Sunday, 6th August 1837

Like an old Portsmouth tart there seems to be no end to the things Fisher will do for money.

But I fear that unlike an old Portsmouth tart he does not have the good sense to realise that no-one will believe his claims to be pure and innocent.

The rumours that were about the colony regarding Fisher and his irregular sales of oxen, cows and pork that I have written of previously (Editor's note: See entry for Sunday, 16th July 1837) came to a head just recently when a letter was written, anonymously, to Stevenson in his capacity of Newspaper Editor stating the rumours as fact and demanding an explanation from the half man half rabbit. Scoop Stevenson, who can sniff out a story the way a hound sniffs out a badger, informed Fisher of his intention to publish and asked for comment.

Fisher, whom few doubt has been fiddling like Nero, responded by getting on his high horse, saying that "it was not his habit to respond to anonymous letters".

He then started dropping dark hints about the town regarding legal actions for libel and seeking redress for "the damage to his reputation", though I cannot help but suggest that the business did not damage so much as confirm his reputation.

In the meantime he has been sending out a shower of notices to all and sundry demanding to know if they are the anonymous letter writer. Really, all we have not had is pistols at dawn and I think that we have not only because Fisher has been unable to find out who exactly he needs to be shooting.

With any luck Fisher will gather his skirts, flounce about and resign from the Council again. He has already done so twice, each time to return when his flunkies - Brown and Mann - beg him to stay. Perhaps the third time will be the charm and he can spend more time at home producing another gross of offspring.

I am pleased to be able to add "published author" to "Knight of the Royal Hanoverian Order", "Governor and Commander in Chief of His Majesty's Colony of South Australia" and "Hero of the Battle of the Nile" to my string of accomplishments.

That ninny James Wood the "Master" of the Buffalo wrote a report for Stevenson which was published in the last edition of the Gazette decrying the harbour at Port Adelaide as unsafe and unsuitable.

Of course, Wood is an incompetent who is confused if you place a paper boat in his bath water, but really, I can't be allowing shipping interests at home and in the other colonies to think that we have no decent harbour here.

As a result I spent three pleasant days sailing about the river this week, measuring and surveying and disproving his claims point by point. I have written this up and it is to be published by Stevenson in his next printing. I look forward to it!

My sailing at the Port combined with a horse ride with Strangways to the summit of Mount Lofty means that I have had quite the time in the open air. And, may I say, despite that fool Hutchison's febrile melodrama about his ascent of the summit, I found it no more than a pleasant day's ride.

But I fear I have saved the worst news till last.

I received during the week a lengthy complaint from Light, telling me that I had belittled his reputation, decried his abilities, held him up to ridicule and trampled any friendship remaining between us into the dust!.

Naturally, I was at a loss to understand where this ill feeling could have originated. Ask any who know me and they will tell you that I am of the sunniest, good-hearted disposition and that it is not in my nature to speak ill of others.

However, I have since learned the source of this dissension and disharmony. Last week Sam Stephens came to the house "to share a bottle of Indian whiskey with his old friend The Governor". It transpires that the following evening he went to share a bottle of Indian whiskey with his old friend the Surveyor-General.

Now I admit that, influenced by the spirit of the Sub-continent, I may - MAY - have offered one or two opinions of an unnecessary frankness regarding Light. And I suggest that, misheard and misunderstood by an inebriate Stephens, these opinions might have appeared less than flattering, especially when related in alcoholically misremembered form to a Surveyor feeling the warmth of liquorous imbibulation.

But I am certain I feel no ill will towards Light and see all this as proof that strong drink and discretion are not able to share a bed. What particularly saddens me is that it is only a month ago that I invited Light to dinner with us and we shared a splendid evening sharing stories and laughing together at times past.

Well, now I need to write to Light and try to pour oil on troubled waters - or at least try. It is not a letter I look forward to writing, as even if I said half of what Light remembers Stephens as reporting then I should be, sadly, ashamed of myself. Please God that Mrs Hindmarsh doesn't hear of this or I'll never hear the end of it.