An Evening Update

What Ho Proles

Forgive me if I sound distracted. In the background, I can hear nothing but My Man complaining that his fingers. Too much typing, or so he claims. I’ve already told him they’d ache even more if I had the bounder dragged to the dungeon where a few of my ancestors left their favourite thumbscrews and the rest…

Anyhow: another chapter of my Memoirs are currently going to press, though I’ll wait to see if His Worship has reduced today’s manuscript to a more reasonable length. He says he’s counted more than two thousand words for today’s instalment and I've told him that clearly won’t do. I sometimes believe he types up every one of my petulant sighs and inflammatory asides, in which case, he'd hit two thousand words in no time.

I must go and see if he's finished the editing. Then I will see about the blighter's incessant complaining.