Harrrington's - being the collected thoughts of the Hon Sec, by way of excuse and explanation.

 You know I maintain that some of my best ideas come in that moment between being awake and slipping into the arms of Morpheus; you can feel the restraints of the hectoring voice of everyday sense falling away and you feel able to freewheel down the slopes of speculation, like wondering if it would be a good idea to make fellows do an aptitude test before taking up a job.  It may mean that we may get a Minister for Farms who knew one end of a cow from another or shop keepers who understood that customers were more than occasional nuisance and should be allowed, by them to depart with some of the stock rather than accounting a good day when this hadn’t happened.   Well, the other day I was in such a state. I’d been to the Turkish baths on the third floor and Abdul -   had given me a through going over, don’t know why he wants to be known as Abdul, real name of Kenneth, his people come from Writtle – as did Robert the Bruce’s.   I suppose it takes all sorts. ...

  The Secretary's Room nestles half way up the main stair case, and many an Hon Sec has proclaimed that it symbolises the very essence of the club; a bastion over looking the portals of the institution; ever watchful, ever on guard yet, like one of those bothies nailed to a   mountain side, a sanctuary for members in distress.   The fact is, it ended up there after a secretary during the reign of one the later Georges had a tiff with most of the membership, who turfed him out of his spacious rooms to make way for a Nine-Man’s Morris court – those were the days before it had been reduced to a board game for the common amusement of children and not a life and death tussle on which small fortunes wagered.   Whatever the reason, the Secretary’s Room has seen much which is still shielded from the common gaze by Secrecy Laws.   We have always done our bit to help smooth over the bumpy course of the nations fortunes; a nod to the right chap in the right place, the oc...

I think from the start it must be made clear that this is a Gentleman's Club and the most ungentlemanly thing would be to ask another gentleman, if he was a gentleman.   Stirchley must shoulder his share for what follows and he knows why. It had been my custom to spend much of the summer months in the Club’s library. The first reason is that is one of the quieter quarters of the establishment. Stirchley, the librarian, like many of his kind, had taken a vow of silence on behalf of others, if not himself and had perfected a stare which had reduced many a borrower to a quivering mass of uncertainty, such that he found instead of back copies of Sporting Life, they had withdrawn a small booklet on the culinary habits of the peoples of West Berkshire. As an archivist Stirchley was first class but did tend to feel that the words on the page were worn out by casual looking and so discouraged researchers through the usual practice of unusual opening hours and inexplicable changes to th...