OF BELLOWS & BEDCHAMBERSMister Perkin Perkins had been looking forward to his Sunday off, the first of such in an age. He awoke with dignified grace and opened his eyes slowly so that the forecast sun did not pool through his curtain-less windows and blind him: it didn’t, it wouldn’t, it couldn’t, for he had awoken to a bellowing voice and darkness.
“Parker! Porkins! Where the hell are you, man? The voice of she-who-must-be-obeyed boomed through the palace to an accompanying crescendo of bell ringing.
“Coming, Your Majesty!” Perkins boomed back.
A couple of minutes later, a hastily clad Perkins knocked on Queen Victoria’s bedchamber door.
“Don’t just stand there Perker, come in!” she roared, in an obvious foul mood.
“Perkins took a deep breath, straightened his cuffs, and prepared him
