Two Chaps Talking

Mon Vieux,

Bit of a problem old love. Turned on the old goggle box the other night and between the adverts caught sight of a not-so-young filly who had me all of a flutter, indeed it took some minutes with one of the romantic poets to quieten my ardour. Now the rub here is that the gentle creature in question is none other than Ms Nigella Lawson. I know, I know, what am I to do? It's one of the adverse side affects of living amongst the uneducated. Entertainment for the masses over here revolves around winsome young things uttering monosyllables during the very few moments that they're not demonstrating the skill of their dentist. So the thought of a generously proportioned bint with pre-Raphaelite hair and a red lipstick smile has me hankering for the matron I never had. I can hardly contain myself during the albeit brief interval between programmes. Troubling old thing, no?

And if that wasn't enough then let me take you for a moment to a recent gathering of my fellow scribers in an un-named bar somewhere in this great metrop. Drinks were had, this is true, and I can't deny that references were made to the writing of one of our number that featured the making of two backs. Yes that too is true. And all right, so perhaps a passage or two of Mr Henry Miller's writing was read aloud, but all in the best possible taste I assure you, or, well. You see, the thing is, the passage in question may have inadvertently referred to certain things sans poil.

Now imagine, if you will, a mature mother of three; dressed like a Mormon missionary and not fond of 'cursing,' who whispered to me 'My husband wanted to see that so I gave him some shaving cream and a razor and said enjoy...'. AAAArrggghhhh. I tried in vain to cover my poor violated ears, the same ears that had heard such wonder in their time, and now this. I'm not sure I can go on.....

It's some while later now and I'm calm, I'll never be the same again of course, but one has to go on. You may notice a theme throughout the first part of my message, let's just say that the little woman is away for a week and I'm feeling it keenly. Loved your note by-the-by, sent it to the other half in the East and she passed it round trying valiantly to maintain the heterosexuality of its author. Yes, I'm afraid even the so-called sophisticates over here equate polysyllables with the wearing of soft-shoes. I clearly have more work to do. Let's take conciliation in having my very own dear wife fighting the good fight in our absence.

Accessories as you know maketh the man. And frankly how I managed to get by without my recently acquired leather and stainless portable mini bar is a mystery of biblical proportions. Containing a shaker, strainer, stirrer and other sundries and with room for oodles of electric soup it's just the thing for an afternoon at Lords or a trip to the tobacconist. How, I ask you, did we ever dare to enter a place of moving picture entertainment, with the obvious risk of being offended by mediocrity, without the wherewithal to mix a Lucky Jim? It beggars belief old chap. Talking of life's sweeteners I've just taken possession of something called a flat screen monitor. No idea what it's for of course but it does take up rather less room on the drinks table than the non-working television that preceded it.

So it's six bells and all's well. Cocktails anyone? Delighted that you're in print and looking forward to same.

God was an Englishman,

S