifty minutes. Dubious though I was, I retired to a booth in her company, chaperoned only by my wife and two of my most trusted servants. At once it was demanded that I should remove my jacket.
"Shame on you, Madam", I replied. "I was informed by Dr Thomas that this was a respectable house and that you and your ladies act with the upmost discretion and propriety. Not even my good lady wife has ever before requested me to remove my jacket! I find your suggestion most indecent and must, regrettably, bid you Good Day."
Although I am certain I made the correct moral decision, there is still a part of me which wonders whether I have simultaneously abandoned any chance of retaining my youth. There is an elixir advertised in the latest Gazette and I am minded to respond by return of post.
Five and twenty to five, 18th July 1888
To my astonishment and not inconsiderable gratification, news reaches me already by telegraph of remarkable anticipation outside these isles in relation to my forthcoming anniversary. The celebratory hats which I have issued (refer, dear reader, to diary entries passim), are eagerly awaited in locations as wild and remote as the Americas and the Antipodes. The Captain of a great ocean-going liner called the Titan - a good man, whose acquaintance I formally made at a club dinner this April last - has relayed a message to me from the Bay of Biscay. He anticipates landfall in Constantinople later this month, whence the small consignment of hats will continue its journey by land.
Ten minutes past six, 12th July 1888
I am possessed of a striking idea, the like of which I am certain has never previously been attempted. In order to bring my birthday celebrations to the attention of the educated classes throughout our Empress Victoria's dominions, I shall circulate of a number of hats, each marked with a signature of my intent, to trusted acquaintances. When a recipient places the hat upon his head, he demonstrates an awareness of my forthcoming anniversary and pledges to promulgate knowledge among his fellow man. He achieves his objective by commissioning a portrait from a photographer and dispatching it to me post haste, before finding an acquaintance of his own and repeating the process.
I have yet to decide how best to display the images received. If only there were some means by which they might be viewed universally. I dream of a gallery open to the world in its entirety, where any man - even the humblest of paupers - might view the photographs and derive a small degree of pleasure from the experience.
I have yet to decide how best to display the images received. If only there were some means by which they might be viewed universally. I dream of a gallery open to the world in its entirety, where any man - even the humblest of paupers - might view the photographs and derive a small degree of pleasure from the experience.
Five and twenty past three, 12th July 1888
It is perhaps to my eternal shame that I find myself pondering my planned birthday celebrations with an inappropriate and somewhat narcissistic fervour.
I have set aside the advice of trusted friends and colleagues, who tell me in no uncertain terms that a man should enter his fifth decade in quiet reflection rather than exuberant excess. These puritans would no doubt have me enter a monastery or sail from some Scottish port to a remote island in order that I might enter into a period of contemplation appropiate to a gentleman of my advancing years. They mock my proposals for a celebration which stretches to all corners of Her Majesty's glorious empire and examine me strangely at the club as if I were some curio or freak delivered from the Indies to be paraded in a travelling circus.
To the naysayers and doubters, I have but one message. You, sirs, can keep your pitiful birthdays in a damnable silence, but I refuse to follow suit. The first day of this November next will be one to remember.
I have set aside the advice of trusted friends and colleagues, who tell me in no uncertain terms that a man should enter his fifth decade in quiet reflection rather than exuberant excess. These puritans would no doubt have me enter a monastery or sail from some Scottish port to a remote island in order that I might enter into a period of contemplation appropiate to a gentleman of my advancing years. They mock my proposals for a celebration which stretches to all corners of Her Majesty's glorious empire and examine me strangely at the club as if I were some curio or freak delivered from the Indies to be paraded in a travelling circus.
To the naysayers and doubters, I have but one message. You, sirs, can keep your pitiful birthdays in a damnable silence, but I refuse to follow suit. The first day of this November next will be one to remember.
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