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The owners of the damaged cars suddenly acquired new and more expensive cars, which may have induced haziness in their recollection of events. This is bound to happen, when the driver is rumoured to be the son of the richest Indian. The expensive, customised Rs4. Sure, Reliance is a giant company and its board of directors is not expected to look into trifling expenses like a Rs4. But that is not the reason why they are not asking the questions. All this was in the public domain when brothers Anil and Mukesh were at loggerheads.

In its unaudited results for Junethe company continues to report a net loss carried forward of about Rs4 crore. So what has Firstpost written this time on the Aston Martin scandal? You see, its parent, the TV18 group, is owned by Mukesh Ambani, in a complex deal, which saw a mammoth Rs3, crore injected into the loss-making media empire, to save it from imploding, about two years ago. How did the tax authorities studiously look away, even when they saw large injection of funds from KD Singh of the Alchemist group and the shady Ponty Chadda who was dramatically shot by his brother at their farm house to set up an exclusive club called Pruffrock?

On one day, the Tejpal family transferred 25, shares at a whopping premium, while Tarun Tejpal acquired 4, shares from Shankar Sharma and Devina Mehra of First Global, the original financiers of Tehelka, at just Rs10 each. They said it made them feel quite faint. And, after that, he took them one dark night and left them in the parish mortuary. But the coroner discovered them, and made a fearful fuss. He said it was a plot to deprive him of his living by waking up the corpses. My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a sea-side town, and burying them on the beach.

It gained the place quite a reputation. Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the air was, and weak-chested and consumptive people used to throng there for years afterwards. Fond as I am of cheese, therefore, I hold that George was right in declining to take any. George suggested meat and fruit pies, cold meat, tomatoes, fruit, and green stuff. It seemed to me that George harped too much on the getting-upset idea. It seemed to me the wrong spirit to go about the trip in. They are a mistake up the river. They make you feel sleepy and heavy. We made a list of the things to be taken, and a pretty lengthy one it was, before we parted that evening. The next day, which was Friday, we got them all together, and met in the evening to pack.

We got a big Gladstone for the clothes, and a couple of hampers for the victuals and the cooking utensils. We moved the table up against the window, piled everything in a heap in the middle of the floor, and sat round and looked at it. I rather pride myself on my packing. Packing is one of those many things that I feel I know more about than any other person living. It surprises me myself, sometimes, how many of these subjects there are. I impressed the fact upon George and Harris, and told them that they had better leave the whole matter entirely to me. They fell into the suggestion with a readiness that had something uncanny about it. George put on a pipe and spread himself over the easy-chair, and Harris cocked his legs on the table and lit I want to eat some club pussy in marka cigar.

This was hardly what I intended. Their taking it in the way they did irritated me. I lived with a man once who used to make me mad that way. He would loll on the sofa and watch me doing things by the hour together, following me round the room with his eyes, wherever I went. He said it did him real good to look on at me, messing about. He said it made him feel that life was not an idle dream to be gaped and yawned through, but a noble task, full of duty and stern work. He said he often wondered now how he could have gone on before he met me, never having anybody to look at while they worked. I want to get up and superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do.

It is my energetic nature. However, I did not say anything, but started the packing. It seemed a longer job than I had thought it was going to be; but I got the bag finished at last, and I sat on it and strapped it. And I looked round, and found I had forgotten them. And George laughed — one of those irritating, senseless, chuckle-headed, crack-jawed laughs of his. They do make me so wild. I opened the bag and packed the boots in; and then, just as I was going to close it, a horrible idea occurred to me. Had I packed my tooth-brush? And, in the morning, I pack it before I have used it, and have to unpack again to get it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of the bag; and then I repack and forget it, and have to rush upstairs for it at the last moment and carry it to the railway station, wrapped up in my pocket-handkerchief.

Of course I had to turn every mortal thing out now, and, of course, I could not find it. I rummaged the things up into much the same state that they must have been before the world was created, and when chaos reigned. I put the things back one by one, and held everything up and shook it. Then I found it inside a boot. I repacked once more. When I had finished, George asked if the soap was in. It got shut up finally at They began in a light-hearted spirit, evidently intending to show me how to do it. I made no comment; I only waited. They started with breaking a cup. That was the first thing they did.

They did that just to show you what they could do, and to get you interested. Then Harris packed the strawberry jam on top of a tomato and squashed it, and they had to pick out the tomato with a teaspoon. It irritated them more than anything I could have said. They upset salt over everything, and as for the butter! I never saw two men do more with one-and-twopence worth of butter in my whole life than they did. After George had got it off his slipper, they tried to put it in the kettle. They did scrape it out at last, and put it down on a chair, and Harris sat on it, and it stuck to him, and they went looking for it all over the room.

Then they started round the room again looking for it; and then they met again in the centre, and stared at one another. Then George got round at the back of Harris and saw it. And they got it off, and packed it in the teapot. Montmorency was in it all, of course. If he can squirm in anywhere where he particularly is not wanted, and be a perfect nuisance, and make people mad, and have things thrown at his head, then he feels his day has not been wasted. To get somebody to stumble over him, and curse him steadily for an hour, is his highest aim and object; and, when he has succeeded in accomplishing this, his conceit becomes quite unbearable.

He came and sat down on things, just when they were wanted to be packed; and he laboured under the fixed belief that, whenever Harris or George reached out their hand for anything, it was his cold, damp nose that they wanted. He put his leg into the jam, and he worried the teaspoons, and he pretended that the lemons were rats, and got into the hamper and killed three of them before Harris could land him with the frying-pan. Harris said I encouraged him. The packing was done at George said that if anything was broken it was broken, which reflection seemed to comfort him.

He also said he was ready for bed. We were all ready for bed. Harris was to sleep with us that night, and we went upstairs. We tossed for beds, and Harris had to sleep with me. Harris said it was old. Harris and I had a bit of a row over it, but at last split the difference, and said half-past six. George made no answer, and we found, on going over, that he had been asleep for some time; so we placed the bath where he could tumble into it on getting out in the morning, and went to bed ourselves. Poppets that woke me up next morning. I wonder you take the trouble to get up at all. It reminded us, for the first time since our being called, of his existence.

There he lay — the man who had wanted to know what time he should wake us — on his back, with his mouth wide open, and his knees stuck up. There was George, throwing away in hideous sloth the inestimable gift of time; his valuable life, every second of which he would have to account for hereafter, passing away from him, unused. He might have been up stuffing himself with eggs and bacon, irritating the dog, or flirting with the slavey, instead of sprawling there, sunk in soul-clogging oblivion. It was a terrible thought. Harris and I appeared to be struck by it at the same instant.

We determined to save him, and, in this noble resolve, our own dispute was forgotten. We flew across and slung the clothes off him, and Harris landed him one with a slipper, and I shouted in his ear, and he awoke. We finished dressing, and, when it came to the extras, we remembered that we had packed the tooth-brushes and the brush and comb that tooth-brush of mine will be the death of me, I knowand we had to go downstairs, and fish them out of the bag. And when we had done that George wanted the shaving tackle. How can I go into the City like this? As Harris said, in his common, vulgar way, the City would have to lump it. We went downstairs to breakfast. Montmorency had invited two other dogs to come and see him off, and they were whiling away the time by fighting on the doorstep.

We calmed them with an umbrella, and sat down to chops and cold beef. I remember a holiday of mine being completely ruined one late autumn by our paying attention to the weather report of the local newspaper. But not a drop ever fell, and it finished a grand day, and a lovely night after it. The weather is a thing that is beyond me altogether. I never can understand it. The barometer is useless: I fancied that maybe it was thinking of the week before last, but Boots said, No, he thought not. I tapped it again the next morning, and it went up still higher, and the rain came down faster than ever.

I expect that machine must have been referring to the following spring. Then there are those new style of barometers, the long straight ones.

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I never can make head or tail of those. There is one side for 10 a. But who Soje to be foretold the weather? It is bad enough when it comes, without our having the misery of knowing about it beforehand. The prophet we like is the old man who, on the particularly gloomy-looking morning of some day when we particularly want it to be fine, looks round the horizon with a particularly knowing eye, and says: It will break all right enough, sir. Then Harris and I, having finished up the few things left on the table, carted out our pusdy on to the doorstep, and waited cljb a cab.

There seemed a good deal of luggage, when we put it all together. There was the Gladstone and the mark hand-bag, and the two hampers, and a I want to eat some club pussy in marka roll of rugs, and some four or five overcoats and macintoshes, and a few umbrellas, and then there was a melon by itself in a madka, because it was too bulky to go in anywhere, and a couple of pounds of grapes in another bag, and a Japanese paper umbrella, and a frying pan, which, being too long to pack, we had flub round with brown paper. No cab came by, but the street boys did, and got interested in the show, apparently, and stopped. Biggs is our greengrocer, and his chief talent lies in securing the services of the most abandoned and unprincipled errand-boys that civilisation has as yet produced.

He was evidently in a great hurry when he first dawned upon the vision, but, on catching sight of Harris and me, and Montmorency, and the things, he eased up and stared. Harris and I frowned at him. He came to a dead stop, a yard from our step, and, leaning up against the railings, and selecting a straw to chew, fixed us with his eye. He evidently meant to see this thing out. We got to Waterloo at eleven, and asked where the eleven-five started from. Of course nobody knew; nobody at Waterloo ever does know where a train is going to start from, or where a train when it does start is going to, or anything about it.

The porter who took our things thought it would go from number two platform, while another porter, with whom he discussed the question, had heard a rumour that it would go from number one. The station-master, on the other hand, was convinced it would start from the local. To put an end to the matter, we went upstairs, and asked the traffic superintendent, and he told us that he had just met a man, who said he had seen it at number three platform. We went to number three platform, but the authorities there said that they rather thought that train was the Southampton express, or else the Windsor loop.

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