Fatty stares at you as you tear out the door.

"Oh, I say, Postletwaite, stop!"

A few miles and one pair of blistered feet later, you find yourself on a train with a Gurkha regiment. Noticing that there are no women among them, you sign up.

A year later finds you comfortably established as a raj among raj in Colonial India, spending your days sipping fruity cocktails while fanned with palm fronds wielded by amazingly compliant servants.

Until the day that telegram arrives from your Aunt Hortense, wondering where you've been all this time.

But that's another story, for now let's leave you in this all together too brief moment of joy.