Dear Diary,
The Glorious Twelfth but there was nothing glorious about it.
Father went off with his Todger, dribbling in excitement. The beast knew it was up for some sport no doubt.
I declined a day wandering upon Nethermoor in the persistent rain in favour of a warm seat in the library where I was happily plied with tea and the occasional crumpet.
I am to Edinburgh on Thursday. I have heard rumour of a secret Thespic Festival which sounds most intriguing. It is a shame that it is in Scotland but one must make sacrifices for the Arts. These scotsmen are quite wild I believe and generally hirsute. I am convinced if I ride Python fast enough they shall not unseat me and I shall be past them before they are able to grasp their dirks and raise them. I have heard tell that they like to distract passers-by with the raising their kilts but I shall have to be strong and remain steadfast in my passage.
Oh no, I have blemished this page by dribbling butter upon it from my crumpet.
Kristin Chenowith - Home
14 years ago
4 comments:
Dear Wayne,
Grouse hunting on the moor, dribbling Todger, persistent rain, ah the glories of August.
A fast ride on Python to avoid hairy Scotsmen raising their kilts and grasping their dirks sounds fun though.
I always knew there must be a practical reason for their decline of undergarments in the 'nether' region.
And butter drips on the page, yes of course, you stick to that story Wayne everyone will believe it.
Yours dripping too,
B.
My dear Mr 'Moose',
'Twas butter, I swear!
Yours emphatically,
Wayne Austen
My dear Mr. Austen,
as a former resident of Edinburgh, I can assure you that the Scots are a friendly race, although a little less so towards the English - understandably.
Edinburgh has numerous places where bachelors resort for entertainment and in Raeburn Place you will find a shop exclusively given over to the sale of cheese! Worth a visit surely!
As long as you keep your prejudices to yourself, you are unlikely to find a dirk raised in anger.
Hoping that you enjoy your visit, Sir Studly Buckwell bart.
My dear Mr Buckwell,
Am I to understand that you are no stranger in the world of sporran lifting?
Yours curiously,
Wayne Austen
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