Wednesday, 1 October
Sprowl:
Raccoons! If I see one more of the ring-tailed rascals I will fairly shat! So plentiful are they that I could, if I were a mind to, walk from one end of the property to the other on their backs and never once touch earth. "Why is it they come, and why here, to Swellmore?" I ask myself. Is my estate built on one of their ancient burial grounds? Does their species even have such a thing, or am I thinking of marmosets?
I have a notion to call Cousin Buck at the Crocket Cap Company and tell him to get over here with two trucks and ten of his best men. But this would offend Camille. As you know, she is keen on creatures of all sorts and won't have them killed for any reason. She's a right Hindu she is. She has set up a kind of cafeteria for them. Two of the kitchen staff (the gangly one with the mole and the round one with two) pass out plates of fruit and candies to the little bastards three times of day. (All this is while I am kept waiting up to a full minute for someone to slice a banana onto my corn flakes!) The sloucher of it all is that they line up in an orderly fashion and wait their turn! They each take their plate in those little black hands of theirs and go off to another part of the lawn to eat. You've never seen such a thing! Croquet is now out of the question, of course. Shouldman will be crushed at the cancellation but this does not seem to bother Camille in the least, so enchanted is she with the spectacle of some thousands of masked critters engorging themselves about our premises.
In matters wholly unrelated I could give a quiff about the nomenclatural and titular struggles of lessers such as Blem and Snelf. My only hope is that they bankrupt themselves groveling at the feet of Lady Justice with their only reward being a pat on the head by a judge who admonishes them to "get along." The title I would like to see for Snelf would be "World's Deadest Man."
As I may have mentioned I will be on the travel next week. I cannot tell you my destination as I myself am unsure of it. Originally I had hoped to see Point of Interest, Florida but have recently been swayed by a four-color brochure advertising Wish You Were Here, California. Perhaps I will flip a coin. Perhaps, instead, I will distract Camille and kick a raccoon half way to Jericho while her head is turned. If it lands on its back it's Florida, if he lands on his legs Californy here I come.
All's well that ends,
Lawrence "Baby Grrrrl" McFadden
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