Recently I was contacted by a chap, Julian, who wished to conduct an interview with Uncle Boom, the Master Trader. I must admit I was fairly flattered by this and said yes. He told me that it would be a televised interview for a small digital channel.

Much as the word digital made my arse itch, I liked the cut of his gib and agreed.

The day dawned bright and I set about making myself look presentable. After all, a Gentleman must look the part and a Master Trader even more so. I had several large brandies throughout the course of breakfast to take the edge off.

I watched the maid iron my clothes with a stern eye and judiciously smacked her with my cane when she didn't iron hard enough.

A double bonus was achieved as now my attire had been suitably soaked in peasant tears and there is no better talisman than that for a gentleman.

Morris drove me to the studio. It was a very small affair. Disappointingly small. Still, never judge a book by its cover as I once told a lady friend from Malay who's vagina resembled a old and angry mole.

I got out of the car with no little vim and was greeted by a perky young chap with a headset who introduced himself as Tomothy.

Timothy, you mean?

His pursed his lips as if I had made him a refreshing drink with my penis.

No, it's Tomothy. A lot of people get confused by it.

His hands waved around like seaweed in rough seas.

I didn't like his tone. Not one bit. I let it pass however. Today was going to be a day of magnanimity and cheer and I wouldn't let some yapping dog spoil it.

Tomothy escorted me to a room resembling a gentleman's barbers, one wall entirely mirrored with chairs set at regular intervals along it.

There were an assortment of folk being primped and preened by gaudily dressed peasantry. I curled my lip in disdain.

Well, Timotei. What on earth is going on here?

He pouted like an irked Chihuahua.

It's Tomothy. This is make-up. If you have a seat here, we will get someone to apply a little powder to your face for the camer.. Graaak!

Tomothy squealed from the floor some six feet away where he had landed after my cane had biffed him on the side of the head.

Make-up!??!

I roared.

You would powder me like a tupenny lady of the docks? Whatever next, do you intend to VEJAZZLE me?! Me? A gentleman of the highest order? I should flay the skin from your very back and make myself a bloody bag with it!

Nearby someone fainted with a theatrical flourish. Tomothy picked himself up and tremblingly wiped away a fat tear from his baby otter's face.

He gulped noisily and approached me.

I am awfully sorry Milord. We can bypass the make-up. If you would come with me I will take you directly to the studio.

Tomothy made a scraping sort of bow as if he fancied smelling my mainbrace, before rising and leading me away from the powder palace.

I followed him, peering at open doorways as we passed and swishing my cane about masterfully lest I was set upon by weevils.

I was shown into the studio, an open area with a desk and lots of lights. There were two large chairs at the desk and several large cameras pointing at them.

Tomothy bade me to take one of the chairs. Which I did, lending him a bright smile to show that there were no hard feelings over his attempt to transform me into a painted hussy.

I pulled out my pipe and filled it with some fine hogberry baccy and lit it. Whilst I did so I noticed Tomothy's dreary face stretch like a well milked udder.

Milord, ahem, em, um. You can't smoke in here. It's the law!

I chuckled kindly.

Can't or won't? HA! Now go and fetch me a brandy.

He swithered, confused, about to speak until I raised my cane at him. It was only a moment before he returned with an extra large brandy.

Uncle Boom, I presume?

A portly, gentleman with silly hair introduced himself as Julian and shook my hand. He seemed an alright fellow despite having a face like a vigorously fucked armpit.

He took the chair across from me and gave me the rundown of the interview. It seemed fairly straightforward.

The studio busied up, men pushed the cameras about and some music started. There was a cry of Action and the interview began.

Fat Julian: Uncle Boom, it is such a pleasure to have you here. A famed Master Trader. Tell us if you may. What are your trading secrets? How may we learn from a man such as yourself?

Uncle Boom: Well Julie, the secret, it's quite fucking simple. Buy shit when it's fucking cheap and sell high.

Julian sputtered and waved frantically at the cameras to stop filming.

You can't swear dear chap? This is television?!

I sighed indulgently and fondled my cane.

Yes yes, fair enough old fellow. Let us carry on and I shall endeavour to reign in my errant tongue.

-----------------------

I hummed a happy little ditty as I exited the Studio with Tomothy in tow. I waved over to Morris who was waiting by the car.

Righto Morris, be a good fellow and bring the can over?

Morris lumbered over with a large jerry can and started enthusiastically splashing the contents around the door and outside walls of the Studio.

I jammed the door handles of the studio shut with a wedge of wood and leered at Tomothy. His eyes bulged like a vegetarian's piles as I waved the tape containing the interview at him.

Oh stop looking so worried young Timotei, I have need of a chamber maid and I think you will fit the bill quite nicely. Perhaps a bit of powder on that face first though, yes?

Morris finished splashing the can over the studio and threw it dismissively to the side.

There is a lot of information on this tape, hmm? I divulged a great many things!

My pipe had gone out and I pulled some matches from a pocket. I lit one and puffed my pipe back to life.

The thing is Tomotina. There is one cardinal rule of a gentleman...

I placed the tape in an inside pocket with one hand and idly flicked the still burning match with the other. The match landed at the doors and they burst into flame with a great whumph.

We all stood back. Tomothy whimpering between me and Morris.

Yes, one cardinal rule...