Ponkleton,

Dreadfully sorry for this tardy letter, but I am afraid that I have not been able to regain my wits until now. This is of course entirely due to the incredible hangover I got from those homemade cubini we so devotedly digested. In the past couple of weeks I have skulked around in the halls of Boyling Manor in a mind state that could only be compared to a fever in the desert. It’s been absolutely marvellous! I must say, Ponkleton, that my respect and outright love for rum has reached even greater heights. I have even gone so far as to order a couple of barrels of this wonderful beverage, so that it can easily be retrieved whenever I need it.

But enough about that! Tell me how the new year is treating you, old friend! I know the carnival is around the corner, but what have you prepared for this excellent festivity? I myself have thought about hosting a get-together of sorts here at Boyling Manor, but I have not yet decided on the theme of the occasion. Perhaps you could advise me on whatever is fashionable down there on the continent?

Now I must be off to go fox hunting on the grounds. Nothing like killing defenceless animals when you’re feeling a bit down, eh? I even have a brand new rifle that I cannot wait to try on one of those little pests!

Stay excitingly degenerate, dear friend, and give my love to the chaps at the club (even though they don’t deserve it).

Cheerio,

Boyling

PS. I seem to recall losing my shoes on a vaporetto during one of our more reckless nights. If you find them, please let me know! I love them most dearly!