Yesterday was a day of convivial conversation in the varied surrounding of this fair city. Particularly memorable was an audience with our honorary butler and her antipodean colleague below the saltire over a light lapsang, superb Scottish blue cheese and quince membricco. Meanwhile Thompson was at the airport and Hopkins was riding BMX bicycles into trees on the meadows. Later, after watching the S.R.Gents perform a set which according to Hopkins, "sounded a bit French", Hopkins and I served at a dinner party fo twenty-five, I in the kitchen learning the impenetrable secrets of wok technique, he in the dining room with tray and food. A song was composed in our honour, and we are retired to our palatial accommodation tired but happy.
Fletcher the Butler