Le Presbytere , Livers Cazelles - 14th December 1973

Dear petite chou, Thankyo' for your lettre of the 5th. So you have been lurking on the threshold of the twilight zone! Where grown men have been known to dive head first into a paper bag of stale tripe from the 15th floor and women dressed as nuns triple jack knife and folding body press and two pin falls or a submission rotate 40 spinning plates and recite the Omar Khyam in welsh from the roof down to the pier on 2 miles of one/fifth steel cable covered in cow gum. It's alright as long as you can see the ridiculousness of it all I suppose. But is it fun, I ask myself? I hope you get an offer you can't refuse soon ( know wot I mean?). On every patch of leeks a little rain must fall - how true these words are even today. Wev'e certainly had our share of rain here, veritable cats and dogs - poodles everywhere! Fruggin' cold too! Our pipes burts - our toilet froze over! I thought you were going to the Silly Islands or somewhere - I was expectin' a postcarte. Did it fall through? ( now there's a question ). We've had quite a horrible day here one way or another - firstly got your letter ( ho ho! just kiddin'!) then we went out on the hill to cut trees up in the drizzle and cold wind only to be told ( after we'd got a big pile of logs ) that it belonged to someone else - in fact the farmer was quite upset and muttered foul french words at us under his breath! We were under the impression that the trees belonged to another fellow, but because we only understand part of what people say it's difficult to to get the facts right and in proper order - it would be easier if they owned the land round about there particular farms and not spread out all higgledy piggledy all over the places, so you don't know what belongs to who, or where the dividing lines are ( they don't have many hedges or fences over here )! Anyway, we are quite depressed at having wasted two days hard work and to top it all, my wires have burnt out! The population of Basildon have turned into gran-boppers?! Vot dus dis min? No, she's (Dinah )not going back to the B.M. she's applying for a job as a play leader in Leeds. Everybody who is anybody is a play leader - didn't you know? Bill is making a Christmas woodcut of the Presbytere on a piece of cracked warped hogmany, carving out great chunks in the style of Adrian Hill ( do you remember him? Sketch Club? ) Now he's inked it up and making pressing noises and disgusted noises when he's discovered the ink hasn't come off on the papier! Try and try again. Enclosed is my Noel effort - not one of my best, but times are hard and the pockets empty. I do hope you won't be too disappointed if nothing turns up by way of a Christmas present this year but I haven't had much chance to do anything and I've got a collapsed lung and my legs are twisted around my trousers. I can't stand Mahler! I don't know anybody who does! Clang! the iron gate outside is rattling furiously in the wind. Have you read Cannery Row by old what-is-name? Ever so good. I may be back for Christmas - I don't know really. If my rebate doesn't come within the next week I probably will - 'cos Ive got no money to live out here! I don't fancy the trip back though - 24 hours! Gulp! Anyway, have a jolly time and don't get too drunk! Bon chunks, Michel le Squelette?