a one hundred and thirty ninth story...'norman's twenty ninth love letter'.

Dear # (hash-tag) Rosalind:

My world wide web, my internet, my cyber pet – how are you?

Just a quick note to say I am now on the Twitter (thanks to Collins).

I am told it is possible for you to follow (stalk?) me, and would you believe it is!  @abulletfromthepast.  So … follow/stalk me!

I’ve also been wired up (not literally) to an email programme.  I imagine that you have one already.  My email ‘address’ is: abulletfromthepast@gmail.com.  It’s largely for fans of the book, I have been briefed, but I suppose you’re a fan of sorts (i.e. of me – but also hopefully the book).

There was a sad piece on the wireless this morning (Radio 4) about J.D.Salinger.  Whatever you think of the deceased as a writer (ask for my opinion, and I’ll tell you Catcher in the Rye really isn’t all that), he didn’t seem to care much for his fans.  In fact, he employed a female secretary whose express purpose was to reply to said fans with a standard letter outlining how pleased he (Salinger) was at their interest in his work(s).  What a great lie!  (That said, if I get as famous, is this a role you might be interested in?).

Anyhow, despite my ever-so-slightly advancing years, I am beginning to enjoy using the internet.  There’s a lot of information out there, isn’t there?!  My favourite discoveries so far have been the Amazon, the Wikipedia, and how to delete my personal browsing history. 

Checking my email programme now, in fact, I see I have two emails!  One is advertising Viagra (which I am going to delete straight away), but the other seems to be from some poor soul in Africa, says he is stranded with no cash: what to do, Rosalind?! (I do so pity our black brothers and sisters, but perhaps not enough to give any of them access to my bank account, especially since everything over there seems to be so cheap to buy – is that fair enough?).

Well, this was intended as a quick note, and it’s already beginning to run on.  Why? Because I do so love writing to you (in fact, I’d almost be happy with this arrangement for the rest of my days, provided we could meet up fortnightly and copulate). 

Not having any luck with pressing charges, eh?!

(That was a joke).

Yours cheerfully,

Norman.

… a silver surfer.