Tuesday, 12 August
Germane:
It was quite a singular pleasure to hear from you again after all this time! As you know, I am posessed of the habit of not removing the incoming mail from my box unless there is at least one missive addressed to me personally from an acquaintance... I was several weeks ago forced to build an aluminium superstructure around the mailbox to support the weight and internal pressure. If Glandly would only return my instruments I could have measured the conditions within, but I fear the entire event must now be consigned to fickle Dame Memory. Oh, how I miss my beloved astrolabe!
And speaking of unreturned equipment, much of the diving suit Booth is cavorting about in is mine as well. The helmet, the boots... surely you've noticed that is is easily two sizes too large for his wiry (pardon, wire-like) frame; his feet and head lost in their encompassments like so many neon tetras in a shark tank. Much as I mourn their loss, I am however in no great hurry to recover them, as I am more than familiar with Booth's less-than-genteel dining habits.
And in that wise (see how my letter twists and turns like the writhings of an actual conversation? O happy we!), I seek your advice.... several days ago I was taken with the urge to consume an entire jar of Spanish olives... and yet was not satisfied. Why, oh why does happiness yet elude me?
A fire broke out in the cockpit of the Airbus yesterday, and is still burning merrilly as of this writing. While I fear the current crop of bat jerky may be turned somewhat by the excessive heat, it may be possible and even necessary to move up the date of this year's club Bar-B-Q and Ceremonial Passing Out of the new members. Let me know if this conflicts with any plans of yours, and we shall announce the new date at the next shouting.
Yours with all dispatch,
G. Gordon Lidless
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