Bulgaria with Noodles

Dear Markoi,                       Tuesday, 22nd October Who is this amazingly handsome and good-looking young fellow, whose photo you have sent to me? Obviously this seventeen-year-old aquatic Adonis is no relation of yours. At LWC, aka the London Water Closet, I do remember the one and only Mint, Mr Merriman, coming up to me and saying, “Your brother has the body of a young Greek god!” Andy, aka The Sheep, has had several crime novels published and he does not seem to have made any money out of them. I only read the first one,  Dead Drift , and it really was quite well written. In the book there was a “blurb” about Andy’s CV (or resume, as you Americans call it) and that was an even greater work of fiction. As for me, I do not have any photos of my son or daughter playing water polo, so I am sending you a few pictures of Tina, our very fat and naughty Jack Russell. My dear wife says that Tina is lazy, greedy, and di...

Back in BG, along the street from our apartment in Patriarch Evtimy Dear Markoi, I am writing to you again, hoping that this time you will give me some photos of the memorial service, if you have any. And please, do you have any RTD photos? As you probably know, I put my eulogy onto my blog, as nearly everything I write goes onto my blog sooner or later, and so I wanted to include some photos of Roger. Well, if you have not got any, then that is okay, but please let  me know, one way or another.  The London Water Closet, aka LWC I had a rummage around on the   Sternian   website, but alas I did not find many photos of the   dinosaurus pinguior.  The one of Robin Craig is quite good. A bridge over non-troubled water in Veliko Tarnovo It was strange, being back in the UK after so long and in fact it was the first time ever that I had been back to Lord Wandsworth College (LWC) since my departure, back in 1977 or maybe it was 1978. So muc...

“Oh botheration!” exclaimed Drusilla Kennington-Oval, her gamine face puckering in a tiny moue of vexation. She had come to the end of her novel, Heartsease by Monica Liphook (Olympia Press) and it was time for her to get out of bed and face another mad, jolly, gorgeous day. She widened her slim, artistic fingers (and a thumb) and let the book slip to the cottage floor with an unaccustomed plonk. Immediately, she was out of bed, long limbs flashing, and down her knees mopping up the plonk – a bottle of chea p but agreeable Yugoslav Chablis that she was trying out. Although it was only eight o’clock, already she could hear the sound of her farmer neighbours beginning to stir: the slam of a shooting brake door as one sped off for a round of golf and the cheerful clatter of helicopter blades as another one was whisked away to some boring business meeting in Brussels. Throwing on an old pair of patched jeans, Drusilla flung open the back door and bounded down to the garden fence...