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September 7, 1677

Golf (and the secret of EJT revealed)

I have discovered a wonderful new pastime—so wonderful, in fact, that it is rendered only slightly less appealing by the revelation that it was invented by the Scots, whose only other notable accomplishments are a monopoly on the market for tartan skirts for men and a pathological fondness for oats. The game I am referring to involves hitting a small ball with a large stick as hard as you can, sending your servants in search of it for half an hour while you relax with a tankard of ale, and then hitting it again until it falls into a hole, at which point everyone slaps you on your back and congratulates you. I intend to devote every leisure hour I have to improving at this game, and I have already begun practicing at home, hiding balls in various locations around the house, and watching with great mirth while my maid scurries about in search of them.

But more on that later. The purpose of this post is to reveal that I have finally discovered the identity of the gentleman named EJT, who has been plaguing us for more than a month now with threats upon our lives, disquisitions upon the state of our souls, and other such aggravating impositions. As I was reading through the comments on my most recent entry today to check up on a conversation I was having with a Peep This Diary reader who attended preparatory school with me, I noticed a comment from EJT himself and followed it back to his own preposterous blog, where I learned that he is none other than Edward James Thrasher—Patrick's older brother! His likeness to Patrick—in both his physical appearance and his unbearable pompousness—is uncanny, and it serves to explain the apparition at Patrick's funeral last month that we all thought was a ghost. I recommend that you peruse his blog, which can be found here. There is some good stuff about monkeys (an obsession that is evidently shared by the entire Thrasher family), as well as a comprehensive (albeit homicidally insane) explanation of his plans for engineering my gruesome death. He also says some nasty things about Sean, which I must admit are not entirely without merit.

We have arranged to meet at the beginning of next week and "have it out", so I will be certain to tell you how that goes. Having met this pathetic character some years ago before he was lost at sea (another unfortunate tendency that runs in the Thrasher family), I can tell you that I am not particularly concerned about our impending encounter.


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Addy Farmer

I like the idea of hitting things but then golfers in our time have to wear diamond jumpers and fire-hazard trousers - you so not want to be responsible for all that nastiness.


A fair warning. You may be assured that I will not stoop to wearing such ridiculous outfits when I play the game. My simple, tasteful golf outfit consists of nothing more than a pink doublet, a pair of woolen stockings, a lace cravat, and an understated wig.

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