'Now old chaps, Nepal, as I understands it, is somewhere in the south, right? Somewhere between the lands of the mahdist heathens (where that brave bringer of civilisation Gordon withstood the saracen tides), the boer savages, and the afghan mahometans, no? If I travel far enough up the Nile I'll get there eventually. I'll just...get this savage to lead us there. Knows the lay of the water and all that. Then we'll get us back to England! Oh England, England, England! Good ol' England, with her civilised hills and disciplined moors, why even the weather has somethin' of our English refinement. These 'ere exotic mountains and valleys and deserts may be quite somethin' on the eye, but they are far too wild! They lack that English beauty which, though bursting to be let loose, holds back still. And that is the secret behind England you see, its beauty is made greater by its self-restraint, not its extravagance!

'In any case, old chaps, let us sally forth shall we?'

And with [i]Jerusalem[/i] playing faintly in the background, Sir Kholbert Walpole and his band of valiant companions sailed forth, up the Nile, towards Nepal. If they were lucky, they might even get there for tea time.