401B Concrete Shacks
LONDON E17 4VZ
April 14 1997
What ho! Auntie
I am just back from a long day on the street corners of Vauxhall, plying my trade with the Socialist Worker. It was very wet and my cloth cap was no match for the continuous downpour falling from the (cloudy) sky. Rain water ran down my neck and soaked into my shirt and braces. No sign of revolutionary activity yet, but the proposed government’s zeal in privatizing state industries should put paid to that! I won’t set out my Marxist ideology to you, because I know you don’t have much patience with my – as you put it – abstruse and arcane vocabulary . . .
I returned, anyhow, to Concrete Shacks, somewhat in need of a brew, only to find that my new lodger had filled the sink with knickers put to soak! It is really hard to fit the kettle under the tap with the sink brimming with soapy water in this way. I suppose you will say that such events are due to my susceptibility to any female form attired in a short skirt and pastel-pink lip gloss. I fear you may be right in this instance auntie; I had to retire to my garden shelter to snuff up one or two molecules of Glu-stick in order to feel better!
Regarding your request to return your correspondence of last year, I am afraid I seem to have binned most of it. But don’t worry. I was mostly too stoned to remember much of what you said and, in any event, am none too keen to feature in the ‘Moon’ myself. I will batch up any of your epistles I can find – and wing them back to you!
Must dash now. I’ve got to wring out my cap and count up the change from our takings.