... to think that because I can't see a new IPOAT thread I should start one myself?

[PrincessFiorimonde]

Especially as I want to wish CheerfulYank a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY for today. Hope you are having a lovely day.

And here is the patron saint of IPOAT playing Happy Birthday To CY!

Yes, look how delighted he is at the adulation from the local peasants

He's a martyr to lumbago, but always has a smile for the peasants, even when laid out.

Shocking how sleeping with one's contact lenses in and a flagon too many of red wine can make one appear at less than one's best

Well I'm in

Packing, Mistress Honeydragon? I do most fervently hope you are not contemplating travelling with Mistress Hully.
I fear for your neck safety.

Come on, gels, trunks, valises and portmanteaux in the barouche. We need to be at the port by midnight, in order to make our Transylvania connection.

No, sadly, Mistress Umami, we Gels have pledged ourselves to a life of Good Deeds, including (when needs must) tatting, needle-plying and ankle-turning.
If only we could join you on your foreign tour! Alas, we must forego the pleasure.
Sincerely,
Miss F.

So be it!

They'll never find husbands if they do not Put Themselves Forward.

Putting Ourselves Forward?
Pray tell, Mistress Umami, if this were your fate as an unsullied virgin, would you put yourself Forward?

Perhaps a genteel trip to Whitby? I am sure the sea air will be good for us gels and our complexions?

Don't worry, Miss Honey, we're still going. We cannot force expansion of horizons on those who do not wish it. Fiddy will remain behind and tend Rochester's sores and change Cook's poultice.

Huzzah!

My distant cousin, Mister Bram Stoker, has told me tales of Whitby and I must say, i am disinclined to visit. I would also advise my Gel companions to do the same.

Ah, a bit of sea air would set me right.

Why that's Baron Heimenschplitten. Most gels can only dream of such a husband. Titles, wealth, a large estate, and only a small number of the usual foibles such gentlemen are prone to.

Rochester's sores and Cook's poultice are as nought compared to the horrors of Whitby.

But how can it be, not when Mistress Umamis dear brother resides there?

I care not for his table manners

Abercrombie loves his top hats.

Right she'll wake up in a second so shall we be off?

Is that code?

That was to Umami.
To Honeydragon - pah! It takes more than a lilac cosh to subdue me.
Jumps off barouche.

No, no, that picture of the gent in the top hat was my dear brother, Abercrombie Fitch, with whom Hully and others have, on occasion, had liaisons.

Hmmph.
Fitch and cosh away. I am impervious.