Monthly Archives: September 2009

Flying Machine

Bonjour

Brixley here, after the unpleasantries of yesternoon I decided to skip the country as the heat from Oxford and Webster trebled (approximatedly).  I am currently flying and have since been abovegraded to upperclass after I claimed to be the Prince of Newfoundland and said I needed more space to worship my numerous heathen gods.  The flying machine seems to be doing a good job and I have procured a lapcomputer from the gentleman who left it in my baggage hold.  The help has stopped serving me martinis so I paid a small child to pilfer a lovely bottle of single malt, why the frequency of child pickpockets has dropped off I shall never know, their hands are the perfect size for theft.  Anythou I must depart as a gentleman seems to be trying to take this portacomputer away from me (He might be working for Webster) but I’ll try to bribemail him with some scotch.

G.O. Brixley

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P. Augustine

P. Augustine's Sofa Chair

P. Augustine's Sofa Chair

Good aft,

Brixley here, woke up today in a tuxedo with a hip-flask of martini taped to my calf.  I have somehow travelled to Bruges during the cover of nightfall after a particularly sprightly night at one of P. Augustine’s biannual “After Dark” parties.  I shall keep you postered howevermore since I discovered a death-threat from Oxford in my coat pocket along with a train station locker key and a heart shaped butterscotch shortbread – crumbled.

G.O. Brixley

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Brixley

Good morn,

Brixley here, just letting you know that I have evolved to the digital age or ‘digage’ as they say or so I have been led to believe.  Firstmost and premierly I will be updating this digital logbook with my reportaging as I continue upon my misadventures.  Secondest I will try not to make up words as Oxford and Webster have been on my case, but believe me their uppance will come.

Unfortunately in Brussels it is 4:20 in the after midday and I have an appointment with my good friend and editor J.R.Bingham.  In my next post  I will hopefully have a blurred picturegraph of ‘man-about-town’ P. Augustine’s sofa chair, here’s hoping.

G.O. Brixley

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