Daydream

“They seek him here, they seek him there
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere
Is he in heaven or is he in hell?
That demned elusive Pimpernel” 

Sir Percy Blakeney evades French agent, Chauvelin, by his audacious stratagems and convincing disguises. A bent old crone has only to sidle into the meanest auberge and readers know it’s sure to be Sir P. But, demn me, he has another trick up his immaculate Mechlin ruffles: his yacht, Daydream. He can cross the Channel undetected at will. As it seems likely that Sir Percy will be abroad again saving British aristocrats trapped in France post-Brexit I address this post to him, whoever and wherever he may be. Perhaps he has returned to his house on Richmond Green and I fail to recognise him on my walks. His creator, Baroness Orczy, is supposed to have lived in Margravine Gardens before she achieved literary success so it’s conceivable that Sir P has returned to the womb, as it were, and is a neighbour. Come to think of it I did see a tall, fair-haired young man with lazy blue eyes fiddling with his cuffs but, there again, he is just as likely to be the homeless woman who begs outside the tube station. Sometimes, on the towpath, I hear the shrill call of the sea-mew thrice repeated and fancy Sir Percy is summoning the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel to help him in another daredevil rescue.

Sir Percy, prenez garde, the Daydream is compromised. Your location is no longer a secret. You are moored but a disco biscuit’s throw from Ibiza, betrayed by the dastardly technology of Vessel Finder.

Sink me, as Sir P would aptly put it, but Sir Percy and Daydream will not be sunk; he will fight for freedom, liberty and fashion: “open up your sleeves, man. Let your ruffles take the air. Let them flow. Let them ripple.” Sir Percy will always be elusive.

You might wake up some mornin’
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind
And if you’re quick enough to rise
You’ll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone’s fading shadow …

https://youtu.be/n_L4rkIibtE