From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 103)

I have been reflecting on things in life that bemuse me. From little things, like why even so-called gentlemen enjoy getting drunk and telling tales not fit for the ears of a lady. I can join in with all the crude bonhomie, but only because I have trained myself to do so for the job. Such boorish gatherings hold no interest for me. Why anyone would willingly spend time in the company of a number of halitosis-ridden, flatulent, sweaty males, with every indication of their intelligence fading by the moment, I have no idea. I much prefer the company of the female of the species. They are provide far better entertainment, having a wider range of conversational topics, being generally wittier, smelling infinitely more pleasing, and have all manner of skills - both in and out of the bedchamber.

Another thing that I simply do not understand is why any person, who, in the face of mortal danger, stands and gibbers, rather than acts. Surely nature herself has instilled a survival instinct into mankind, the same as any other animal. To use our supposed higher reasoning and consciousness to override the necessity of fleeing seems to me to be the oddest of mankind’s foibles.

I also do not understand why ladies never have enough handkerchiefs and so I must, perforce, carry extra. It can ruin the sleet cut of a fine suit.

Most of all, I do not understand how Jack can always tell which are my most expensive shoes, and will then select these, and only these, as chew toys. On more than one occasion I have gifted him with his very own pair of shoes to chew. I have even tried giving him Griffin’s in case he wanted used shoes. He took to neither, so I made a great show of rescuing Griffin’s shoes from him. That won me a decent omelette for breakfast (proving he can do them well when he bothers – Griffin, that is, not Jack. The latter prefers his eggs raw).