The CASE
OF THE MISSING
JERKIN.
Part 1.
February 14TH, 1982.
My Dear Ouseph,
You were indirectly responsible for another incident yesterday.
This, of course, makes a change, as you're usually directly irresponsible.
I was enjoying an afternoon cooler with Ken Bold Jnr at The Orangery, when he started recalling (with some glee, it must be said) your misadventure at the foot of the Matterhorn in '79. I was not only highly dissatisfied with his version of events - honestly, those Nesquik rumours are getting waaay out of hand - but also at his pronunciation of your name as 'Yusef', in a casually irksome manner.
So, keen to wreak mischief and poke the bugger in the cheeks for his incivility, I poured some unfavourable mulligatawny on his chair when he went to the lavatory. Whence he returned, he casually perched back down on the hot pool of ming broth. Weirdly, it wasn't until a full 25 minutes later that he realised all was not well with his trouser status.
Perhaps understandably, he wasn't at all happy with my actions. Nor did he believe me when I said:
a) It wasn't me.
b) It didn't look as bad as others were pointing out.
c) I didn't greatly enjoy smearing his pants with highly seasoned brown goo-juice.
Given his mustard-coloured cords, it looked like he had gotten himself into a seriously unwelcome personal situation. Much like the time you got that late train back from Cardiff.
Before I could continue to point/laugh in horror & joy at the unfortunate stain, I had a carafe of Rioja thrown at my face and chest (my neck). Well, you can fill out the rest, I'm sure.
You may be familiar with a film called 'Women in Love'... famous scene by the fire. Sadly though, in the kerfuffle I lost my salmon pink jerkin - the one you bought me when we were in Ithaca. I tore it off once agitated, and some bastard (or bitch) must have taken it home with them as some sort of demented memento of the ugly ruck.
Come to think of it, Ruairi & Achilles were there, perhaps they took it 'by accident' (again).
On a happier note, Deborah did make it back from the vets in one piece, which must come as a relief to you, given that you were directly responsible for her injuries. I can assure you that saying 'watch this you cunts', before reversing down the drive really quickly and then spinning in a circle, impressed no one. Least of all our 4-legged (now 3-legged) friend. Cat litter will not suffice this time as an apology gift. I'd like a new juicer please. And maybe some wine gums.
Must dash, this carpet won't clean itself.
Very best,
Pitkin
PS. Probably best to avoid Ken if you see him at The Orangery, especially if there's soup on the menu. I'm fairly sure he was responsible for pouring what (still) smells like lobster bisque through my letter flap yesterday. Deborah was a lot happier than myself at this late night 'delivery', and lapped it up like a deserted castaway would an ice cold beer.
The CASE
OF THE MISSING
JERKIN.
Part 2.