A brief explanation as to the origins of The 18th Century Club.
Lord Shuteye and The Brigadier Lord A, founder members of the 18th Century Club
It began, as I recall, one particularly gin soaked evening several years ago, as the final embers of the 20th Century spluttered like damp logs in the black hearth of Time.
Myself and Lord Arse, deep in our cups and bloated on fine victuals, too drunk for coherent discourse, gazed about us in our stupor and took stock of our surroundings as we gnawed at the stubs of fine cigars. (The ladies, sensibly, had retired).
The heavy drapes were pulled to, closing off the wind that moaned through the gaps in the cracked window frames. The rain hammered on the glass like grapeshot. Inside, the room was lighted by numerous candles and the orange glow of the fire, these reflecting back from the bottles and dishes that littered the ancient oak table. The walls, barely visible in the gloom, were lined with books, and, crammed in the gaps between the volumes, and above them, various trinkets and souvenirs of our exploits.
Somehow it occurred to one or other of us that, had we been born a hundred years earlier into wealth and privilege, we would probably have wished we'd been born a hundred years before that, and lamented the passing of a most splendid time.
This idea was the seed, and, as is the way with notions of singular genius planted in the fertile soil of the booze benumbed brains of men of exceptional cognisance, it took root and grew.
"We must approach the tedious banality of the post-modern condition with the vigour and elegance of half-pay Victorian colonels!"
"Blast me sir, you're right!"
Despite, or perhaps because of, the sheer quantity of alcohol coursing like the fiery sperm of Zeus through our ravaged yet manly physiques, it seemed all but self-evident that a Society should be formed to prosecute this endeavour. We would seek out others like ourselves: trusted libertines and reliable debauchees, similarly at odds with the prevailing anti-culture of the corporate and the mediocre, and we would live out our lamentable lives in dissipated magnificence!
And thus came into being our most splendid league, named in honour of a time when good form and licentious intoxication were the twin hallmarks of a gentleman.
I bid you then, raise your brimming bumpers and bellow a hearty "Huzzah!" to The 18th Century Club!
"Nos operor quis concubitus nos volo!"
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