When my old chums Theodore and Evadne Google decided to offer an email service, they contacted me so that I was able to get an email address that was my own name (and I mean the less well known name that I use to conduct my business in the alternative universe, not the witty sobriquet by which you know me), without any fancy characters, or, as in the case of my hotmail account, appending the number “69”. (How I laughed about that one).
I am ever grateful to them for this. One of the downsides of this is that I get a disproportionate amount of junk mail, but Evadne kindly sifts through it every morning before she waters the pelargonium, so I am only left with the cream, as it were.
It appears that there are other people in the world who share my name. None of them, it is barely necessary to mention, share my charms, but some of them have interesting lives. Others assume that the gmail address of these people must be the one that I reserved, and this has led to some bizarre correspondence over the months.
I had a very pleasant correspondence with a dyslexic estate agent who was keen that I buy some property in Texas. I soon became bored with that.
I then had a brief correspondence with a young man of French descent who was keen that I attend his parties. I am ashamed to say I was rude to him, as I thought for a time he was a spammer. I did not go to any of the parties, and so have nothing to report.
Today, however, things started to look up. A young lady, who I shall only refer to as Lorraine, sent me the following:
(it was headed: “Nigeria & Shakleton´s voyage..”)
Folks,
I didn´t lose the email addresses nor did I forget to send the email as requested...see..I can learn from my mistakes!
Boyos..hope you both have a wonderful time in BRAZIL...let me know if you have any interesting stories to tell..
take care and safe travels,
Thank you for an entertaining few days in Patagonia..
Lorraine xxx
I replied immediately:
Lorraine.
How delightful to hear from you.
I am so pleased that you did not lose the email addresses.
My time in Brazil must remain a secret due to international security concerns, but one day I may be able to tell the story. Next time we meet I will be able to tell you a little about it.
I am disappointed that you view the days in Patagonia as only entertaining. In my mind they are amongst the most enervating and erotic in my long and event-filled life.
Did I ever tell you the story about my night in Casablanca with the boy who was later to become Pope John Paul II?
Who are you?
love, peace and coloured orgasms.
I welcome your comments. I am particularly intrigued by Shackleton’s voyage to Nigeria. It is little wonder that he failed to reach the South Pole. I thought that educational standards were somewhat higher in those days, but it appears that dear old Ernie, were he alive today, could expect little more than an A++ GCSE in geography.
35 comments:
You are going to post the reply I trust.
Richard, you have my word. I will keep the correspondence completely up to date.
How could I let my public down?
You have a public?
Pamela, I think he does have a public, but the tag restricts it to the hours of 9am-7pm.
Shackleton was a relative of my Grandad's but he never mentioned Nigeria.
What was the venerable old Hampshire allrounder doing in the Antarctic anyway?
I am laughing at this. What a delight to read.
Now can you please tell this lowly Mississippi gal how in the heck you pronounce "Evadne"?
I am tempted to yell "IVADD-DA-NEE" at the top of my lungs.
For some reason, it speaks to me.
Evad knee.
Pamela. Look at the evidence, dear.
I will find out more for you, CP, perhaps you have some Nigerian relatives. If this is the case, then there could be some very interesting email in your junk folder, enabling you to become rich beyond your dreams.
Richard, as you well know, Derek Shackleton had a winter job testing licorice for Bassetts. This would leave him little time for foreign jaunts.
Awaiting. Dave has kindly answered your query. (Isn't he a nice man?) I suspect, however, that in Mississippi it is pronounced "Evad knee Bob".
This young woman is claiming you've "made the trip to Brazil" eh? Don't you find it a bit chilly in wintertime? Or do you not wear kilts?
Raincoaster. You are very naughty. It is a source of some dismay to me that a great nation such as Brazil is forever associated with a passing pubic fad. Personally, I prefer the Canadian. Enormous, largely uninhabited and uninhabitable, cold and wet in the extremities and very seldom talked about in polite company.
More from Lorraine!
More to the point, who are you? Are you a spy?
Re. Patagonia..I guess we simply have different standards.
Tell me about Casablanca when you have the time..
I replied:
Lorraine!
How lovely!
I have to confess that I am reporting this correspondence on my blog. Now that I have more of a measure of you, (your response to Patagonia below), I feel free to confess that, and would be very happy if you would add a comment there and introduce yourself to all of my lovely friends.
Did you pick my name at random, or is it simply a typo?
And I do believe that you owe it to me to explain a little about Shakleton and Nigeria.
Yours in anticipation,
A new toy! You are spoiling us, master.
Richard. Please be gentle with the new toy.
On coloured orgasms - I seem to recall, from one of the two instructional films during which I bothered to stay awake in physical education class in high school, that coloured orgasms were a sure sign that one needed to begin a course of antibiotic treatment as soon as possible.
The other film suggested that, once I got my driver's license, that I was going to wrap myself around a telephone pole and become part of some seedy wrecker service's wall of accident scene photos. It failed to mention wherher coloured orgasms would be a contributing factor, however.
vicus, as far as I know there are only three people on the Internet and you are all three.
Pamela, I know that it may seem like that sometimes, given the lack of useful information and interesting anecdotes elsewhere, but I am determined that the internet becomes a democratic institution, open to all, without favour, as it was when I first designed it.
Ah Vicus, how I remember those long winter evenings, sitting by the fire getting stoned with my friends, while you designed the internet. I have to confess at the time I did have some doubts as to whether your efforts would bear fruit, or at least fruit of any consequence. Who would have thought all these years later it would become the vehicle for you to help spread wisdom and goodwill throughout the universe.
Could she be related to Ann Schluss? I believe she knocks up a feisty Quiche if asked nicely.
Very droll, Murphmeister.
You can stay
vicus is really Al Gore?
Vicus: you left out "bushy." Well, what do the details matter really, when the Canadian beaver is renowned worldwide. Name me another country that so venerates its unmentionables.
Raincoaster, I can't think of any countries but there's a certain town in North Lincolnshire completely full of unmentionables.
Maybe Lorraine has been there?
Got to play Panesar now, surely. What do you think, Lorraine?
Monty for sure. What have the got to lose? Not that playing him would be desperation - he should have been in from the first.
On the other hand, if they were looking for someone a litle more mauture, but also bearded, I'm still available.
Noooo, Vicus dear, it is Evad Knee Bubba or Shaqueenaliqua...depending in which area you are in.
I'm fed up with Lorraine and her not so interesting travels - post something else please
thank you
James and Lorraine were in love from the time they first met as teens. Their love bloomed and deepened over the years, and the two were inseparable.
But one day, James met Claire Lee and found his heart torn in two. Despite his newfound feelings for her, James knew that his first commitment was to Lorraine, and he suffered his dilemma in silent torment while remaining true to his first love.
One day, James and Lorraine were taking a walk by the riverbank when, suddenly, the bank gave way and Lorraine slid into the rushing waters.
James tried everything in his power to save his love, finally jumping in to the swift currents in a doomed attempt to save his drowning lover. He barely made it to shore, and he lay on the grass, sobbing uncontrollably.
After an hour, he got up and trudged toward home to bear the grief of his loss. But suddenly, he came to a happy realization and exclaimed; "I can see Claire Lee now Lorraine is gone!"
Oh FE what a lovely tale, I hope it's true. It has restored my faith in human nature, and men particularly - I hope James and Claire Lee are very happy. But, you know he only had to ask, I'd've shoved her in before then and saved him the torment.
Ziggi, my faith in you has been strengthened yet again. Now sing the last line a couple of times . . . .
Sadly FE it's still pissing down here.
Ziggi - Well, anything I can do to make it worse with bad references to early 70's pop, please let me know.
The stress of separation from my previous profession is starting to show, isn't it?
Loved it! What a great read!
Hilarious. A++ GCSE... If only.
Http://jingoistic.blogspot.com
Evadne? By Jove! Was she Evadne nèè Hinge, Of the duo, Hinge and Bracket?
Music hall people, I recall, used to listen to them upon the steam-radio. Then we got the electrical wireless, and nothing was ever the same again.
Shackleton's expedition to Nigeria was of immeasurable value to the empire, reulting as it did in Shackleton's introduction to England of his 'High Seat Chairs', so named because life in the jungle was tricky enough without having to worry about all those things that just want to bite your arras. Ernest, having extended the legs of his camp chairs, received such adulation from his camp colleagues that he rushed home in time to get the chairs into the christmas sales, and totally forgot about poor old Robert Falcon Scott, and the lads in the snowy wastes of antarctica.
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