The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

I looked on X marks the Scot.

Mister Brown gave me the new password required to access the Internet, which he says should not be available to others at the Institute, just in case.

The forum is filling up with recipes, Mister Dove's narration has now got the caterers coming to the rescue.

The kilt forum is all of cooking, and the ICE is full of young men in strange kilts. Plus all the gels went off to the disco clad in strips of strips of tartan - different tartans. (Small strips too. The gels these days.)

It is all getting really strange.

What I could do with is some hint of what is going on here.

What I could really do with now is seeing the X marks diridgibibble thingy flying along the South Coast of England, bringing Hamish home after his adventure.

Then I could go up into the belvedere and use a heliograph to signal to them in Morse code, and we could cook up some strengthening broths for the invalid whilst the sensibly kilt clad crew and its commanding officer get to work on the mystery, and we could do with a carpenter to fix that hole in the door to the wine celler.

I was relying on Mister Brown to sort this out, but I have just seen him rushing off to the Rotunda clad in what looks like a kilt suit made out of old grey army blankets with a sporran made from one of the long blonde wigs from the hair dressing salon. The McGeek was with him, in what looked like a brown leather version of the long kilt he was wearing earlier, and his corduroy jacket with the patches on the elbows.

Oh deary deary me.

[Pleater]

I changed from my working dress of white academic gown and plain white dress and flat shoes into my DPM kilt with a dark brown tunic, dark green hose and soft dark brown boots.

I made a large mug of sage tea, pulled on my heavy khaki jersey and black beret then walked up into the belvedere. The view is to the south and at night it is possible to see the lights of the ships at sea.

I considered the situation, and sighed, I was out of my depth with all the strange goings on.

'I'm not even a chef,' I protested to the clear cold air with the tang of the sea in it. Then I remembered what Mister Brown had said whan I first saw him - 'A friend. A chef.'

I suddenly saw The McGeek's peculiar mode of dress in a new light. Perhaps it was really an attempt to wear the kilt but with his usual geekness - and perhaps some bad advice, he had simply got it wrong. Bad advice from - could it possibly be Mister Brown - the man who, by his own admission was already in the area?

Would anyone deliberatly mislead someone wanting to wear a kilt?

I shivered at the dreadful thought.

[Pleater]

Feeling that there was, after all, some sense to be made to the recent events I returned to my room feeling refreshed and checked my To Do list.

My eyebrows rose when I saw that the scheduled breakfast for the next day included porridge. Everyone had checked the honey with almonds sauce. Not one wanted the other option of strawberry puree.

I scrolled through the proposed dishes for the rest of the day as I noted down those items I would have to prepare. It is useful to be able to use both hands fairly equally, so my PC is set up as for a right handed person but with a clear area to the left for making notes by hand.

Something about that thought bothered me, but there was work to do, so I closed down the PC for the night and went to attend to the animals and check the greenhouses.

It was simply a matter of checking that all was well, and that the flocks had settled down for the night. The lighting had dimmed, but with my excellent night vision I had no trouble making my way through the buildings.

One of the rabbits was still out and about. I vaulted the wall and went over to inspect it. The animals have no fear of me, so I was able to pick it up and carry it to the roof of the hutch which serves as an inspection table. I ran my hands over its long white silky fur, felt its limbs and paws and found that it had damaged a claw. I carried it to the first aid box, cleaned and taped the little wound, then returned it to its pen. After a few hesitant hops it suddenly lept into the air, scampered a couple of circuits of the pen and vanished into the hutch. Nothing else delayed my rounds, but when I returned to the House I saw that I was required in the infirmary.

I canceled the notice board display and went as quickly as I could to find out what had happened.

I found Mister Brown and a couple of the stewards waiting outside the curtained cubicle.

'Matron?' I enquired, and she emerged a few seconds later.
''Its Ian McGreagor, heat exhaustion. Dancing in all that heavy clothing, so I'm not surprised.'
'How is he?'
'Still away with the fairies, though that is fairly normal for him.'
Mister Brown came up looking pale and drawn.
'May I see him?'
'Just a peep - '
Matron drew aside the curtains, and there was The McGeek looking pale and drawn too. He did turn his head and raise a hand before the curtain was dropped.
'I'll be with you in a moment,' said the Matron and went back inside.
'Have I been silly?' I enquired, 'is Ian another of your offspring?'
He nodded.
'And you walked in because you know the way to get down to the village pub through the back gate.'
'I was based here for six months when I went from cook to chef.'
'So Ian does have a military background.'
'His mother's father was a Major, his mother liked profiteroles.'
I gave him a hard look. He shrugged and smiled engagingly.
'So why is everyone suddenly wearing kilt-ish clothing?'
'Ian thought it would be a good idea. I used your PC to send out the notice that there was to be a kilt theme to the disco.'
'I see.' I said dryly. That's why you were surprised when I had my knife in my left hand, I thought. 'To take my mind off something else?'
He pursed his lips and looked away, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.

[Livingston]

Doing good so far, Pleater. A little different from Jamie and Dave in that you are making us think more I like it, keep up the good work.

[Pleater]

Thanks Livingston.

It has made the waiting for further episodes of Dave's naration more bearable - and I think I have just thought of a resolution of the plot..

Did I just claim to have a 'plot'?

I can now reveal I did not have one, was just sort of free wheeling along putting in whatever came to mind.

I think I can round it off though with what I have already written. I'll just read through and check that everything is coherent.

[davedove]

Thanks Livingston.

It has made the waiting for further episodes of Dave's naration more bearable - and I think I have just thought of a resolution of the plot..

Did I just claim to have a 'plot'?

I can now reveal I did not have one, was just sort of free wheeling along putting in whatever came to mind.

I think I can round it off though with what I have already written. I'll just read through and check that everything is coherent.

Well, you can see that my story has now been completed. Do keep up with yours though. It is certainly different than either Jaime's or my own.

[Pleater]

One of the stewards stepped forward.
'Is it alright if we go back to the Rotunda now? The dancing was getting a bit boisterous and there's only three in there now and that's not enough really.'
I had one of those fey moments which always catch me unawares.
'It's not usually rowdy, is it?'
'Well, a bit - usually its just dancing and chatting, and handing round the drinks, but tonight it's sort of - different.'
'Was there something to eat?' I asked.
'I didn't see anything - usually after classes in the kitchen no one wants anything to eat.'
'Ian had something to eat. One of the girls brought a plate of little biscuits and some dip.' said Mister Brown.
'Which girl?'
'I'm not sure.'
'Matron - excuse me but I need to speak to Mister McGreagor urgently.'
She stepped back, but drew herself up indignantly.
'Ian - who gave you the snack at the disco?'
'I don't know' he slurred, still rather confused.
'We need to find out - it is important.'
'Don't know.' he said, rather plaintively.
I turned to the stewards 'Don't go - I will need your help to get Mister McGreagor back to the disco once I find him some cooler clothing.'
'He's going nowhere!' the matron snapped.
'This might be a matter of national security, or international diplomacy - The Joy of Snacks must not be released upon an unsuspecting and unprepared world.'
She stared, but already I was hurrying out of the cubicle, I had to get to my apartment quickly.

[herminator]

I admit I have Nanny Ogg´s Cookbook at home and





yes, I have made pink wobblers!

[Pleater]

Ah - but the MHICE has the original manuscript - the one with the expurgated ingredients still included.

Plus there is the twelve volume encyclopaedia culinaria, written on temperature sensitive sheets which, if allowed to get to room heat, will liquify.

Also in the miles of greenhouses grow the carefully tended herbs and spices required, selected for their potency and effectiveness. Steam pipes and sun lamps encourage their growth, until the time comes for them to be put to use in the service of their adopted country.

Only experienced ladies of a certain age are allowed to make the Strawberry Wobbler with active ingredients, and even then they snigger.