Dear Lupin... (14 page)

Monday

My Dear Lupin,

How are things going with you? Are you (a) On the verge of becoming a millionaire? (b) On the brink of insolvency? (c) The subject of investigation by the Fraud Squad? (d) Or cruising along like me, in genteel poverty? Your mother went to concerts at Sydmonton on two nights. The cost was exorbitant, the food repellent. There was a debate on Unilateral Disarmament in which speakers included such dreary left-wing hacks as the Reverend Soper (whose daughter married Terence Blacker) and the Reverend P. Osterreicher. An inarticulate Conservative MP called Gummer led for the other side. Mrs Cameron stayed here on Saturday. She is worried about moving house and about Sandra's sudden marriage to a bucolic Australian. The happy pair are coming over here for a brief visit and there is to be a party in a fortnight's time. I gather the younger Cameron boy is having difficulties with the Jewish lady with whom he has been living for several years. She wants to marry him; he does not want to marry her; and her parents do not want her to marry a non-Jew. Lady de Mauley rang up last night: apparently Jamie's ever-loving wife has done a bunk and will not be returning. I do not know if another man is involved. Perhaps she got browned off living so close to Jamie's family. Baron Otto is settling down well. He has plenty of spirit and is not averse to biting anyone who annoys him. My horse looks well and I hope will run soon. Nidnod is in quite good form. She went to a gym class in Newbury the other day but, as I warned her, she is too old for that sort of lark and she will not repeat the experiment, I'm glad to say. Otto had a confrontation with a speckledy hen in the garden: the hen behaved with dignity and eventually saw Otto off. We have had bulldozers in removing the shrubs and the round patch of grass by the garage. It looks a bit better on the whole. I hear rumours of Aunt Pam knocking back the gin a bit during her visit to Jersey!

Your affectionate and disintegrating parent,

RM

A mixture of B and C would describe my situation fairly accurately. To quote from a letter to my older sister at the time: ‘Your brother stayed the night and looked reasonably healthy. He arrived in the sort of Mercedes which usually conveys six Jewish bookmakers driven by a Cypriot chauffeur in dark glasses. By 1987 he will either be a millionaire in Peru or on the run from the police.'

14b Via Dolorosa

Burghclere

Dear Lupin,

I hope your cure, or whatever it is, progresses favourably. Has demon tedium raised its ugly head yet? We had a rather fatiguing weekend here with H-H Henry, Louise and Rebecca staying here as well as Emma plus Orlando, her very agreeable black husband who never spoke a word and found Nidnod's gabblings totally incomprehensible. (Who doesn't, if it comes to that?) On Sunday we had the Thistlethwaytes, Jane T. and Charlotte Blacker to lunch. Jane is very nice but rather prim and Emma tries to shock her! Charlotte is full of fun, wears rather odd clothes and works for the Conservative Party. The lunch party was a success and went on till 4.30 by which time I was committed to Egyptian PT. Nidnod had had her noggin in the bucket for a considerable period and was totally unplayable in the evening which enabled me to go to bed early and read peacefully. I have just finished a book by an ancient actress who described how her mother was kidnapped by relations and incarcerated at the Priory, Roehampton, at the time a well-known nuthouse. I have also read a book by Edward James whom I just remember at Eton where he looked eight years of age and was even more indolent than I was. He was in a better position to be indolent than I was since he inherited £1 million when he came of age, equivalent to £12 million today. People literally queued up for a chance of swindling him or robbing him. He married the dancer Tilly Losch, a very pretty Jewess who, en deuxième noce, became Lady Carnarvon. I don't know why James married her as he greatly preferred men, in which respect he resembled the hideous actor Charles Laughton who was a natural for the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I have been recommended a book by Hallam Tennyson, an Old Etonian Marxist Homo who goes in for rough trade and is constantly getting beaten up by skinhead lovers. Major Surtees called in on Saturday. He has more or less bought a house in Wiltshire with good fishing. He left us a delicious trout. I know nothing of Jane: she has given up answering letters, a habit now contracted, I'm sorry to say, by her elder son. (For God's sake, don't mention that to Jane or she'll murder me.) Batten, a solicitor, lunches here tomorrow: I'd better lock up anything of value. Did you read about land-development at Hook in either the Sunday Times or the Sunday Telegraph? The Darlings are in Normandy for some beano.

Yours ever,

RM

P.S. Nidnod had written down the wrong day and at 6 p.m. a man suddenly arrived to see the house and was shown round by Nidnod wearing an ancient and very tight bathing dress bulging dangerously at inconvenient places. He proved to be a merchant banker (rich?), very good-looking, charming, half Peruvian, half Swedish. He is a member of the Turf Club, has had relations at Daneshill and Tudor Hall, and has a son at Ludgrove. I doubt if he was much interested in the house but we all got on very well though it was seldom that he or I managed to get a word in! The Bomers have killed off their wretched old dog and are getting a new one. A mistake, in my opinion.

Dad indulges in a spot of Egyptian PT (military slang for forty winks). Finally, I succumb to the inevitable and book into a drink and drug rehabilitation centre in Weston-super-Mare. I throw my empty brandy glass out of the open sunroof as I drive through the entrance gates
.

I hope you like your school-mates and are not getting a bad time in the dormitory. Is the tone of the school good? No dirty talk I trust. Your mother is coming down on parents' day.

D

When Dad comes down to visit me we go for a walk on the beach where he says, ‘It seems very pleasant here, old boy, but what exactly are you here for?' ‘Oh, I've just got a bit of a drink and drug problem.' He thinks for a moment before responding, ‘Any chance of getting your mother in?'

The Crumblings

Burghclere

Dear Lupin,

Some people called Prentice have just rolled up in a BMW to inspect the house: American, young, well-mannered but not the least interested and better suited to Virginia Water or Ascot. I hear you have been made a prefect; can you wear a tassel on your cap and are you permitted to cane ‘difficult' girls? We went to the Derby and got there in ninety minutes. We had badges for the Directors Stand and had a marvellous view. Lots of posh people there and Nidnod thought Willy Whitelaw was the caterer. During the race I stood next to an awful female trainer called Jenny Pitman. She remembered I had once written that I would ‘not walk a mile in tight boots to have a drink with her' and accordingly cut me dead. What a cow! The owner of Secreto left Italy in a hurry and has made a fortune in Venezuela running buses. Accountant Kiely came to lunch yesterday and told us all about a rather peculiar operation he once had. Nidnod now thinks he's wonderful. Earlier in the week Batten lunched here and soon afterwards sent Nidnod a large bill. Colin keeps dropping in for money and the bank has lent me a huge sum that I don't suppose I shall ever be able to pay back. Mr Gluckstein (of Salmon & Gluckstein) comes to see the house tomorrow. At least he has a rich name. Nancy McLaren has bought the Gosling's house at Inkpen. Grazebrooks and Parkinsons to lunch tomorrow. Otto is very randy and is happy to make do with his own sex. I feel increasingly old and weary; I may have to contact Mr Kiely's in-laws who are successful undertakers. Lady Hadow had to have her dog put down yesterday – a growth on the liver. I bought some strawberries yesterday: v. expensive and tasted of cardboard. Stick to bananas, I say. Mrs Alexander has flown to Australia as her mother is v. ill. Mr Kiely went to Hove to see his dying mother who is ninety-one. He told the doctor to ‘make her comfortable' which I suppose meant ‘put her down'. Two days later she had sausages and bacon for breakfast and was reading the Daily Mail. I rely on you to help Nidnod move if I fail to stay the course.

Your affec. father,

RM

I am now effectively head boy of a substance treatment centre. This is no mean achievement in my opinion and an all-time first to be head of anything
.

Budds Farm

Monday

My Dear Lupin,

By the way, did you know that the original Lupin is buried in Highgate Cemetery close to Karl Marx? How are you getting on at Weston-super-Mare? I hope the treatment is not too ghastly and that you feel it is doing you good. At least you possess a sense of the absurd (something not possessed by Nidnod or Mrs Thatcher) to help you bear the less tolerable aspects. What is the food like and does sex ever rear its hideous head? Your mother enjoyed her visit but returned in a ferocious temper and put me through the mangle in no uncertain fashion. In those moods she is very like Mrs McClintick in ‘Casanova's Chinese Restaurant' by Anthony Powell. (Mr McClintick eventually gassed himself in Vauxhall.) I hope you will be out in time to give a hand with the move to Kintbury. Frankly I dread it. I wish I was fifteen years younger. Unfortunately I am rapidly becoming senile and my general health is deteriorating rather fast. Old age is full of surprises, most of them unpleasant, and is rather like being punished for a crime one has never committed. I dread another winter; we seem to be heading for one rather fast without even a glimmer of summer yet. We keep the same doctors at Kintbury: better the devil you know, etc., etc. My inside is giving me hell at present but if I go to surgery for some soothing medicine I shall be whipped off to hospital, deprived of the last tattered shreds of human dignity, and tubes will be inserted into every orifice that I possess. The biggest mistake I ever made was to come round after passing out when buying cut-price gin in Newbury. I have hardly had a day's health or happiness since. I suppose very few people are ever really happy. The most one can hope for is to be reasonably content; and precious few people achieve that. Sarah-Jane Parkinson developed acute appendicitis in the middle of the night and was whipped off to Battle Hospital. She is OK again now. Desmond's mothers-in-law continue to be a problem. Aunty Vi is totally gaga and does not know who she is or who anyone else is either. From time to time she pours hot Ovaltine over the heads of her attendants. Paddy's mother is back with Desmond, probably for good. She does in a bottle of John Haig per day and tops up with a helping of Beefeater gin. My godson Johnny is in a Buddhist monastery and cannot communicate with the outside world for three-and-a-half years. I don't think he is missing much. By the way, would you like me to visit you? I could come down in my new car and stay at a hotel. Probably the staff at your place would take one look at me and shove me in a padded cell. I like my new car but must try and find out what all the knobs and switches are for. I want to discover how to turn the heater off before the weather gets hot. I had lunch with Mrs Surtees yesterday (partridge, blackberry tart). She is working two days a week in a shop in Hungerford. I believe Major Surtees has bought a house near Wilton, Wilts. Tonight Nidnod and I have supper at The Miller's House with Sir Michael and Lady Hadow. Sir M. is outwardly the smooth Foreign Office type but in fact is a Grammar School Boy (Berkhamstead, where Graham Greene's father was Head Beak) and was originally in the Indian Civil Service. He transferred after Indian independence to the F.O. and did well in Paris and Moscow. His last two jobs were Ambassador in Israel and Argentina. I think he has had previous wives. Lady H. is a plump Jewess with a strong East End accent. She was formerly in the antique business and was married to a Mr Sieff of Marks and Spencer and Ashford Hill. I rather like her. God knows how I am going to pay for the house with shares rushing downhill like the Gadarene swine, the coal strike, the war in the Middle East and the unpredictable antics of President Reagan. I think I shall be bankrupt by August. I enjoyed my trip to Brighton: I would give my eyes to be retiring to a flat there with a nice view of the sea and the nudist beach. Cousin John is recovering from his nasty fall. I hear that the income of my chum Khalid Abdulla is just over £1 million a day. Nice work if you can get it! The Hislops are asking £750,000 for their place. They may be a bit short of treacle as Brigadier Gerard shows signs of becoming sterile. Charlie Blackwell wants to marry a Miss Birkbeck from Norfolk. The Langham Stud is being let for seven years. Charlie is leaving Hambros to work on his own; he intends to live at Langham. Caroline and Tim lost all their silver when burglars raided Overbury. They were in bed at the time and heard nothing; nor did the dogs. Otto behaved vilely when I took him to lunch with Mrs S. He peed on the carpet and tried to do his mother and his aunts. Have you read a book called ‘The Diary of Adrian Mole'? I rather enjoyed it. I must go and have the hard-boiled egg and slice of rubbery bread that constitutes my breakfast.

Keep in touch and ring me up,

Your affec. father,

RM

A potential new home is identified in the village of Kintbury. My father confides that in seventeen years at Budds Farm he never spent a happy twenty minutes there. However, my mother, despite agreeing to the move, takes great exception to Kintbury, which she promptly christens ‘Cuntbury'
.

Budds Farm

17 July

Dear Lupin,

The day set for our move fast approaches and there is no shortage of problems and worries. As you know it is a smaller house than Budds Farm, four bedrooms as opposed to six. The question is: what do you want done with all your manifold possessions here? There is more junk in your room than there are maggots in a dead crow. Stacks of old magazines, school books, mementoes, etc. To say nothing of clothes, pictures, etc. The ideal solution would be for you to organise a move of all your ‘lares et penates' to your place of abode in London: and to dispose of all the junk you no longer require. I could, rather unwillingly, store some of your things in one of the outhouses at Kintbury but there is no room for them in the house. Louise is having to move her things, too, but as the owner of two houses she really has no problem.