April 23
With a menacing politeness, B⸺ today inquired of a fat curate who was occupying more than his fair share of a seat on top of a bus—
“Are you going to get up or stay where ye are, sir?”
The foolish bird was sitting nearly on top of B⸺, mistaking a bomb for an egg.
“I beg your pardon,” replied the fat curate.
B⸺ repeated his inquiry with more emphasis in the hideous Scotch brogue.
“I suppose I shall stay here till I get down presently.”
“I don’t think you will,” said B⸺.
“What do you mean?” asked the fat one in falsetto indignation.
“This,” B⸺ grunted, and shunted sideways so that the poor fellow almost slid on to the floor.
A posse of police walking along in single file always makes me laugh. A single constable is a Policeman, but several in single file are “Coppers.” I imagine everyone laughs at them and I have a shrewd suspicion it is one of W. S. Gilbert’s legacies—the Pirates of Penzance having become part of the national Consciousness.
R⸺ remarked today that he intended writing a lyric on lighting Chloe’s cigarette.
“Ah!” I said at once appreciative, “now tell me, do you balance your hand—by gently (ever so gently) resting the extreme tip of your little finger upon her chin, and” (I was warming up) “do you hold the match vertically or horizontally, and do you light it in the dark or in the light? If you have finesse, you won’t need to be told that the thing is to get a steady flame and the maximum of illumination upon her face to last over a period for as long as possible.”
“Chloe,” replied R⸺, “is wearing now a charming blouse with a charming V-shaped opening in front. Her Aunt asked my Mother last night tentatively, ‘How do you like Chloe’s blouse? Is it too low?’ My Mother scrutinised the dear little furry, lop-eared thing and answered doubtfully, ‘No, Maria, I don’t think so.’ ”
“How ridiculous! Why the V is a positive signpost. My dear fellow,” I said to R⸺, “I should refuse to be bluffed by those old women. Tell them you know.”
Carlyle called Lamb a despicable abortion. What a crime!