A friend in need

In the House of the Sticky Carpets,
Where the furniture’s bolted down,
And the flotsam and the jetsam drift
From the seamier side of town,
I spend my lonely evenings with a glass (or two) of beer,
And the memories of boyhood dreams –
And I wonder why I’m here.

I know my darling Anna is not given to ruminating but do you ever ask yourself the question: What did I do, to get where I am today?

Actually, for myself, the question is not so much: What did I do? But: Why did I do it?

When I think back I just cannot understand what on earth possessed me to make some of the decisions I did make. What combination of neurons flashed across which synapses, causing my brain to fizzle and buzz and produce (in a millisecond) a life-changing thought?

Perhaps, brother Sven is thinking along these lines right now. Then again, perhaps not. Well, Anna, I would dearly love to be able to rush to him in his hour of need but, alas, it is the money problem again. I do not even have the train fare to Harwich (note the spelling), never mind the bail money that might extricate your brother (albeit only temporarily) from the unfortunate situation in which he now finds himself.

Even if I had such funds, my relationship with the constabulary of our fair land is not such as to encourage me to voluntarily enter a police station – any police station.

The only thing I can suggest is that Sven plays upon his psychiatric background (no doubt our police have already been in touch with their Swedish counterparts), and they may simply deport him, without charge, just a slap on the wrist.

But what of our future, my Swedish nightingale? (Wasn’t there someone called Jenny Lynd with that appellation? I believe I once saw a film where Barnum – played by Charlston Heston - brought her over to America. But that’s bye the bye.) Are we ever going to entwine our limbs again (such long ones, in your case)? I am leading the celibate life of a Trappist Monk – without the benefit of the peace and quiet accorded to the cloistered life. And it just is not good enough. Something must be done.

Have you any ideas?

Your loving George.

PS. I should have said hardly anyone reads the blog. R.J. Adams is a writer, a man of letters, who currently resides in the United States of America. He has a website which you may care to access: www.evenlittlesparrows.com . You could have trouble with some of the bigger words but it is well worth a visit; it will increase your vocabulary, and his blog will give you an insight into the American way of life.