Dear Diary,
What a wheeze! I'm off to the Antartic with Uncle Geoffrey, mother's cake and the cricket set. It looks like it's going to be an adventure and a half! We have a fine team of chaps going, except perhaps for that Frenchie fellow and the Welshman who keeps talking about sheep in his valleys. I'm sure it will all work out in the wash however. Leading us, are a couple of intrepid fellows called Moore and Starkweather, they do seem a bit lax on the details though. When we checking the inventory (a job more suited to the rougher sort) supplies and such seem to be short. Very, very fishy. I had to track down these dodgy Italian chappies who were holding onto our dynamite. Not good at all. However Moore and Starkweather are the experts and Uncle seems to think they know what they are doing so that's good enough for me.
Meanwhile we seem to have competition, old Starkweather was in a right to do about it and woke us all up on Monday. Some bloody ungodly hour! Apparently Acaicia Lexington an heiress (and a woman!!!!) is mounting one (an expedition) in response. So Starkweather got us our own woman and we are taking her with us. I will be helping to look after her. And if that wasn't rum enough for you old thing this scruffy chap handed me a note in the lobby just yesterday morning. Some piffle about old ones and not disturbing unknown forces. I have never heard such tripe in all my life. It's the scientific 1930s for goodness sake!