A difficult discussion with an unpredictable ending

This morning Throckmorton and I donned our capes at dawn and headed out into the wild streets of Hampsteadistan with a flask of fine Scotch and tobacco-filled pipes.

A difficult discussion arose as we neared the high street.

"Great father of mine," Young Hastrobal began, "I've given my future considerable thought during my three marathon feedings over the past eight hours."

"As have I, young Kikuchiyo. As have I."

As we walked little Achilles began to weigh the benefits of each possible profession with foresight well beyond his eleven days in the open air.

But deep within his words I noticed a fundamental misunderstanding which I hastened to delicately rectify.

"My young Exree Hipp," I interrupted, "Please do allow me to interject."

He nodded.

"I, your father Drake Studebake, he of shuttlecock sales fame, have reached my time for retirement."

Clementino pursed his lips.

"You see, while I appreciate your insightful words regarding your noble future, I must remind you that you are to consider me and my well-being."

Throckmorton looked pensive. He blinked. He yawned. He shat.

I forged ahead, "Need I remind you that we had discussed this matter while you were but a wombat in the great mothership."

He frowned and shat again.

"Our contract stipulates..." I trailed off, reaching into my cape and extracting a scroll emblazoned with the Studebake seal.

"Do you mean to suggest that I become a capitalist?"

Just then a Foxtons estate agent crossed our path. The aroma of his hair gel, the rigid cut of his suit and violent clack of his pointed Louis Vuitton loafers all suggested profit, revenue and a a future villa on the Costa del Sol.

Hastrobal cringed. I lit my pipe.

"Perhaps a tycoon." I put worth with a wave of my pipe.

I went on to outline the variety of industrial efforts he could engineer in order to bring the great Studebake fortune up to par with pre-recession expectations. I discussed potential poses for statues he would commission after his great successes, even explaining the significance of the breed of horses upon which he would proudly sit, and the return of the public's taste for military uniforms.

Unpredictably, the future magnate had fallen asleep. I safely tucked our contract back into my cape, returned to the castle and dreamed of handing him over to a team of nappy-changers.

The future is bright I told myself. The future is bright.