From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 34)

I am, by my very nature, of a somewhat choleric disposition. I suppose if I turned my mind’s eye inward, I might consider this to be a consequence of lasting anger at my mother’s freak accident and early death, and my father’s subsequent lack of interest in me. But, to be perfectly honest, I am not one for looking back.

Of course, there are always lessons to be learned from past missions, but on a personal front, I tend to set my face firmly in a forward direction. My loves have always, of necessity, been of a short-term nature, and when the time comes for us to part, it is important to me that we do so on both sides without regret, and with sustained amiability. Who knows, fate might bring one of us knocking on the other’s door in the future.

My lovers have, on the whole, described me as passionate, and I ascribe my active, though not promiscuous, love life to helping me maintain a health mental outlook. Losing oneself in the act of love allows one to emerge not only sated but, in my case certainly, calmed (but not relaxed enough to fall asleep before the lady does, that would be most ungentlemanly).

I also do my very best not to enter into a physical fracas with an opponent when I am angry. Fighting when your blood is up leaves you at the mercy of a more stoic combatant. Over the years, and I have never admitted this to anyone, I have perfected a morning routine of being quiet and breathing in a position seated on the floor for a full twenty minutes. It’s an exercise I learned in India from a member of the indigenous population, who I found extremely wise, if perhaps a touch too close to the Thuggee gangs. When we parted, only one of us survived the experience.

However, what I was taught was to sit still in the early morning, to breath regularly and concentrate my mind on the mental image of a flame. I was to do this without any other thought intruding. To begin with I found this next to impossible, but now I can manage it, and it is quite infrequent that other thoughts intrude. I confess, I don’t understand how this works, but on the days I do my breathing exercise, I am calmer and more able to concentrate and plan. I fight with a clear mind and without emotion. Thus, I have continued the practice.

I also do not underrate the value of practicing the more physical fighting arts, such as Bartitsu, which force one to pay close attention to one’s actions. Although, equally, I enjoy a good pugilistic encounter in the training hall that allows a reasonable outlet for my anger.

I am often rude to those close to me or working with me.  Saying exactly when I think frees me from the repressed emotions I must often bear while undercover. The very few people, and I can currently count them on one hand, who actually like me, must endure this. Hopefully they come to understand this and consider it part of my unique charm.