Quite a popular device in the weekly column world is to recycle old correspondance, so here is a letter I recently received in my role as defender of the mores of a bygone era.

Dear Sir,

I am writing to you today to bring to your attention some despicable news. I recently went to attend the house, I had made an unwise investment at Ascot and required the attendence money, only to have
some jumped-up jonny of a policeman inform me that the Prime Minister,
must still be Wilson, had taken away my hereditory right to be there. I was flabberghasted. However I quickly turned this to my advantage by turning my look of horror into a passable imitation of a footman I once saw die of a heart attack, the young Peeler dashed forward to aid me and I clubbed him around the head with my emergency hip flask.
I quickly slipped into the House and made my way to the library where I
learned some truly awful things. Most I shall spare your sensitive eyes
save two which I feel will illustrate my point.

Firstly the prices at the bar. Never in all my days of frequenting my local hostlery, The King's Badgers, as feudal lord and head of the local licensing commitee, have I been asked to pay for a small snifter.
Secondly the noise. The ambience of the finer sort of gentlemans club has been shattered by journalists and, dare I say it, politicians. The day they let politicians into Westminster was a black day and no mistake.

In closing I urge you to gather your forces and do something about this state before I have to shell out for some malt that is barely ten years.

I remain yours,

Auberon Cholmondly,

Behind the Trade Section,

Records Library,

House of Lords,

Westminster.

Next time; Something about the latest meet up I should think, no doubt heavily featuring modes of transport.

My Life as a Boozy Oaf

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Munchkin

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