They say Polo is the sport of kings. That’s what my history tutor said, anyway, though I have reason to doubt this for many reasons. Reason one: not EVERY king has to have liked the same sport. Maybe there was a very important one back in the day who really liked polo, and people watched him having a splendid time of it and decided ‘you know what, everyone? This has to be the sport of the king, because look how he enjoys it so’. And then that king retired and the next person became king and there was all this pressure on him to like the same thing, because by that time their entire kingdom’s economy was based around polo and for him to put his foot down and say that he was a big fan of hockey would’ve upset everything. People would’ve had to switch to making hockey nets, all the signs around the kingdom entrance would’ve had to have been changed from ‘TRY POLO: THE SPORT OF KINGS!’ to something like ‘HOCKEY: THE SPORT OF THE CURRENT KING!’ and that just doesn’t have the same advertising ring to it.
I’m terribly glad that modern melbourne doesn’t have any sort of sporting elitism, at least none of which I’m aware. All sorts of sports netting is readily encouraged, unless your sports doesn’t involve nets. Though many of them do, I’ve found…I suppose so many of them involve equipment that can go flying off and cause terrible injury, so netting is what allows the spectators to spectate while remaining unharmed.
Archie went through a phase where he wanted to play polo like Daddy does on the weekends, but I think his natural wants won over and now he is terribly inclined towards golf. That’s why we had the driving range installed down near the lake. I watched the golf driving nets go up and thought that was very sensible, otherwise all the balls would end up underwater.
I am still deciding which sport shall be mine. Mother says I must pick one with an air of grace and ladyhood, so perhaps…clay pigeon shooting?
No, darling, you’re going to have to put up with the men around the house a little bit longer.
That’s what I keep telling Cecelia, the silly woman. If she doesn’t like the entire right side of the manor being covered in aluminium platforms, she can move to the left side. Pity me; my favourite of the four studies is on that side, and it’s where I keep most of my filing, so I really don’t have a choice.
Every now and then we need to get some professionals in to make sure the stone menagerie is properly affixed. It’s a VERY specialised service, not something I would entrust to just anyone, so I have to have these people flown in from Turkey. They’re the only ones I trust to do the job properly; Ahmed and Sons, proud fixers of stone structures since the 1400s.
You see, we have a veritable zoo’s worth of stone animals lining the top of the manor, and due to weather being so very fickle in these parts, I have to make extra sure that all of them are firmly fixed in place. We don’t want a repeat of the gargoyle incident, do we? More importantly, there’s a very specific place for every single one of those animals. It would be patently, utterly ridiculous to have one of the horses fall off, thus spoiling the entire effect of the Charge of the Light Brigade monument. And our Noah’s Ark recreation would be the laughing stock of the neighbourhood if a single giraffe was left standing while the other had its head knocked off by wild winds.
Of course, our only point of consternation are all the planks and trestles and folding platform ladders, that have to be put in place. Transporting stonemason equipment to a high rooftop is no gentle matter, I suppose, and it’s not every year I have this done. Hopefully the job is done a bit quicker than usual, and mobile scaffolding carted away. I should like to look upon Whitehall in all its splendour again.
-Percival Clancey III
Since Father owns most of the city, we spend a bit of time outside of it. After all, there’s little else more tiresome than going to a place and seeing all these business people you know. There’s a time for business, and there’s a time for relaxation. Every time we steal a tiny snippet of time to go out as a family, Father ends up seeing some contact, they get into a fierce bit of company rigmarole and we might as well have simply stayed home and ordered a choir to serenade us or something.
After the last time we went out for tiramisu and Albanian hot chocolate, Mother finally said that they needed a local holiday where we weren’t being accosted by the business world. Father let her choose the destination, which was very odd, but we’ve settled on some luxury accommodation in Lorne. Oh, it’s in Victoria- it’s a local holiday, after all- but just far out that we may be able to have a family holiday. Mother has already threatened to take Father’s main business phone and deposit it in the two-storey piranha tank we had installed in lounge #6, and so he seems to be taking the hint.
I must admit, beaches are not the worst of places, provided one takes proper precautions. I could be tempted to leave the aforementioned luxury accommodation and venture out, though not onto a boat…after the previous episode, I have quite gone off them for the time being. Undoubtedly we’ll be taking the family cruise ship down to Lorne, which I can handle. After that, I should very much like to plant my feet firmly on terra firma for the duration of our stay.
Lorne seems like a very agreeable place, from what I have seen. Perhaps one day our influence shall extend there, and Lorne hotels will be under the Clancey Family Empire’s control. Not today, however…if Father even tried, I think Mother would snap completely.
-Archibald Clancey III