My mad adversary - prepare to lose.
I have refrained from writing for a while (in case it merely swelled your 'pool of evidence' in this absurd harassment case). However, with less than a week remaining before we meet in the legal theatre of blood, I see no reason anymore to desist or resist.
Can you not spy the anvil-headed clouds of justice building over your (tin?) roof, about to burst with rain all over your charade of a parade? I still cannot imagine why you have conceived of such action save to try and impress (something upon?) your Gym teacher friend. Believe me, you try too hard - I haven't even properly met the fellow (you never introduced us), but I can tell he would be as impressed by you if you put a bib on him and spoon-fed him Coco-Pops!
Your passive-aggressive silence has left me cold and yet made me bold. Have consulted my lawyer (the one who helped me settle out of court with that UKIP rat), and he - in between the moments he isn't drunk or drinking - has given me some crystal clear advice and has 'promised' to attend the hearing; he is rather big these days so will come in the wheel chair entrance, which shortly after your cohort will be force to leave through - broken and badly disabled by the full and remorseless force of the law.
In short: let's just settle out of court and be done with it? 500 and quits? (A reasonable sum which will at least pay for new monkey bars in your garden, or a cage in your bedroom).
Apropos, one achievement I managed this last weekend was to finally get that still life of London Zoo painted from the top of Primrose Hill (I am told the zoo adopt - information for which you may thank me for in time).
Meanwhile Two Broken Hearts continues to sell, so I am informed, though I have seen precious little in the way of reviews from Charley. Charley is my editor, if you recall? (Just trying to catch you out as having an unreliable memory!). But it is as if he is hiding them (the reviews) from me!
What are you hiding from me, Rosalind? Max Clifford's pre-teen lawyer? (The same one that wrote me that vile and perverted letter?). Come to think of it, why are you hiding? Can't King-Kong protect you from a pale and frail writer such as I, all bony arms and Churchillian legs, who spends his days falling up and down the stairs?!
Yours,
Norman.
... at large!
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