door. ‘Maybe you could go to church.’
‘I only ever go to church when I have to go to funerals,’ said Amiss gloomily. ‘Latterly that takes me there quite often enough for a member of the Church of England, let alone an atheist. I suppose you have a family pew in your local?’
‘Well, when I’m at home one has to show the flag.’ Pooley had adopted the embarrassed tone he reserved for all conversations about the family estate.
‘I have an alternative suggestion,’ said Milton. ‘I’ve nothing to do until Monday, so why don’t you stay over, Robert? We can stay up late and drink too much, not play squash in the morning, go to the pub at lunch-time via the newspaper shop, and stuff ourselves with roast beef and beer. Then if the weather’s OK we can have a walk in the afternoon and reminisce about the days when women stayed at home and looked after their menfolk.’
‘You’re on,’ said Amiss. ‘And before I go tomorrow we’ll compose a joint letter to the two of them, pointing out how well we get on without them and urging them not to hurry back. We will include this poem: I’ve been saving it up for the right occasion.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and declaimed:
‘Love a woman? You’re an ass!
‘ ’Tis a most insipid passion
To choose out for your happiness
The silliest part of God’s creation.
Let the porter and the groom,
Things designed for duty slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelia’s womb
To get supplies for age and graves.
Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.
Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wine,
And, if busy love entrenches,
There’s a sweet, soft page of mine
Does the trick worth forty wenches.
Maybe that’ll bring them back on the next plane.’
‘That would only be a distraction now,’ said Pooley. ‘Goodnight and thank you very much, Jim. Don’t let him keep you up too late. I’ll let myself out.’
‘D’you think he felt left out?’ asked Milton as he topped up Amiss’s outstretched glass.
‘I don’t give a fuck if he did or didn’t. I’ve become very fond of Ellis and I’m prepared on occasion to be tempted into his latest hare-brained scheme, but I’m buggered if I’ll carry on like Richard Hannay and his chums in a John Buchan novel. The trouble about Ellis’s preoccupation with crime fiction is that it’s a genre that sits most comfortably in an England that is dead and gone.’
‘Like ffeatherstonehaugh’s?’ said Milton.
‘Precisely,’ said Amiss. ‘It’s enough to make one feel one should go into the West End to a Heavy Metal disco or something.’
‘Why don’t we watch the re-run of today’s “Match of the Day” instead?’ suggested Milton. ‘There won’t be anybody in it over thirty.’
‘Perfect. And let’s make a vow. We won’t talk about anything earnest, serious, or in any way related to ffeatherstonehaugh’s between now and my departure.’
‘Done,’ said Milton.
----
12
« ^ »
There’s something peculiar going on,’ said Sunil on Monday morning, during their private morning snack. ’Mmmm. I’ve never had gulls’ eggs before, Robert. Very nice.’
‘Good. Pass the pâté,’ said Amiss. ‘What d’you mean, peculiar? How can anything that happens here be called peculiar?’
‘I mean abnormal,’ said Sunil. ‘You can be a frightful pedant, Robert.’
‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘Well, the Admiral came in yesterday afternoon.’
‘On a Sunday. That’s very unusual, isn’t it?’
‘For a non-resident it is, though I suppose he’s got a perfect right, being chairman and everything. He wandered around for a couple of hours having chats with any of the old fellows who were around the place.’
‘Like who?’
‘Mainly the hard core. You know – Fagg, Fishbane, Glastonbury, Chatterton and the Commander. There’s hardly ever anyone else staying at weekends.’
‘Ah! The dear Commander.
‘I only ever go to church when I have to go to funerals,’ said Amiss gloomily. ‘Latterly that takes me there quite often enough for a member of the Church of England, let alone an atheist. I suppose you have a family pew in your local?’
‘Well, when I’m at home one has to show the flag.’ Pooley had adopted the embarrassed tone he reserved for all conversations about the family estate.
‘I have an alternative suggestion,’ said Milton. ‘I’ve nothing to do until Monday, so why don’t you stay over, Robert? We can stay up late and drink too much, not play squash in the morning, go to the pub at lunch-time via the newspaper shop, and stuff ourselves with roast beef and beer. Then if the weather’s OK we can have a walk in the afternoon and reminisce about the days when women stayed at home and looked after their menfolk.’
‘You’re on,’ said Amiss. ‘And before I go tomorrow we’ll compose a joint letter to the two of them, pointing out how well we get on without them and urging them not to hurry back. We will include this poem: I’ve been saving it up for the right occasion.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and declaimed:
‘Love a woman? You’re an ass!
‘ ’Tis a most insipid passion
To choose out for your happiness
The silliest part of God’s creation.
Let the porter and the groom,
Things designed for duty slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelia’s womb
To get supplies for age and graves.
Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.
Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wine,
And, if busy love entrenches,
There’s a sweet, soft page of mine
Does the trick worth forty wenches.
Maybe that’ll bring them back on the next plane.’
‘That would only be a distraction now,’ said Pooley. ‘Goodnight and thank you very much, Jim. Don’t let him keep you up too late. I’ll let myself out.’
‘D’you think he felt left out?’ asked Milton as he topped up Amiss’s outstretched glass.
‘I don’t give a fuck if he did or didn’t. I’ve become very fond of Ellis and I’m prepared on occasion to be tempted into his latest hare-brained scheme, but I’m buggered if I’ll carry on like Richard Hannay and his chums in a John Buchan novel. The trouble about Ellis’s preoccupation with crime fiction is that it’s a genre that sits most comfortably in an England that is dead and gone.’
‘Like ffeatherstonehaugh’s?’ said Milton.
‘Precisely,’ said Amiss. ‘It’s enough to make one feel one should go into the West End to a Heavy Metal disco or something.’
‘Why don’t we watch the re-run of today’s “Match of the Day” instead?’ suggested Milton. ‘There won’t be anybody in it over thirty.’
‘Perfect. And let’s make a vow. We won’t talk about anything earnest, serious, or in any way related to ffeatherstonehaugh’s between now and my departure.’
‘Done,’ said Milton.
----
12
« ^ »
There’s something peculiar going on,’ said Sunil on Monday morning, during their private morning snack. ’Mmmm. I’ve never had gulls’ eggs before, Robert. Very nice.’
‘Good. Pass the pâté,’ said Amiss. ‘What d’you mean, peculiar? How can anything that happens here be called peculiar?’
‘I mean abnormal,’ said Sunil. ‘You can be a frightful pedant, Robert.’
‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘Well, the Admiral came in yesterday afternoon.’
‘On a Sunday. That’s very unusual, isn’t it?’
‘For a non-resident it is, though I suppose he’s got a perfect right, being chairman and everything. He wandered around for a couple of hours having chats with any of the old fellows who were around the place.’
‘Like who?’
‘Mainly the hard core. You know – Fagg, Fishbane, Glastonbury, Chatterton and the Commander. There’s hardly ever anyone else staying at weekends.’
‘Ah! The dear Commander.
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