The CASE
OF THE MISSING
CONTACT LENS.
Part 1.
April 1st, 1981.
My Dear Ouseph,
Apologies are in order.
Firstly, for using your garden as a latrine on my last visit. 'Ones' are acceptable, but 'Two's' are certainly not - I was disrespectful, and am now no longer proud of my actions. Please apologise to Reverend Pippin too - I hear he left the party soon afterwards and went drinking by the canal with Vivian? He must have been very low.
Secondly, my apologies for using your pyjama bottoms as a dish cloth. Unacceptable, at best. They did bring out a delightful shine in that bowl I nicked from Aubrey's restaurant, and I maintain that some of the staining was present pre cleaning-frenzy. Still, I should have used a regulation-sized towel product. I'm sorry.
Moving on to more pressing issues... have you found my contact lens? I do feel the onus rests on your shoulders to find it, given that you did throw the sandal at my face. Just to clarify, maintaining that you 'were aiming at my nose', does not count as a 'technicality' as you mentioned in your previous correspondence. I need it back. My lens, not my nose. I still have my nose.
Speaking of nasal facial growths, have you seen Kim recently? Fuck me, what the hell happened to him? Was he punted by a rogue elephant? The poor bastard. It reminds me of that time you fell off Little Paul's shoulders and fell on that hotdog stand. Bloody disaster, that was.
How's Dingle? Still tormenting the boys from the frigate by guffing in their cough medicine? I can imagine the chaos.
What a fucking moron, he is.
Look, must dash - I've got a pottery class with the St Stephen's Midwives, and I'm already late. Although I assume they're joking, they might not applaud when I enter the room if I continue to be tardy.
Very best,
Pitkin
The CASE
OF THE MISSING
CONTACT LENS.
Part 2.
TBC.