Free Dear Lupin... by Roger Charlie; Mortimer Mortimer; Mortimer Charlie

to come up at once as she could not wait for him! (Why not? The mind boggles, whatever that means.) Next day Lady P. had a teeny bit of a hangover and looked like a pug recovering from distemper. We went to a very good midday party at the Herns yesterday where there was a lot to drink and your dear mother took advantage of that fact. Nor, in fact, did I stint myself. The Gaselees were there, Surtees, Walwyns and most of the Lambourn racing mob. A former jockey called Stan Clayton, who breeds budgerigars, was good enough to tell me all about his blood pressure, while a tall lady in an azure wig explained at some length why she loathed her husband so much. Perhaps I am a sympathetic listener: possibly I just lack the energy to move away. We had lunch at 3.30 chez Surtees where I dropped asleep with a glass in my hand and spilt the contents all over my new ‘special offer’ trousers. Of course, ill-natured persons suggested I peed during my brief period of repose which I am happy to say was an unfounded allegation. I am fairly busy signing bills is respect of Louise’s party. Hire of the racecourse cost me £40, less that I had anticipated. I am not looking forward to the Blackwell wedding as I shall see too many relations. I slightly know the bride’s parents. He is a rather stupid man but I think he has at least had the sense to avoid working. Mrs G. is one of Mr P.’s many ex-girlfriends, nice and bouncy according to Mr P. Jewish. I think an infusion of Jewish blood probably does most families good. For obvious reasons I hope so.
    Your affec. father,
    RM
    My younger sister is now married and I am taking a well-earned break in the south of France with a little part-time chauffeuring thrown in for good measure
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    Budds Farm
    14 July
    Dear Charles,
    Thank you so much for the tastefully chosen postcard you so kindly sent me. It is grey and cold here and I have been stockpiling wood for the rapidly approaching winter. I am not at my best today as I think I have given myself a slight hernia bending down to cut my toenails with my gardening scissors. Your mother is rather crotchety but luckily is off to Jersey tomorrow for a boating holiday. I shall lead a relaxed life here, having meals when I like and looking at the TV programmes I like. Nor shall I be under any obligation to pretend that I am deaf. Pongo, thank God, is in a boarding kennel and all I need for happiness is some warm weather. Tomorrow I am off to stay with the Surtees and go to a play at Newbury. I have just received the bill for the reception: £429 is not exactly cheap considering it did not include £305 for drink. I have heard no news from Plump Louise and Hot Hand Henry: nor from Miss Bossy Pants up in Northumberland. I rather doubt if I shall go and stay at Brocks Clumps or whatever the Torday Château is called. The combination of your mother, your sister and two small children might be very tiring for someone of my age and delicate health. A Mrs Collingwood from Ecchinswell came to supper: her ever-loving husband has just done a pineapple chunk with a saucy nurse. There was a paragraph in the Newbury News that will not be greeted with hearty cheers by all concerned to the effect that a gigantic wedding is taking place on Saturday between a representative of the Gilbey family which churns out gin and the heir to the Blackwell fortune which is derived from baked beans! I remember some music-hall comedian being sued for libel for saying ‘Any port in a storm – even Gilbeys!’ I had a letter from Cousin John who is v. angry because Eton beat Harrow at cricket and considers this unexpected victory was achieved through blatant cheating by one of the umpires. The downstairs lavatory is leaking quite badly but otherwise the house is standing up reasonably well. Tiny Man’s breath would drive a small car.
    Your affec. father,
    RM
    A familiar theme: it’s midsummer but as far as my dad’s concerned it’s time to