The CASE
OF THE MISSING
BRAIN CELLS.
Part 1.
August 8th, 1979.
My dear Ouseph,
"Fortune dwells on tales of yay and woe - woe is me, therefore my fortune remains untold, and, yay, woeful." - Unknown.
I met with Laszlo last night.
He sends his regards, but, interestingly, only after I said "Shall I send Ouseph your regards?"
You still haven't told me what happened between the two of you at Glenna's stag. I presume he behaved poorly. When drunk he is a man of few words and even fewer brain cells. Thank god he works in the government sector. Prior to the drink (not) talking, he told me he was visited by a UFO that landed in his pear orchard, and, thinking that no one would believe him, he had set fire to the craft immediately.
I suspect he is actually telling the truth. After all, why would he lie?
Out of interest, does your neighbour, Edward, still insist that the 'e' in 'e-mail' was named after him? It's just that I was talking to an ombudsman yesterday, whilst Laszlo was being sick in the ocean, who reckons it stands for 'electronic'.
Your thoughts, as ever, are welcome.
Oh, and do tell whether you're coming to town for business or pleasure - if you've a spare yard for a yarn, perhaps we could meet at the club?
Very best,
Pitkin
The CASE
OF THE MISSING
BRAIN CELLS.
Part 2.
AUGUST 22nd, 1979.
Dearest Pitkin,
Terribly sorry for my late response - I'm afraid your last message arrived smack in the middle of another family debacle at our end. Needless to say, I'll spare you the grim details, though you should perhaps note, it appears as if your estranged Godson, Stephen, will remain that way a good while longer.
Fancy you running into Laszlo like that - I was under the impression that he was now bed-bound? Re: my encounter with him at Glenna's stag, as I said at the time, it's not so much reticence, on my part, as it is insouciance. As far as I was concerned, the evening had passed amiably and without incident. It was only after Neil Sinclair sanctioned me at the Gantry that I became aware of any perceived indiscretion. Indeed, though I hate to sound prickly about it, between ourselves, I still think the whole thing smacked of Russki hysteria - though it isn't only for this reason that I retain a degree skepticism regarding some of L's more outlandish claims.
Life at the Academy continues apace, though I continue to have difficulty distinguishing students from staff. Just last week, I found myself chastising what I took to be as a lasciviously precocious undergraduate, only to be told later that she was in fact a visiting Professor of Modern English Literature from the University of East Anglia. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that my tenured position has somehow survived the financier's scythe for another twelve months; but I do I feel increasingly exposed.
You forget that now we have moved, we no longer have any neighbours - unless you count the several thousand sheep I can see from my attic window. You also forget that nobody ever actually heard Edward make that claim for himself - it was merely attributed to him in parenthesis. Regardless, we have not remained in contact - in fact, given that cough, I should be very surprise if he made it through the winter.
As ever,
Joseph
p.s. It's really business and pleasure, or, at least, pleasurable business (I trust you understand my meaning). As such, I see no reason why we should not meet at our usual spot.