The Grand Old Duke of York.

Prince Frederick, I sympathise.

I'm feeling something of a kinship with the Duke of York and Albany at present. My big development may or may not be in the immediate future. It's currently stuck in the sort of limbo that would, when I was in the Army Reserve, result in us spending a great deal of time getting on and off trucks or sitting in trucks with nothing to do beyond singing "The Grand Old Duke of York" or the company song "Yogi Bear."

I should know by Monday for definate, but I'm packing in the expectation of going. Mrs. Kinch is bearing all of this with amazing good grace and a calm that is usually associated with women who are rolling bandages and loading muskets in Residencies surrounded by the angry Pathan. I've been told that a single bookcase will have to do me for a year and I'm spending my spare hours, packing and assembling the few books that will be sustaining me for the year.

At present there is a great deal of Napoleonic history, a selection of books relating to my gaming projects, some books on the Risorgimento, the complete Annotated Sherlock Holmes, the complete Brigadier Gerard, a smattering of C.S. Lewis, a complete set of Allan Mallinson and Patrick O'Brian and a little poetry. I'm taking the opportunity to ditch those books that have just become an encumberance, but in a strange way the experience is liberating.

I know that I will get my other books back, but picking a years worth of reading in one go is very interesting, much like deciding on travelling companions for a long journey.