That blight on the face of the earth Fisher announced in Council this week that the naming of the streets in the new town would be the sole prerogative of the Company and, since he was the Company's chief representative in the Colony, he would undertake decide on names by himself.
Will he, by God? Will he buggery!
Every man, woman and mongrel dog in the place has suggestions about what to call the streets and parks on old Light's map and if Fisher thinks he can take over the whole show then every man woman and mongrel dog will undoubtedly have a few suggestions about where he can stick Light's map.
I intend my own plan of naming the streets after naval victories to be the one that is definitive, but I know, only too well, that if it has my name attached then Fisher will do his damnedest to bollocks it. To prevent that I have asked Jeffcott to take my list of street names on and present it as his own. By this stratagem we will yet stroll down Quiberon Street and Finisterre Parade or I'm a dutchman.
The Marines have not responded well to Mrs Hindmarsh's lambasting of them over what is being referred to around town, with sneering irony, as "the Vice-Regal Mansion".
They refuse to do any more work on it, since they say that their efforts went unrecognised and unappreciated - "We work and slave with no thought for ourselves and this is the thanks we get!" I overheard one of them say - and I have had to press sailors from the Buffalo into service in putting in the fireplace and chimney and building the outhouses.
As a result the work is being done quickly and efficiently and I expect that we will have a fireplace soon that will not burn down the house and outhouses that will not fall over in the first high wind. I could not have said as much if the Marines had done the work.
The fellows seem to be sulking like schoolchildren. They have hit the drink fairly hard and when you realise how much they drank normally, this is saying quite something.
Gilles - no stranger to a drink himself - told me a story about the Marine Sam Restorick who had been allocated the not too difficult task of guarding the Treasury. "Guarding the Treasury" sounds awfully grand, but since the Treasury consists of an old safe that Gilles lent us sitting inside a ratty old tent it is not as exalted a task as it sounds on first hearing.
Gilles told me that he had business elsewhere - probably off to lay in a fresh supply of Indian Rum - and left Private Restorick alone for about an hour. When he returned he found the man in a drunken stupor; so drunk that he thought he was back on the Buffalo; probably because his legs were so unsteady he could barely stand. Gilles told me that "This Marine, meant to guard the wealth of the Government from would be thieves, simply curled up in a ball and went to sleep." Since Gilles also reminded me that "the wealth of the Government" consisted of one shilling and sixpence there was probably little harm done. But even so - the man was on duty and will need to be punished.
Of late it has become more and more necessary to deal with the Marines in this way and I have had to tie one of them to the large tree at the back of the hut. I find that leaving them there over night allows them time to regain their sobriety and consider the error of their ways.
It has come to my attention that Widow Harvey has been sneaking out at night. I shudder to think that she is involved with some man, if only for the sake of the man, but I find myself wondering where on Earth she can be going.
To be honest I have tried to avoid thinking about her doings as much as possible, but admit that my interest is piqued.
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