Two Chaps Talking

Mon vieux,

Mugged eh? My God man, what in hell's name is the place coming to? Do I need to come back and roam the streets, rapier in hand, searching for miscreants upon whom to exact my own brand of justice?

I must admit you gave me quite a shock, fighting the good fight in assorted mews around the West End of London. All that and then parting brass rags with the providers of monthly stipends. What a palaver. Any nips at your worm from potential new patrons? Though my sources tell me that the sun is currently ablaze in Blighty so your time might be better spent amongst the flora, snoozing gently and waking only to sip at something cool.

On the subject of cool it must be said that New York is somewhere that isn't. Not a day has passed of late where Mary-Mercury didn't pause around the ninety degree mark before calling her old chum Henry-Humidity to join the party, top it all off with a little rain and you've quite a time for us all. Thank heaven for seaside escapes.

We've just returned from a rather eventful time by the sea as it happens. On Saturday we performed a motorised emergency stop to avoid a premature introduction to the chap in front and, as we drew gracefully to a halt against a passing tree, who should pop in but the car behind. Alas she was not as lucky as we in her ability to stop and used the latter part of our car to assist her. Imagine our chagrin. As luck would have it no-one sustained so much as a scratch and so after exchanging information we were able to limp away, dragging sundry parts of the car in our wake.

We were there to celebrate my completion of thirty-four consecutive summers. The old ball and chain managed to acquire a NASA Mission Control style gramophone that has me ducking to avoid falling masonry when I so much as switch it on. Jerusalem has never sounded better.

From the sea did we return and last night went out to celebrate the anniversary proper with a select band of drunks and malingerers. You will be in no way surprised to hear that I acquitted myself correctly. If I don't die of cirrhosis within the year then pickle my liver and exhibit it in the Natural History Museum.

Add that to a session that a couple of us partook of last week and I am delighted to be able to inform you that the boat is still well and truly afloat.

Talking of that particular session I must tell you about the behaviour of a certain barmaid. We had chosen to mix with hoi polloi in an especially seedy bar that featured fat bubba's and saw-dust on the floor. Don't ask me what we were doing there, I didn't know then and I don't know now. Anyway, as vile as the place was, the barmaid had a certain je ne sais quoi (shapely figure and come-hither manner) and so it was with a modicum of interest that I heard her make an announcement. As a special treat for the various assembled Bubba's she would be doing her 'water dance,' even though it wasn't Saturday - her traditional day.

Well it was quite a shock to learn that it wasn't Saturday, I can tell you, but then days of the week have never been my strong point. I observed the lady in question climb aboard the bar and set up a dozen heaving jugs (pun intended) of iced water before her. At this point the music became rather more animated and the poor demented woman began pouring water over her front, then her head, and then her elsewheres.

Now before you go getting all hot under the collar let me assure you that this bar was in no way a place that suggested such behaviour. And in addition the female was not wearing any kind of clothing that revealed anything more when wet (- her clothing remained fully intact throughout the display). But I must say, old thing, that these young 'uns know how to have fun, I was all but tapping my foot in a rhythmic fashion as the last lucky drops of water fell to the floor.

And what else? Well as you know I am currently suffering under a regime of w--k. Deeply unpleasant and becoming ever more so, what's more I now am required to answer to a mere girl who lives only to indulge in this foul habit. The appalling bint thinks of nothing else, and what is worse she intends to accompany me on my next Grand Tour of the flesh-pots of Asia.

And so we draw to the end, it's too hot to wear anything remotely correct and someone was shot dead on the corner of my road. Plus ca change, non?

Yours from deep within,

S