Dear Rosalind:
My French hen, my turtle dove, my one truest love – I do hope you are recovering.
To begin, I can only express my sincere regret at what
happened last night. I was (probably) as
appalled as you at the whole debacle.
And as for the staff at The Slug!
(Well, I suppose they weren’t entirely to blame).
I had never considered in my wildest (and most excoriating)
nightmares that Fritz would react to being surrounded by so many people in the
manner he did. I hope the nurses at the
casualty ward were kind (I assume they gave you a tetanus jab?). How is the hand today? If it’s any
consolation I am told he practically took a chunk out of the arm of the UKIP
representative (in good or bad taste?!).
Anyway, it was such a crying shame after the evening had began
so well. Fritz is a good boy, but I
suppose no one will believe me now, and a second dog of mine will die - to
paraphrase Oscar Wilde: to lose one is unfortunate, to lose two simply foolish.
I don’t know whether it is my low tolerance these days
(caffeine being my poison of choice), or the frankly malicious tendencies of
the cocktail mixers at The Slug (I
suspect the latter), but I realise part of the responsibility for Fritz’s
outburst should lie with me. I take it he
must have bitten you when I was in the gents being revived by Geoffrey Archer? Once again, if it’s any consolation, I do
half-remember you looking resplendent up to that point (but who was that chap
with you? Never got to say ‘hello’ – is he a brother, a cousin perhaps?).
Editor, Charles, left rather early and before the speeches
(not that these happened by the way), and in the end the only things I signed
on the night were legal disclaimers (alas no books were sold – would you like a
free signed copy?).
Oh goodness, my head is feeling awful this morning! I am sorry I got so damned tight. It seems I would have done Fitzgerald proud!
We writers, Rosalind, do not travel lightly – we go everywhere and into
everything with our eyes, ears and hearts open: wide to receive.
Do call. I would
value the chance to apologise properly.
Yours,
… bowed, but unbitten.
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