Dear Ponkleton,

As always, I’m deeply sorry for the tardy reply and so forth. Life does have a peculiar tendency to get in the way, don’t you agree? Especially when life’s so immensely wonderful and lush that one can’t help but drink its sweet and potent nectar! It’s good to hear that you’re getting comfortable in Oxford. I’m absolutely positive that you’re going to have a smashing time there, even if exams swallow up the majority of your time. But don’t think you’re fooling anyone with that gown – I’ve already heard quite a number of tales of your shindigs and jamborees! Your new home seems to be the talk of the town these days!

Ah! Speaking of new homes – yes, I have indeed moved to better venues and there is a young woman with me! Now before you choke on the brandy, fret not, there is an explanation which I will divulge at once.

It seems that my cautious investments in the flute industry weren’t as cautious as I was led to believe. No, the recent financial predicament reached even my assets, and having gone through the family fortune and all the bank papers, my accountant ultimately gave me two choices: get married or join the French Foreign Legion.

Naturally I chose the latter, so I packed my valise and went off to spend nearly two weeks in the company of soldiers and mercenaries in Algeria. It wasn’t half bad, even if the lack of cutlery and spirits was quite distressing at first. I could very well have stayed a good while longer, but I just so happened to run into this stunningly beautiful woman in a watering hole in Sidi-Bel-Abbès. Even though I’m normally immune to the tricks of the female persuasion, this sly and cunning foxette managed to lure me into the deeper end of the pool using equal parts English graciousness and Swedish… je ne sais quai. No honestly, I have no idea what it was but it seems to have had quite an impact on my libido, which is why I was more than happy to say goodbye to my days of soldiering!

We departed the following morning, leaving the blazing heat of Algeria behind and taking the time to get to know each other on the train ride back to her estate in Malmö. That’s right, she lived here all along, and to be honest, her manor really puts my old home to shame! We’d barely stepped off the train before we jumped into a car and called for all my belongings to be transported to what would be my new habitat. This proved to not only include my precious golf clubs and tweed suits, but also my dear old butler Cieco who had been waiting in the vicinity for my return! Oh how I missed his kind and caring support in Algeria, even though he would’ve been a worthless spotter on the front line – the man has no depth perception after all! Perfectly useless!

So now that the economic crisis is final being brought to a standstill, I can at last rest and resume my pleasures of guilt and immaturity. I have already seen to it to invest in a capable cinematography device which I’m sure will serve well in future screenings of your noble endeavours as a film maker. Though I think I never got around seeing that last masterpiece of yours, whatever it was called… I should be very happy to at least read a short synopsis of the plot! Bosie keeps writing me about it, which leads me to believe that it somehow involves a certain Lord Jamés.

Anyhow, I think I’m running out of ink, paper and topics here. I hope to visit you sometime this spring, given that your exams are easy enough to skip and that there’s enough port in your cellar.

Tata,

Boyling