Monday, November 30, 2015

The Arrival

There's a certain activity here were I live. It's called "Rushing-Around." And some might be more familiar with it than others. If I could just locate the on switch on the vacuum cleaner all will be well.

The Artist is returning after several weeks of travel and she'll be with the daughter and the grandchild and a dog called Cheeky. So it's all very exciting. 

Sunday, November 29, 2015


MC Escher was a Frisian. He was born somewhere in the middle of The Netherlands. Some will call him an Artist, others will call him a Mathematician even if he was no good at his sums. He died in 1972 in March. I don't know whether he spoke West Frisian, which is not yet an endangered language. Escher liked the same mathematical patterns that Ancient Sumerians around six thousand years ago liked to carve into stone.

The pattern is laid out on a flat surface, and when you look at it, your eye, through your mind, can see a third dimension. There's a great difference between an eye, a voice and an ear, but the information all goes to the same place. It would be easy to think of that place as a sort of number cruncher with memory. At the same time you'd have to think it's a number cruncher with attitude. And it's the attitude part that's so difficult to pin down. It's the Saterland Frisian language that's endangered. Wonder whether it's an attitude issue.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Fried Rice with Egg Day

Following The Black Friday there is what's called Cyber-Monday. And for those remotely interested, Cyber-Monday was invented on November 28th in the year 2005 by a marketing company. So we're looking at a ten year anniversary. And maybe in hundred years time there will still be a Cyber-Monday.

Of the many newer introductions to the calendar is Fried Rice with Egg Day on November 24th. It's a net-citizen day that celebrates the death of Chairman Mao's eldest son. He was killed during the Korean war. And the point about Fried Rice with Egg Day for those who celebrate it, is they believe that had Mao's Eldest son not died, China would have become more like North Korea.

Friday, November 27, 2015

Black Friday

One of the things about Joseph Conrad were his heroes. They were more anti-heroes, than they were super-heroes. We're not talking Biggles, or Henty or the shelf of H's. His own idea of the institution we try to call Democracy, wasn't a pretty one. He saw it as a home for demagogues and charlatans. And while people like TE Laurence salivated over his use of language, searched for meaning, others wondered at his experience of the world as a sailor and assumed he never quite belonged. He was born a Pole, English his second language. Through his life the British Empire reached its zenith and before he died the empire was crumbling. I'll call his anti-heroes prophets.

Yes indeed, you have to wonder whether Joseph Conrad would have had a Twitter account, a website and how he would react to his "Heart of Darkness" being a Black Friday special. His short story "Amy Foster" spoke of the loneliness of those who do not belong. The outsider is less than the underdog, depends for his solace upon the patronizing of others else he becomes outcast. And those who object to an understanding of the world of people as a collection of tribes tend toward an ignorance. Their heroes become shallower and shallower super heroes. So you have to kind of like Rose Mcgowan's views of on screen killing and what she calls "tent pole" films. No doubt in due course, she'll join the ranks of outsiders.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

Conrad, Leaning Towers and Thanksgiving

Interpreting a Hadith, passage from the Torah, a Papal Encyclical, a letter from the Arch Bishop of Canterbury, an opinion in any newspaper, and the products of academia have a lot in common. The pattern is well established, and it mostly represents a leaning tower of reason off the top of which an occasional bold soul attempts to take flight. If a person was to think of the analogy through time, one argument is that here in the west there are fewer and fewer of us trying to fly. And this argument goes on to suggest that fewer and fewer of us are trying to fly because we have less and less faith in our leaning tower.

Why, the careful reader might ask, does the tower have to lean. Conrad, the writer, who died in 1924, his Lord Jim out there in the East, had the idea that what some call the institution of society, what others rather feebly call civilization, others still will think of as culture, is little more than something like a thin layer of solid lava on top of a liquid magma. And the point about The Leaning Tower of Reason, is that should it lean too far, it will fall very quickly, it's little bricks all over the place, each one making no sense whatsoever. If it were up to a choice between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'd happily ban Christmas. Rock on Tommy, there's mash Potato and Chard in my future. 

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Asimov's story and Shoping Carts

Asimov's story of our future had a thinking machine that enabled us people to populate the universe. Then when the universe fell to ennui, began to shrink, surrender to the inevitable, what did we people do? In Asimov's story we all became one with the thinking machine and created a new universe. Don't remember the details of Asimov's account but we probably called our new home Hope. Guess too there were mechanical smiles, seeds of joy, there might even have been some kind of tap dancing allowed within the oneness. Not sure that domestic pets were permitted, pretty sure nose flute music had been outlawed, and of course there were No Smoking signs all over the place.

And some people might wonder why other people don't like circles. It's a hot debate between circle people and straight line people, I know. But in this season of high spending, best not to raise the issue in the Grocery Isles where the journey is so rigged a person needs a special dispensation or a uniform to use the back entrance. Me if I worked there, I'd like to be on shopping cart retrieval duty with the authority from on high to vaporize anyone who did not return their shopping cart to the well labeled shopping cart corals. 

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

The Story Told

Alexander Haig was a commander of men at the Battle of the Somme. A battle that lasted almost four months and ended on November 18th. On the first day of fighting, 20,000 of Haig's soldiers died. Lessons were learned, tactics changed. The casualty figures on both sides of the trench by the end of the battle were something like a million and one third soldiers. The fighting was artillery, guns, axes, hammers, knives and rocks. The Battle of the Somme was declared a Victory for Haig and his soldiers.

Those who experienced the fight shared an experience  few of us would wish upon anyone. When Alexander Haig died, a hundred odd thousand of his former soldiers marched past his coffin. It must have been a sight to see. And you have to wonder were they proud of their victory, of course they were. Did they wonder why they'd volunteered, probably not. Or was it just something that happened to them all, shared in a private, sad moment. The answer is no, yet sometimes a person might get the feeling we're telling the stories that will allow us to do it all over again.

Monday, November 23, 2015

How Are You Doing.

 It's the 3rd and the 23rd and yet 13 has the th. As in 13th. No wonder spelling is tricky for some of us. The other one is the word "unique." It's not "an unique moment" it's "a unique moment." But if I have "a uncle" rather than "an uncle" I'm ready for the funny farm. Guess language is as riven by correctness as is the word Yoga in a certain Canadian establishment of higher learning where a Yoga program has come to a halt following allegations that Yoga is an Eastern religious practice and should be venerated, not treated as colonial possession or as an exercise regime for the handy-capable.

Then if you engage in Yoga but call it something like Mango, it's no longer Starbucks coffee it's just ordinary coffee and becomes robbed of the coffee drinking experience and the world might just as well end. Yes indeed, the Festive Season is upon us and interestingly this week has been called "Turkey Week." For my part I have vehement objections to the "Festive Season," it's far too long and a blow up Father Christmas is an insult to Laplanders. But, tempting though it might be, calling those of my fellow citizens who choose to actively engage in the USA's harvest festival Turkeys, is step I'll not be taking. It suggests lambs to the slaughter of Black Friday, and it's a very incorrect and mean thing to do. Incidentally "Yoga" is Ateso for something like "How you doing?"

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Peer Review and The Singularity

The thing about Peer Review, is the assumption that Peers are upright honest and decent searchers for the truth, if there is such a thing. Then when a Philosopher of the Singularity hits the big time with his assertion that when machines outshine us people in the area of thinking we'll be coming to the end of our time at the top of the food chain, it's worth looking at the man's Peers and raising an eyebrow and asking the question why is his book selling so well.  As I understand it the Singularity in this case is when man and machine become one or transcend biology.

 Researchers in what they call Artificial Intelligence, or the people actively employed in making machines think, have their own set of Peers and none of them are remotely impressed by the Philosopher of Singularity's opinion, they become like anthropologists and reckon he's a religious nut looking for an end time. And there's the argument that we people are not much more than tool makers that replicate ourselves through a process that is not only painful and in some parts of the world incredibly expensive but often results in the civil courts. So where does that leave us I wonder.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Chance of Flurries

One more month until the days begin to lengthen.  My own hero is currently enjoying June in the Land of the Welsh. For him it's a dry June. It has to be, following a high incidence of outdoor activities that have been foisted upon him by the dark fiend that pulls his strings with no thought for a truly heroic hero's happiness or comfort. Indeed the crueler his circumstance the happier I seem to be.

Such a pity the ultimate weaver of tales spends so much time devising plot lines for our weather down here on Earth. I suppose it's more a question of preventing anything like a reluctant reader from ever even thinking about getting remotely bored. But, I have to admit the weather part of the story this Fall has been a very nice and gentle story, which I'd happily read again.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Election 2016 Bobby Jindal

Bobby Jindal has suspended his campaign. "Suspended" means the candidate can continue to raise money to pay off his debts, but he's not actually playing anymore unless some kind of miracle happens. Jindal is big on reducing the size of government, he reckons that very little government is required to manage the interests of three hundred twenty odd million people. Just let everybody get on with it and a more perfect union will obviously be achieved. It's the old story about government being inefficient and wasteful, so let's get rid of it, so much easier than trying to work out how to improve it. Which seems to be a recent interpretation of the Christian message and/or small business.

During his career Jindal spent a great deal of time on Health. Not sure the extent to which his concerns were with Public Health, rather he was more interested in reducing the role the State played in Health. In his first term as governor of Louisiana he appointed the body guard of the Louisiana State Football team coach to lead Louisiana State Police. The body guard's name was Edmonson. Jindal then passed what he thought was a state law which provided for better than average benefits for State Police. Later he was persuaded to repeal the law when it was revealed that the only person who benefitted from the law was Edmonson and his side kick. Tricky business politics.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

A Few Complaints

There will be a visit to town today. Three reasons. First and most import is to demonstrate to the wider community that my own territory hasn't been abandoned to Fox Squirrel, White Tailed Deer and Turkey. All very well a peaceable kingdom, but when a Fox Squirrel tries to store his winter nuts in someone's back porch boots it's time to act. It's wrong and it's very thoughtless behavior.

 The second reason has to do with the electric line. Who knew that replacing a couple of poles would result in quite so many power cuts. My own addiction to the electric is well documented on these pages, and I feel the need to glare at the work crew let them know their hard work hasn't gone unnoticed. The final reason is what looks like an acre of Turnip Greens. I need some thing like bacon.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Spacetime in The Rabbit of Usk

Algebra is one solution. Spacetime another. Granted some of us have only a tenuous understanding of both areas of thinking. Algebra: a(b)+d = St. Spacetime: matter+space+time = the universe. Meanwhile on planet Earth there's a sort of Afon-Bedd thing happening, our hero is wholly engaged and it's not that complicated.

There are many who might think The Rabbit's retrial would make no sense. But always worth recalling The Lead Bull is more like a plank of wood when put beside something like algebra or spacetime. And this is a good thing for the Vestry at Monnow where erudition and learning rule.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Current Affairs and Afon-Bedd

Very difficult to concentrate upon the causes of Sainthood in the Afon-Bedd Tri County Asylum with these constant interruptions from current affairs. Call him self centered if you have to, but your correspondent has to stop absorbing himself in the Balkan machinations around the year 1914. It's an area that has been well studied by better minds than his, and helpful to be able to pronounce the names of the characters involved, which is something way beyond your correspondent's capacity. Nedeljko Cabrinovic give it a go.

Nedeljko was a minor. Too young to execute. He was sentenced to twenty years in prison for his role in the assassination of Duke Ferdinand. He died in prison in 1916 of tuberculosis. And this is what Nedeljko thought about his participation in the causes of the First World War; "We are not criminals. We are honest people, animated by noble sentiments, we are idealists, we wanted to do good, we have loved our people, and we shall die for our ideals." The point about Afon-Bedd is that this sort mumbo-jumbo never comes up, so current affairs don't offer much inspiration to this writer of pulp.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Words and Too Late

"Too late for words, words have become an army." Think it's a Serbian phrase. Kosovo is a big word for the Serbs. In something like 1389 the battle was lost to the Ottoman, and it still irks the Serbian Nationalist. Mind you not far away from Kosovo, in the town of Sarajevo, in the year 1914 a single event burst the tensions in the European world, a Duke was killed by Serbian nationalists, the Black Hand they were called, 'Unification or Death' their motto, and it was indeed too late for words.

Then they look at you and say "Peace." There's a scowl of contempt, the drums roll, the fifes and the scurry of little boys. Flags fly with a new meaning, old men tremble, widows remember. Who has control of this. The media sees its opportunity, the Political Class wary of the opposition have to come out as big tough and strong, or risk losing an election. And far, far too often the Serbs are right. It's too late for words, and there's a picture of Chamberlain, the Conservative Prime Minister of England with his piece of paper. 

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Saint Gastyn

One of the options available to our hero was to become Saint Gastyn. And indeed it was a tricky moment for our hero. So perhaps a little background might be useful. Saint Gastyn himself was probably from Gaul, which is basically now France. Saint Gastyn's Church, on the shores of Llangorse Lake in Wales, has it's origins way back at around the time Roman Legions were directed to leave Britannia. Then when the Roman Legions left, Britannia which had contained a oneness, they had baths and stuff, fell prey to the Barbarians, or The Picts and The Scots, a loose association of northern heathens who were primarily occupied by earthly matters. Angles, Saxons and Jutes, the story goes were invited by the remnants of Rome in the British Island to come to their island and defend what I guess would have been the landed gentry. You can think of them as King Arthur, if you like. And classically enough when Angles Saxons and Jutes reckoned on better wages for their mercenary services, things started to go awry for the remnants of Rome in Britannia.

The Angles occupied the middle part of Briton. The Saxons occupied the more southwestern parts of Briton. The Jutes chose Kent. The remnants of Rome who were reluctant to assimilate were kind of pushed into Wales, and some will say down into the big toe of England, or Cornwall. The point about Saint Gastyn's Church is that it was a Celtic Church under the protection of Welsh Princes from the time the Roman Legions left to the time of the Norman Conquest of the Welsh Kingdom of Brycheiniog.  A period of five to six hundred years. That would be like from today going back to The Wars of the Roses, or the Voyage of Columbus. The other thing about Saint Gastyn's Church is that Victorians, who did wonders for things like sewage systems, the water supply and had worked very hard to rid the world of the Welsh Language, rebuilt Saint Gastyn's Church. But the good news is that Saint Gastyn's Church is in the Parish of Llyn Syfaddon which is a more ancient name for Llangorse Lake.

Saturday, November 14, 2015


#hashtags are maybe beyond my capacity to grasp. Now if they were something like an electronic meme it would be so much easier for me. I could say with the pompous head high that I am more like my angel and I prefer not to be engaged in memes, no desire to contribute to them, or be infected by them. A very frail "hope" on my part. Mind you, if you're a person as callous and cynical as my angel, then there's a splendid opportunity to watch memes or perhaps #hashtags in action.

 A nation state has again declared an "Act of War." A rally cry to the visceral. I believe a child as young as twelve was killed. Britain's odious prime minister is preparing his nation for British casualties. An American rock band was playing. It was Friday, a great many people enjoying their evening. Germany and France were playing a friendly game of soccer, which could be of interest to the ancient historian. It's a sadness, a waste. And I suspect the response will be a familiar series of #hashtags. My own would be attributed to Norman Rich #PeaceIsLearnedNotTaught.

Friday, November 13, 2015


Bless me father, for I have sinned. I have commented on the internet newspapers, I have again been moderated by the eternal wisdom of internet newspaper moderators, who I'm firmly convinced are good people at heart. And I have permitted myself to be sucked into Facebook where I have made random remarks and utterances for no reason that I can actually think of.

You come here quite often my son. The sin of vainglory is one you are prone to and I see from your permanent record a couple of offerings to Pinterest and three tweets in the last couple of days. Let me remind you the sin of vainglory remains a cardinal sin, it's stairway to hell. The devil is in you. I sentence you to 250 Hail Marys, a shave, a shower, and thou shalt visit town.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Ironic v Pedant

Probably a more vital issue in my own small world, is the relationship between Language, Ambition, the Medieval Period and Insanity. A potent and extraordinarily diverse mix of themes you might agree. But we writers of pulp do enjoy the puzzle, and this one's got Sabean written all over it. Sometimes too a journey to the puzzle's solution is less of a coiled spring and more like a bursting water balloon. Then there's the nightmare of editing.

Of the many problems in the cave of my own day to day is the word "Ironic." The English, on the island off the coast of Europe, have a tendency to use the word as a description of their own mastery of meaning in words. "An ironic knock on the door." Fortunately for, language, ambition the medieval period and insanity there's a better shorthand for these four themes than "Ironic." It's to be found in the word "Pedant." A template, if you'd prefer, into which things have to fit, otherwise the world just has to sit in the corner until it behaves.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Synapse Day

Today is Synapse Day. It recalls the Political Classes who chose to send soldiers to war. They stare at empty tombs, and maybe they reflect. Suspicion is more often it's their hair or their ratings they worry about. The Eleventh of November is the Eleventh of November, and not always does it conveniently fall upon a Sunday. A minute of silence on the Eleventh hour of the Eleventh day of the Eleventh month was a promise made to those who died in the trenches long before most of us were born.

The question is why remember? There are all kinds of reasons. Veteran's Day Sale, perhaps. A bank holiday. Poppies in the lapel. A chance to strut. But the main reason is to look at the men who led us and remember the soldiers who died, so that next time a war is called - a professional army whatever - we don't all just run to the television set, grab the popcorn, say the patriotic "Goody," listen to the gather of fables and start thinking we're better than everyone else. If the dead soldiers could talk, they'd ask us to remember why they died and whether it was worth their while. Lying to them is not good practice.

Monday, November 9, 2015

Mariology in The Rabbit of Usk

The festive season approacheth. In her travels the Artist has already seen Christmas Lights, and it's a cold rain in the outdoors, a rain that I will call a Turnip Rain. And it's all kind of downhill to the Solstice, so it's just as well our hero is in Afon-Bedd where it's summer and where he'll be struggling with the problem of his grandfather's Sainthood. And this could be the time to come to a decision about which Hail Mary The Rabbit of Usk shall cleave unto. Many versions of the Hail Mary have been translated into the English Language. There is one version translated from the Latin. There's another version translated from the Greek.

Of the many possibilities in translating meaning from one language to another there is one official translation of the Greek version of the Hail Mary which begins "God bearing maid...." Doesn't beat about the bush, gets right to the point. In the English Language a Maid is an unmarried girl or woman. The word Maid also carries a suggestion of Virginity. And, in the English Language a Maid is woman servant. One Translation from the Latin version of the Hail Mary begins "Hail Mary, full of grace...." Other translations of the Hail Mary from both Greek and Latin include the words "Mother of God." Pretty obvious that boy Saints over the years have trod wearily around the issue, and while The Rabbit prefers "God bearing maid..." our hero reckons that all versions of the Hail Mary sound like some kind of horrible curse. 

Sunday, November 8, 2015


I'm told the Coyote here where I live is actually a Coy-Wolf-Dog. It's a hybrid that emerged from probably North Eastern North America sometime in the 1930's. It's a little over two foot at the shoulder, and can weigh over fifty pounds. And unlike the Western Coyote whose pups learn to fight each other first, the Coy-Wolf-Dog pups are playful. Apparently.

 And when they are all fluffed up and well fed from the Deer Hunting Season, and they are staring at you as you go about your business, they can look about the size of a really, really clever Rhino whose wondering whether you're going to throw a ball for it to chase. Indeed the less you know about the local Coy-Wolf-Dog the easier it is to walk around in the early hour.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

The Letlander


The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!
Edward Lear

Friday, November 6, 2015

Righty Tighty

The phrase "Lefty Political Outrage" is I believe a relatively recent one. The phrase "Righty Political Outrage" doesn't have quite the same zing. It's yet another example of the mash in words.

But better to be found guilty of "Lefty Political Outrage" than of "Righty Political Outrage." And I say this because "Righty" rings strange in my ear, and "Lefty" sounds kind of nice.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

An Anniversary

Guy Fawkes Day. For those interested it recalls an attempt in 1605 to use gun powder to blow up the House of Parliament in London, England. Guy Fawkes was tortured, tried and for his punishment his genitals were cut off and burned before his eyes, his heart and bowels were then removed, he was decapitated, dismembered and left for the birds of the air to feast upon his remains.

 The tradition amongst the English was, and still might be, to celebrate the event by building a bon fire and burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes, with all his limbs, properly clothed with a hat on. A constant reminder of what happened to anyone who felt moved to do something like blow up the House of Parliament. Oddly the other part of the remembrance is fireworks. Rockets, flares and very loud noises while everyone goes "Oh Ah."

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

An Understanding of Snake Handlers

Oh Dear! Three more days to quarrel over indefinite and definite articles. "A problem is the...." "The problem is a...." What on earth is the matter with me. Could have something to do with deteriorating mental faculties, and a refusal to surrender. That sort of gung-ho spirit that leads to the election of whippersnapper, and not because he's cute or even a little tiny bit nice. But much more important to the survival of our species is The Letlander. Several deadlines have been suggested, none of them consummated.

Might be time for a psalm. One of David's big moments with his god. "Woe is me for I have vouchsafed unto thee.." Always a good line and often has something to do with redemption, a request for forgiveness and a whole bunch of regrets. Either way November the 7th is around the corner, and I'm just going to check to see whether the most recent end times for The Letlander is this year of next. And the answer as usual is "No you can't just spend the day pleasing yourself." Classic really. Let's all go out and start handling snakes.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Election 2016 Lessig

Lester Lawrence Lessig III, a fifty four year old Harvard Law Professor withdrew from the Democratic Primaries. An interesting man, his political interests include copyright law and the extent to which the internet should be controlled by the powerful. Not even going to pretend to understand the legal details, but I think his point is that the internet would serve democracy by being a less, rather than more regulated place. His other concern is a reform of the rules and regulations that surround the financing of political parties and their politicians. In short Lessig wants a more equal playing field. It's a popular position until a person becomes powerful.

There might have been a time when your political correspondent would have given more thought to a man whose name appears on the Scientific American Top Fifty Visionaries list and who has written a book about how to make art and commerce thrive in the hybrid economy, which is a mixed economy such as public/private, military/industrial. Sadly I'm not a big fan of any kind of top ten list, let alone a top fifty list. And once art thrives in any kind of economy, it's no longer art, it's a product with all that product entails. Which means his book should have been subtitled how to turn art from a thing of joy into drudgery. Given the theme of Election 2016 on these pages which is skeeviness, have to think Lessig III might not be.

Monday, November 2, 2015

Election 2016 Debates as Free Stuff

Spent much of last night counting ailments. And it does seem to me that no one over the age of about fifty five should ever be considered physically fit enough for the role of United States President. At the same time no one under the age of fifty five should be considered competent or wise enough for the role. So it's a huge problem for the voter particularly those of us who employ the word whippersnapper on a regular basis to describe anyone whose eyes might be just a little too far apart.

All this fuss around the Republican Primary Debates does suggest to your political correspondent that despite heavy rumors to the contrary the Republican Candidates have replaced all attempts at skeeviness with the kind of delinquency one might happen upon at a birthday party for four year olds. All very well saying it's a process, but what's actually the matter with them? And worth pointing out that televised political debates equals free-stuff for political parties so maybe four year olds around a birthday cake is easier to sell than a discussion about quantitative easing.

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Room Tidying (and we all know what that means)

In the month of October your correspondent might have mentioned the word "Saint" more times than was actually useful. Indeed in the last four or five years your correspondent might have mentioned the word "Saint" several thousand times on these pages. And if there is a point, or perhaps more correctly, if anyone is interested in the point, it has to do with what they call a "theme" in The Rabbit of Usk. If I were to give the theme a name it would be "Duality as Necessary to Living Things." In my view a Saint is the ultimate expression of this "duality." True "ultimate" might sound a little dramatic. Which is why our unfortunate hero is now in a Tri County Lunatic Asylum where this theme expresses itself in a more raw and naked form. Bitter experience, if you happen to be curious.

The passionate reader, once he or she has recovered from this shocking news, might wish to know how on earth Timotei Candlemass went from being a Letlander and a stalwart of the Hotel and Catering industry to a nut house. The long term answer has to do with his grandfather's obsessions but in the meanwhile an account of our hero's engagement in Hotel and Catering is pretty much finished. It's yet another incredibly ripping yarn, there could well be the odd interesting spelling, but I will say with no attempt at modesty that The Letlander, is right up there with A Derailment. And before he returns to his argument with the Editor-in-Chief about definite and indefinite articles in Titles your writer of pulp would like to say November 7th, after he's cleaned his room, sounds like a good day to cast The Letlander adrift on a sea of happy electrons. And, memory being what it is, I really should make a note of that, on paper in a prominent location..