Autumn is the deepest month

 

Soon we will feel the sharp face-scratching cold of winter, but for a few more weeks we can luxuriate in the gentle cool of the dying year. Far to the West, an ominous rumbling is jangling our nerves, and we worry for time beyond the winter. Long distant memories of horrors we only hear of are tersely tightening into focus.

And now the house is redecorated...

Get those Hulots off my new carpet!

Pansies

When Kraepelin first described Involutional Melancholia he must have been thinking of a person like Elmer P. Cragwin. Professor Cragwin's early glittering brilliance (as shown in works such as 'Des pensées sur les pensées futures') was in later years dulled by his deeply sceptical 'Critique of Core Treason' in which he rounded upon his contemporaries with paranoid ferocity. The most cutting attack was directed towards the work of Professor Letitia Vorsfeld who subsequently was elevated to the post of Président Adjoint Littéraire of the Transpyrranean Society, and thus the real power behind the ultimate dismantling of Cragwin's academic reputation.

Why, oh why?

Someone once asked the most pertinent question of all, but since then no-one has managed to formulate an accurate and concise answer. So I feel it would be impudent of me to try. I therefore merely pass on the question - why?

Charcoal Sketches

Cold weather brings cold thoughts, but only the most sophisticated minds could conceptualise the artic philosophy of Elmer P. Cragwin. Professor Cragwin was born, interestingly enough, in very temperate climes, living for the first decade of his life on the Island of Mante Arumemcha, and for the succeeding years of his youth in Barcelona. At the age of eighteen, with the manuscript of 'de Altimus' under his arm, he walked on foot to the Cathar city of Carcassone where he completed his masterpiece 'Any Thing' whilst working as a waiter in a Moroccan cafe, and selling his charcoal sketches of Catalonia.

The Phone Bill

Change the spiel and see.

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They leave you laughing

It was the youngest member of the family, the baronet Severil, who was the most upset by the demise of the dowager, who broke her neck when she fell from her horse during a particularly gruelling day's hunting. The other members of the clan were more fatalistic, saying that a woman of ninety-two should not have been on a horse at all, let alone participating in a hunt.

The Chamber

'It is a shame that no-one seems to want to visit us anymore, isn't it William.'
And with that the Duchess picked up her toy poodle and retired to her chamber.