Putting on Airs
Current mood: Captious
Listening to: A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, by Johann Herman Schein (don't even ask)
I have been remiss in not posting for some time now, but truth be told, while my house has been a flurry of activity the past two weeks, it has not been particularly postworthy activity, to my mind. Unless, that is, you are one of those who make a study of human nature and take an academic interest (or a perverse pleasure) in the absurd antics of the chronically silly. I am referring, of course, to Sean, who continues to board with me while he seeks a more permanent residence where he may, presumably, flounce around the house more or less unrestricted.
It has not been long since Sean came into money, but he has wasted no time in acquiring a positive throng of toadying "friends", who like to pretend that his privy humour is the highest form of wit, and that his ludicrous outfits (one of his first actions upon becoming rich was to purchase a pair of breeches that could, and possibly do, house a small family) are the very acme of the "new style". Worse yet, he has begun to speak in the most affected manner, which, given that he has only three topics of conversation at his disposal—whores, drinking, and drinking with whores—produces some of the most ludicrous sentiments ever uttered in the English language (if such it can be called).
Nonetheless, it must be admitted that he has, at times, a shrewd head for business, and though he throws his money away to suit his vanity and his sycophantic friends, I will not be surprised overmuch should he make it back through sound investments. At any rate, our upcoming venture into the East does not fill me with such fear as it did at first, and if I can only get him and Patrick to concentrate we will make some proper headway. This does not appear likely today, however, as the pair of them are enjoying an impromptu harpsichord recital downstairs, while Sean makes inappropriate comments and claps at all the wrong times.