Brixley at your service. Readers, you will be pleasured to hear that I was able to submit my paper to J.R. Bingham and it shall be publicated in the next issue of Pty. Ltd. magazine. I had to send the paper to J.R. Bingham via carrier pigeon from Tunis (when I say paper I mean numerous cocktail napkins and when I say pigeon I mean albatross) which reached his publishing house just outside Lyon in a mere 3 days.
This week I had to fly to New York to see what’s left of Dave Brubeck playing his seminal jazz album Time Out on a piano accordion. Unfortunately I left my jazz tuxedo in Portugal and had to wear my safari tuxedo which still smelt like zebra. However Roget (the typical henchman of Oxford and Webster) had somehow managed to pick up my trail, odor and scent, probably due to my overpowering musk and I was forcibly made to exeunt stage left as it were.
Luckily for me I pulled what is known as an Indiana Jones and procured the services of an oriental child taxi driver to make my timely getaway. Until next timeness.
Good old Georgey boy
Brixley here. Well the week of celebtratoriums are over at last and it’s back to the grind. The grind of course being trying to get out of this jungle with most of the foreign diplomats intact. The Belarussian Ambassador was found although he had lost 3 toes to a turtle (a little price to pay to Particus the patron saint of soirees). Unfortunately I was unable to recover my cocktail shaker that was given to me by S.J. Penn but I was able to replace it with the skull of the monkey that stole it in the first place (talk about retribution), and I can happily report that it shakes a mean Martini.
I have one week to get out of this jungle and submit my paper on ‘the effects on diplomatic relations in North-East Europe post 1978 due to inflated infrastructure maintenance costs’ to my publisher, J.R. Bingham for the next issue of Pty. Ltd. magazine. This should be easier than having to attend the triennial Save the Monkey’s cocktail evening. It could get ugly if I am asked to mix any martinis. Maybe I should contact S.J. Penn and ask him if he has any spare bar paraphernalia. Until soon.