A pecululiar encounter at "The Porcupine"

Lethergy has triumphed over my body today.

I planned to spend Thurs-day pushing ink through an oft-discussed treatise on the pansexual activities of the southern lowlands owlmen, but instead lay naked and dissolate upon the hearthrug, a thick corpus of drool collecting upon my "sunshine pallett". But for a wafer biscuit smeared with the merest smidgen of flyjam, not a jot has passed my lips.

The reason for such monumental inactivity was yesterday's lengthy drinking session, commencing late afternoon at the Roman Baths. I confess, two gentlemen there allowed me a little leeway. So invigorated, I headed to "The Colossus" for milk punch after which I was drawn with bitter inevitability to The Porcupine.

Therein, I took myself to the spinal bar where a Gary Numan tune was playing loudly. I was immediately enveloped by a fug, a thick pea-souper that concealed all but the extremities of the other guests. While leaning on the bar to order a light vinegar, I eased forward to a blonde-haired angel beside me, whispering into her perfect ear something about lost worlds, new textiles and cold, dead oceans. Before I could register her response, through the clouds I spotted three gents all a-smugger.

It was Skinny Bob with two others I didn't recognise. Cautiously I made my way over to greet them, but they were far too ensconced in debate to notice me.

"Never mind your patent sheep traps, I've got forty acres ruined by that vermin," spat one of the gentlemen I didn't know, tall and reedy with thick mutton chops. "Try and tell me you can elliminate that lot!"

"I tell you I can," retorted the other stranger, short and stout with a beard like muslin. "And more besides. I've disembarked an entire valley that was formerly wool-locked!"

And so it went on, with I and Skinny looking from one to the other and back and forth again as if at the first court at Wimbledon. It clear blew my mind that I was hearing this tepid prattle in The Porcupine - in London, indeed! And I, Stigwood the mighty explorer, reduced to such profound inanity! My head raced, and I raised my cane to beat these fools aside, thus allowing my easy retreat.

A hired car vomitted me to my door at three minutes past four, wherein I headed bedwards.

There I must go again now, I confess, with a shadow upon my soul. Oh weary London!