Following a dispute between our hero and your writer of pulp a cooling off period has been declared. Call it a Plum Pudding Truce. The essence of the problem is Colin D Crabtree, a fellow inmate at Afon-Bedd who may or may not be deserving of his place in a very respectable Tri-County-Lunatic-Asylum. Our hero who himself is apparently 'perfectly sane' and who insists he won his own place at Afon-Bedd by good old fashioned guile and cunning is of the opinion that Crabtree is basically an undeserving scoundrel from Shropshire who should really just pay his speeding ticket, get on with his life, buy his own toothbrush.
In the rugged world of pulp there are certain standards that need to be
maintained other wise the narrative descends into the world of farce and we
might as well all become Pantomime Dames. The crux of the problem is the
distinction between a Tri-County-Lunatic-Asylum and something like a University
or college of further education, Oxford or Cambridge, Yale or Harvard. And
here, our hero is reluctant to mark a distinction so long as Crabtree remains
undeserving of his place in Afon-Bedd. It's a problem yet there are a couple of
possibilities that might smooth the passage of the narrative. Trouble is I've
grown fond of Crabtree.