Sir Linus Ingoldsby, I remember him well. I wrote a piece for his centenary, now if I can dig it out of my hard drive

Ah yes, here it is:

Sir Linus Ingoldsby V.C. probably the bravest man I have ever met. I once saw him pull fifteen orphans from a burning building and breastfeed them all back to good health under enemy fire. Distinguished himself in the Royal Irish Dragoons at Balaclava and Lahore. Wounded twice in the line of duty he was honourably discharged in 1856 and awarded the Victoria Cross in 1860. He continued his service in army intelligence until his retirement in 1889, at the age of 74. Apart from the infamous Kings Cross ‘Nightwalker’ incident of 1865 and his shadowy involvement in the Schleswig-Holstein affair precipitating the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 Ingoldsby’s reputation remains unbesmirched as a dashing adventurer, entrepreneur and swashbuckler. He was described by Disraeli in his memoirs as “That damnable Irishman, to whom we owe everything, damn his eyes” and by Queen Victoria in her private letters as “That curious drunken Paddy, devious yet brave as a cornered mink”

In his later years he retired to the quaint, English seaside village of Pease Pottage and indulged his hobby for taxidermy, once stuffing an entire farmyard diorama in an afternoon. He passed away peacefully in the saddle of his favourite horse Dobbin, touring his country estates in the spring of 1901. His greatest detractor was Churchill who claimed he was nothing more than “a jumped up, cowardly mucksavage, fit for nothing but the flop-house and the dropsy.” But as Ingoldsby was said to have given the Sealord a sound thrashing as young boy, when he caught him scrumping apples from his orchard, this opinion is assumed to be sour-grapes on the great mans part.

Best of luck with nanowrimo,yo.

Episode #123, Secrets of a Successful Marriage (1994).

Homer: Look everyone, now that I’m a teacher I’ve sewn patches on my elbows.
Marge: Homer that’s supposed to be leather patches on a tweed jacket, not the other way around. You’ve ruined a perfectly good jacket.
Homer: Correction, Marge.
[He holds up a tweed jacket with two large holes in the back]
Homer: Two perfectly good jackets.

Or: I might go back to my Writer’s Headdress, which is a t-shirt tied around my head in such a way as to make me look vaguely Arabic.

Coolness +5
Eastern Promise +15
Ability To Answer The Door -50