On the road again

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Swindon is not a village; it is a large town. In fact the only thing that stops it from being a city is the fact that it has no cathedral. And then you have a piddling little place like Ely, which has a cathedral and is therefore a city. There you go: religion raising its ecclesiastical head again. It would be more sensible to say you need a slaughterhouse or a crematorium in order to qualify for city status.

I have been thinking a lot about this Sven business and the ‘C’ word is now at the forefront of my mind: Closure– that is what I seek: a mutually satisfactory conclusion to this unnecessary hostility.

It is for this reason, my darling, that I am asking you to contact your brother with a view to arranging a meeting (without Mr Churchill’s namesake, thank you!) so we can clear up the misunderstanding once and for all. Naturally, he has my word that I shall not, in any way, involve the police. All I am asking, at this stage, is that you put the suggestion to Sven and let me know his reaction.

I am going away on Monday. I need a break. And I have been in communication with Myra (Hector’s wife, you remember? Smokes a pipe and drives a motorbike and sidecar) seeking information regarding the whereabouts of my dear brother. Actually, as you know, he is, at best, my half brother, but there is considerable doubt as to his true parentage.

In fact I cannot believe there are any blood ties. He is such a liar. You mentioned the ‘famous Beatle’. Well Hector once told me that it was he who had suggested to a struggling McCartney that he try playing the guitar left-handed – and that Paul never looked back since.

Anyway Myra has invited me over for a few days. She has some possible leads on her errant husband and suggests we join forces to track him down – she wants to serve divorce papers.

I shall endeavour to find Internet access (Myra refuses to have a computer in the house) but if I am late in responding you will understand.

I have decided that I am an optimistic pessimist. This is someone who expects the worst to happen, and prepares for it. But also accepts that things might turn out well – and is ready for that possibility too.

Do you ever feel like you want to ‘own up’? To tell everybody what you really think? What you really feel? What you are really like? A sort of confession? Nah! I don’t suppose it would do any good, really. Would it?

Anyway, Anna, my love, I will finish this missive - except to say that you are always in my thoughts. Last night in the House of the Sticky Carpets a woman walked past and I caught a whiff of perfume, and it instantly brought back memories of you. You always used to smell so lovely – except when you’d farted.

Your George