Occasional Absences

The most curious thing has happened.

Over the last year, my tedious, incoherent and paranoiac ramblings have gradually attracted the attention of a group of misguided souls who, for reasons known only to God (and perhaps themselves), have chosen to become regular visitors.

I have, in other words, agglomerated around myself a virtual readership; a collection, I daresay, of bounders, rogues, cads and rascally knaves… but a group nevertheless distinguished as much by their impeccable taste as by a high degree of moral turpitude. This confederation of collaborators spans (at the very least) the broad Atlantic Ocean: an collective of robust (if somewhat eccentric) individuals, who clearly share high intelligence, gem-like acuity of intellect, and deeply questionable motives.

And having accidentally acquired regular readers, I felt I should explain to them the reason for the irregularity of my postings. After all, I wouldn’t like people to think I wasn’t serious about this. I’m not, of course, but I don’t like people to realise that.

So, should you find yourself returning to this place of ill-repute only to encounter a sepulchral silence, an eerie solitude, and the undisturbed dust of aeons upon every surface, this will be for one of five reasons:

I. I am Away
I am a restless, nomadic soul…there is something of the gypsy in me. I make it my business to travel the four corners of the globe. I may be in the rainforests of Borneo, exploring the antiquities of Yucatan or Easter Island, travelling across the North African Desert or the Hills of Northern Laos. Or I may be having cream teas in Devon.

II. I am Busy
I have devoted my life to the service of God, Queen and Empire. And they have proved stern and demanding taskmasters. I may be called away at any time to deal with the evil and treacherous machinations of foreigners. Never forget that Paris, that known hotbed of duplicity, vice, lasciviousness, and general Gallicism, is only hours away. We must be constantly vigilant.

III. I am Melancholic
The Black Dog visits. And when he does, I do not write. Sometimes because I cannot…and sometimes because I must not. You would be unpleasantly surprised by what runs through my mind in those circumstances. If you think I can be psychotically arrogant, churlish or vindictive now, you have absolutely no idea.

IV. I am Inspired
My genius is profound, capricious, polymathic. If I am not posting, I may be writing (exquisite) prose, or (limpid, adamantine) verse. I may be knocking out a vulgar little musical number riddled with smutty innuendo, composing tunes on my Scarlet Temptress, or engaged on one of my complex, disturbing, and obsessively-detailed drawings. Who knows where the muse will lead?

However, if I am posting, you may safely assuming I am frittering away my meaningless and drab little life as usual.

V. I am Drunk
Yes, dammit, drunk! And what of it? Is it such a shame for a chap to have the odd snifter? And what if he has to pawn his watch, or his best suit, or the memsahib’s shoes now and again? What if he has spent every penny he posseses on Gin? Why shouldn’t a fellow occasionally blow the rent (and the housekeeping) on a few hours of thoughtless pleasure in a harsh and unforgiving world? Is it so very bad to forget the cares of a life of poverty and relentless labour? Is it a crime to seek escape from daily humiliations and snubs, from the constant reminders of failure that haunt one’s life? Is it in some way wrong to wake in a pool of vomit in a Whitechapel alleyway with no recollection of the last fortnight? Is it? EH?

Of course, there is one other possibility. A group of malign dwarves may have crept up upon me, knocked me down and, swarming like weasels over my recumbent form, bundled me into a large sack, thrown it into their carriage, and stolen me away to a travelling circus for their own nefarious purposes.

But I think you’ll agree that could happen to any of us at any time.