What Ho Proles!
Alas, you can see that I’m one of those men that makes resolutions he has no intention of keeping. But that’s the thing with we men of the aristorcacy. We’re not bound by the same rules of you people of the pork pie and Daily Mirror. We’re not bound by the same moods, either. It’s the weather, you see? These dark winter days bring with them a life that is dull and devoid of all excitement. No amount of good news can shake me out of my lethargy. I picked up a nice profit in that market dip the other day and I heard that my bank account is positively bulging because of a few other investments I’ve made. Yet nothing cheers me up.
I’m not the sort of man you’d want to be around when I’m suffering my winter blues. I bagged myself a local the other day, just for the spite of it. Cost me nearly five pounds to hush it up and then the misery of having pay out cash put me in an even deeper mood so I bagged the blighter again. That cost me an additional twenty pounds and may cost me even more when it comes time to have his bandages removed. I didn’t take all that much flesh out of him, though there is talk of my having to pay for the blighter to have a prosthetic buttock installed. Still, there was no real harm done and it will teach the locals to keep off the high street during the daylight hours.
My main cause of misery is the Memoir. It now stands at 63,000 words and counting and I’ve still not had a sniff of interest from a publisher. Today I despatched My Man to London with the instructions to hang around places where literary types gather. I understand this tends to be close to natural sources of alcohol, which I can tell you, seemed to please him enormously. I’ve yet to hear back from him but I’ve equipped him with a fine bottle of chloroform to subdue an agent should he find one. This Memoir has to be on the shelves in time for the next election. It contains so much valuable information for prospective Tory candidates that it would be a crime should we not get it into their hands.
And with that, my update is complete. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. I have another long excerpt of adventure to relate to you.
In the meantime, keep faith with Murgatroid. Remember: form is temporary but class is forever.
Pip pip,
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1 comment:
I would like you to send me a t-shirt that says "Remember: form is temporary but class is forever."
Thank you.
Yours most sincerely,
MA
P.S. You should read my story about a box of scorched hair. Trust me. It's riveting.
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