A Nightmare in Three Acts ...
You will notice that we have been absent from these pages for some weeks. The truth of the matter, as far as I am concerned, is simply that the events of the last two months have been so exceedingly unpleasant that I was loath to document them lest the very act of documentation appear to give them an imprimatur or a tacit approval from my quarter. And I most ardently do not approve. That having been said, you may be inclined to peruse the following list of occurrences in my life during the months of May and June—and, mayhap, to shed a tear or two for the abject horrors that I have been forced to endure:
1. Sean is married. I cannot say I find it remarkable that he should have made such a catastrophic error of judgement by throwing away his independence in this fashion, but even I was surprised at his ability to make so completely undesirable a match as the one he has made with Rebecca Lynn Olson—daughter of a failed tradesman from Surrey, social climber, heretic (she once confided to me that she believed the stars were in fact “the winking souls of all the darling little kitties and puppies who are gone to heaven”), and insufferable, driveling bore.
In her favor, I will say that she has demonstrated at least one small piece of good taste: She clearly does not like Sean very much at all.
2. Patrick’s paper on “The Seven Chromatic Qualities of the Aether” (which, as far as I can tell, is an extremely lengthy and almost disturbingly tedious way of saying that the sky is blue) has been accepted for publication by the Royal Society, and he has spoken of precious little else in more than six weeks. The only respite that I have had from this torment was when I offered to take dictation for a paper he was giving on the topic and replaced every instance of the word “minds” with the word “swine”. Sean and I were so consumed with mirth when he announced to his assembled colleagues that he “considered them a collection of the most literate swine in all of England” that we had to be escorted from the room.
Patrick refused to speak a word to me for a full three days after this event, which was a tender mercy indeed.
3. I was brought up before the Magistrate yet again for “swindling”. Apparently, some letters I had been sending out (the ones where I claimed to be an African prince in a difficult political situation desirous of temporarily unloading a large quantity of gold bullion upon a trustworthy English gentleman in exchange for a generous percentage of the haul) had fallen into the wrong hands. Fortunately, no one was able to prove anything.
This post is in danger of becoming overlong, so I shall finish now with a bit of blog housecleaning: Patrick, Sean, and I are all now on Twitter, that you might more conveniently stay abreast of our daily operations. More information can be found in the sidebar. I am quite sure that there is more to tell you, so I shall attempt to be much more diligent about keeping Peep This Diary up to date this month. If nothing else, I have quite a good deal more to say about Sean’s new bride.