Ponkleton, dear friend!

I have finally returned to the stillness of the manor from a seemingly endless series of debaucheries in Dublin. I just finished reading both of your two letters, which Cieco was so kind to put on my writing table (actually, he misplaced them on the floor right next to the writing table, but who can blame a half-blind man, really?). First off, what a remarkable thing! Lord Jamés married! I suppose this means I owe you some money, seeing that I countered your bet with the presumption that we would indeed see airborne pigs before Jamés ever carried one of those rings. However, I am not at all surprised to hear that Bosie is taking it hard. After all, when has Bosie ever not taken anything hard? I think it’s about time old Bosie settled down with one of those stout, short-haired women he seems to surround himself with.

And speaking of women, I completely agree that ladies are not courted as well these days as they used to be. We are a dying breed, you and I, and I am deeply ashamed of the depravity that can be observed amongst today’s young men. The gentleman is a vanishing phenomenon and I fear that the world we leave our children will be one bereft of taste and style. A man could drink himself to death for less…

But let’s not delve all too deep in such sombre thoughts. I must tell you of my trip to Dublin! I knew that the news story would find its way into the Corriere, and you will understand why very soon. You see, aside of taking strolls around Trinity College and having delightful meals with the city’s intellectuals, I did happen to end up in a brothel – against my will! I had just finished a rather tasteful pint of bitter at The Duke when I was suddenly intercepted by none other than my old rival, Humphrey Mabbitt!

Being a gentleman who would never insult his enemies by not offering him courtesies, I greeted Humphrey upon his arrival by withdrawing the bar stool from under his bottom. This proved to only to fuel his anger further…

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…so you see, the young lord in the Corriere headlines was not me but rather grumpy old Humphrey Mabbitt! And while everything seemed to solve itself in the end – for me in particular! – I do suspect the Italian journalist was very surprised when he found the nun’s robes inside his very own luggage!

Now, you must pardon me for not sharing any further thoughts, but I do have an appointment with a delightful lady and some canvas, even though I expect my hands to tend the lady more than the canvas.

Stay healthy and insultingly creative.

Toodles,

Lord Boyling