Hello, hello, Bosie Giddy-Gaylord here,

this time not only ready to entertain you with gossip about our favourite noblemen, but also to hold your hand and help you strain through the agony of purchasing presents for your loved ones on the occasion of the birthday of a man who didn't even make it past the age of 33. Why we don't buy him presents on his birthday, I don't know, so don't ask me.

In any event, the focus of this issue's Bosie column will not be Lord Boyling (who's skimming the personals again), nor will it be Lord Ponkleton (who's still preoccupied with Lady Godiva Bubamara) or even Lord Mottsford (who seems to have abaited his chase for minors of the "fair" sex), but of someone else, someone utterly fabolous! Lord Jamés!

You may recall, dear readers, that I mentioned having met someone in last month's issue, but I have entirely given up on that relationship. It was a strain on my heart, and quite frankly on my knees and rear as well. Instead, I have chosen to divide my attention twixt shopping for waistcoats, and, yes, Lord Jamés, whose splendour and appeal I am ashamed to have overlooked in the past. Therefore, this article and the following will contain brief, yet concise, descriptions of this bon homme and my own personal speculations as to the source of his overwhelming manhood.

Read on!