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Had a phone call from Hector. He said - Did you get my letter?

What letter? I said.

The one where I asked you for money - he said.

That was from Myra - I said.

What are you talking about? expostulated my brother.

A letter from Myra asking for money to go on a retreat - I rejoined.

Why would she want money to go on a retreat? demanded Hector.

She didn't want it to go on a retreat, that was just a ploy; she wants to have some gender reassignment surgery done.

Are you mad? My brother sounded angry. I told you I wrote the letter. Anyway Myra is living in Surbiton with a florist, and they are very happy.

Ah, she's fooled you as well - I smirked.

Don't be bloody silly, George. Anyway I don't need the money now, I'm not going on the retreat.

Well why are you ringing?

Because I want to ask you a favour, old chap.

No, Hector. Whatever it is, NO.

I'm writing a book - he said, ignoring my refusal. And I would like you to sort of proof read it. You know, as I write each bit. What with you being a writer and all.

Hector, I am far too busy - I said.

I'll mention you in the acknowledgements - he said.


I just put the phone down, Anna. Well, I mean: the cheek of it. But what about his claim to have written that letter? Oh I can't be bothered wearying my brain with it just now.

I'm off to bed.

Goodnight

George

ps. Hope the course work is on course.