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@bq
I was born in dear Uncle Willy's country seat in Shropshire, and brought up by Nanny. Oh Nanny, how fondly do I remember thee! All those long perambulations round the estate, the games of cup and ball by the south pergola, the summers spent escaping the scarily amorous attentions of Great Aunt Matilda. At the age of 11 I was packed off to Eton, where I excelled at the house sports of Fives and holding toast between by buttocks for the senior boys. Eventually I was elected to Pop, which gave me the right to wear a brightly coloured waistcoat and to have my own toast-fags at my beck and call.
After that it was three uneventful years at Oxford reading Greats and falling out of punts, before joining the Foreign Office and being sent off aboard a rickety Handley-Page flying boat to Poona to quell a small rebellion which had risen up amongst some of the bolder elephants. After the independence of India I toured the empire, shooting both the natives and the indigenous endangered species, and amassing an impressive collection of hunting trophies. Well, not all impressive; there is one Zebra's head in a big cheesy grin. I think he believed I was taking his picture.
Eventually, as doubtlessly happens for everyone, I inherited the titles, money and houses and set about my new responsibility with gusto, sitting in the House of Lords purely to claim the expenses, shooting the local wildlife, and the odd visitor (it was a while before I realised the country house was open to the public at the weekends).
Nowadays I sit alone at East Drinks and complain about riding up hills.