Boyling!

I was heartily listening to a vinyl recording of Mr. Johann Sebastian Bach with my trusty manservant Sordo, when he, the latter that is, notified me of the imminent arrival of the postman, promptly stood up and left the room. I so wanted him to hear the final passages, but as the recording was of the “stereo” variety, he could scarcely comprehend, let alone appreciate, its full glory. Poor bastard.

Before leaving, however, he even revealed that in the postman’s satchel was your reply to my urgent telegram below. I can not say for sure how he does it, Boyling, as I with my two ears could not even hear the man approach, and so I am left to assume that the cause and method employed by Sordo deals somehow with an elevation of his olfactory senses. You carve your calligraphy only on your own particular blend of scented silk paper, after all. Almonds, nectarines and patchouli, is it?

You are scheduled to arrive here in Venice tomorrow, wherefore to my great dismay and yours, too, you will not have an opportunity to glance at this epistle until after your return to the North, but your letter left in me such a tumultuous orgy of emotions and I am also so very glad to see you again so soon, that I could not hesitate to tell you so any longer. I have even, you will note, chosen to forgo this afternoon’s cricket game against the locals.

First of all, thank you very much for your swift response. Your anecdote and advice were much appreciated and my whiskers practically radiate a sense of joy with all the attention that I have since paid them.

Also, I would like to assure you that the predicament at Ca’ Ponkelino, of which I spoke to you on the telephone before, has resolved itself. As you already know, I perceived that I was to spend this Christmas on my own in my palazzo, as the indigenous specimen I keep on the grounds had established plans of a sort to ferment with their relatives in various villages, secreted every here and there along the Italian boot “like salmon stains on a cobblestone path,” like Monty used to phrase it as elegantly as managed only he. However, one male specimen remained after a quarrel with his better half, who subsequently left for her hometown on her own, and I did not have the heart to send him out into the cold. In any event, it transpired that the chap had gone thoroughly bonkers, venting his frustrations at pieces of furniture, the vegetable stand at the local market and his missus, in her absence. However, I am inclined to add, though I was unable to go about my business in my own particular way (cooking for myself naked in the vast emptiness of the kitchen and so forth) this Christmas was not without a certain aspect of novelty and curiosum. In fact, it has been a quite memorable and amicable experience, a point I shall seek to elaborate on upon your arrival.

Oh, how I look forward to guiding you through the joys and hazards of this pulchritudinous and cosmopolitan conurbation.

A presto, dear friend.

Toodle-pip,

Ponkleton