'Never look back for the best is yet to come' is, by and large, a sensible philosophy to which I have adhered since my schooldays. Mind, I doubt if I would be able to continue to live by that maxim if I ever contracted such an unfortunate condition as my poor Uncle Bertram who, since his prick began playing him up last year, needs Aunt Rosina to stick a dildo up his arse in order to stiffen the most important muscle in his body.

However, whatever the future may hold, I shall always be able to look back fondly upon the lascivious memories of my boisterous youth, especially those of such vintage months as the autumn of 1906. It is my ardent wish that readers will find much to amuse and excite them in my candid reminiscences of those occasionally riotous times.

As it happened, that particular season of mists and mellow fruitfulness began in difficult circumstances. My dear father-Sir Radleigh Wellington Scott, Bt, O.B.E.-wanted me to take more than a passing interest in the business affairs of our sizeable country estate in Hampshire and it needed all my powers of persuasion to make him agree that I should first live in London for a spell with my chum, Teddy Carmichael.

'I know what the pair of you have in mind, my lad,' he snorted as he rose from behind his desk and glared at me. 'So let me make it crystal clear that I have no intention of allowing you to join that crowd of idle young fellows who take morning rides down Rotten Row and spend lazy afternoons at their clubs before going out to parties, theatres and what-have-you.'