I have made a decision about Anastasia: I am not going to pull out at the last minute.
No, I shall go ahead with the wedding, despite all the advice I have been getting, warning me of the perils of such an adventure.
I owe a lot to the Swedish tart. She comforted me in my hour of need: the dark days at ‘Wynorin’.
And not only me: Sydney too. I remember how she would give up her free time in order to counsel him during that sticky patch when he was so confused about his sexuality. The long walks they would take together, in the woods behind the house. The rainy afternoons they spent up in his room listening to his ‘Sex Pistols’ CDs.
In fact I think it was due to Anastasia that he finally came down on the right side of the fence. No disrespect to ‘gays’, you understand – ‘Live and let Live’ is my motto. But my boy Sydney? No, I am glad he plays with a straight bat.
And that reminds me of what helped me to come to this decision about the Scandinavian lady: my old school cap.
It was amongst my ‘personal possessions’ in the old suitcase that the lesbian dumped on the steps of St Botolph’s this week. The note said that she wanted to rid the house of the last vestiges of my occupation. And to think of all I have done for that woman!
Anyway, she didn’t realise how she helped me to come to the decision I have. Seeing my old cap again, I was reminded of the line in Thomas Hardy’s ‘Jude the Obscure’, “… Oh, that one small head should carry all he knew”
Not only that, it was the values encapsulated in that cap: the values of my old school (founded 1658) … play up, play up, and play the game… and all that stuff. The same values that Francis Drake espoused, and which enabled him to trounce the Spanish Armada (in the very year my old school was founded).
Unfortunately, I cannot name my school here; I am still regarded as one of its most famous ‘old boys’ and I would not want my present sorry plight to reflect upon that grand institution.
You will just have to be content with a picture of my cap.
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