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alternative route for the Highclere bypass has been proposed. If accepted, lorries will pass through our stable. Mr Parkinson is being driven barmy by his mother-in-law who is usually pissed and never stops talking the most fearful balls. A lady in Newbury has strangled her ever-loving husband with a dressing-gown cord. Jeffrey Bernard is in court at Newbury today over a combination of motor accident and unpaid debts. I think his wife has done a pineapple chunk.V. cold here today and thick ice on the water butt.
Yours ever
In a moment of wild desperation I agree to try my hand at attending agricultural college with a view ultimately to becoming a farmer. Instead, without warning and at the last minute, I become manager of a multinational rock band. This does not improve my motherâs mood or anxiety level: âWhat you need, my dear boy, is a raison dâêtre.â
Dampwalls
Burghclere
Newbury
27 June
Dear Lupin,
I think I forgot to tell you that the most immaculately dressed man I met in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot was the popular baker, James Staples. I had never seen him out of his red jersey before. It is quite peaceful here and I am watching a horde of rabbits and various birds of evil character destroy the garden. I am getting worried about the oil situation here next winter and am thinking of alternative forms of heating, including thick vests, longs pants and balaclava helmets. I had a reminder that the summer is passing when I received a request today to order regimental Christmas cards. I had dinner with the Parkinsons last night. I have rarely seen a garden with a richer crop of weeds. The Surtees garden is immaculate except where Major S. upset a can of weed-killer on the lawn. Mr Parkinson took some children (rashly, in my view) to the Air Display and had a truly horrific time. I think your mother is due home tomorrow. I have no news of any rows with Jane yet.
Your affec. father,
RM
P.S. I have been paid my fee by âPacemakerâ.
Only my father could worry about the onset of winter in mid-June
.
Budds Farm
23 October
My Dear Lupin,
I have received the enclosed letter from a Mr Sunderland, of whom I have never heard. Perhaps an impoverished literary hack like your father. If I have given you any family relics that would help, could you dig them out when you next come here?
Iâm sorry to hear you are poorly. Are you getting enough to eat?
Yours ever,
RM
Mr Sunderland was putting together the history of our ancestor Sir John Hamilton Mortimer, RA. He lived in the eighteenth century, was a very successful artist and died from serious over-indulgence before he was forty
.
1976
The Droolings
Much Muttering
Berks
11 July
My Dear Charles,
I hope your strength is holding out and that you are thus able to enjoy honest labour with well-earned relaxation. I have just been reading in The Times of fearful storms in the south-west of France. I have heard nothing of your sister and Hot Hand Henry. Can it be true that they are residing at a nudist colony on one of the remoter Greek Islands? It would surely be a weird choice for a honeymoon? Or perhaps not. Except for the first fortnight at their preparatory school a honeymoon is for most people the least happy experience of their life. Mr Parkinson woke up on the third morning of his first honeymoon and found that his ever-loving wife had done a pineapple chunk. I think Mr P. is scouting around for a fourth wife. If he does succeed in his quest, I hope I shall be best man again: it has become part of the tradition. I stayed with Cousin Tom last week. Among the guests were Sir D. Plummer, head of the Betting Levy Board, and Lady P. He is very ambitious and set on a life peerage: she is the epitome of Dorking and Reigate. Lady P. dipped her nut a bit too far into the martini bucket and became more or less unplayable. We got her up to bed fairly early and she kept on sending urgent messages down to her husband, intimating that he was
Yours ever
In a moment of wild desperation I agree to try my hand at attending agricultural college with a view ultimately to becoming a farmer. Instead, without warning and at the last minute, I become manager of a multinational rock band. This does not improve my motherâs mood or anxiety level: âWhat you need, my dear boy, is a raison dâêtre.â
Dampwalls
Burghclere
Newbury
27 June
Dear Lupin,
I think I forgot to tell you that the most immaculately dressed man I met in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot was the popular baker, James Staples. I had never seen him out of his red jersey before. It is quite peaceful here and I am watching a horde of rabbits and various birds of evil character destroy the garden. I am getting worried about the oil situation here next winter and am thinking of alternative forms of heating, including thick vests, longs pants and balaclava helmets. I had a reminder that the summer is passing when I received a request today to order regimental Christmas cards. I had dinner with the Parkinsons last night. I have rarely seen a garden with a richer crop of weeds. The Surtees garden is immaculate except where Major S. upset a can of weed-killer on the lawn. Mr Parkinson took some children (rashly, in my view) to the Air Display and had a truly horrific time. I think your mother is due home tomorrow. I have no news of any rows with Jane yet.
Your affec. father,
RM
P.S. I have been paid my fee by âPacemakerâ.
Only my father could worry about the onset of winter in mid-June
.
Budds Farm
23 October
My Dear Lupin,
I have received the enclosed letter from a Mr Sunderland, of whom I have never heard. Perhaps an impoverished literary hack like your father. If I have given you any family relics that would help, could you dig them out when you next come here?
Iâm sorry to hear you are poorly. Are you getting enough to eat?
Yours ever,
RM
Mr Sunderland was putting together the history of our ancestor Sir John Hamilton Mortimer, RA. He lived in the eighteenth century, was a very successful artist and died from serious over-indulgence before he was forty
.
1976
The Droolings
Much Muttering
Berks
11 July
My Dear Charles,
I hope your strength is holding out and that you are thus able to enjoy honest labour with well-earned relaxation. I have just been reading in The Times of fearful storms in the south-west of France. I have heard nothing of your sister and Hot Hand Henry. Can it be true that they are residing at a nudist colony on one of the remoter Greek Islands? It would surely be a weird choice for a honeymoon? Or perhaps not. Except for the first fortnight at their preparatory school a honeymoon is for most people the least happy experience of their life. Mr Parkinson woke up on the third morning of his first honeymoon and found that his ever-loving wife had done a pineapple chunk. I think Mr P. is scouting around for a fourth wife. If he does succeed in his quest, I hope I shall be best man again: it has become part of the tradition. I stayed with Cousin Tom last week. Among the guests were Sir D. Plummer, head of the Betting Levy Board, and Lady P. He is very ambitious and set on a life peerage: she is the epitome of Dorking and Reigate. Lady P. dipped her nut a bit too far into the martini bucket and became more or less unplayable. We got her up to bed fairly early and she kept on sending urgent messages down to her husband, intimating that he was
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