The heatwave continues. Reluctant though I am to discuss matters pertaining to my employment as House Master in St Dymphna's Grammar, I must record my admiration for those jolly red cheeked coves forced to sit in blazers and mufflers in conditions of arabian heat while conjugating latin verbs or wrestling with the subtleties of the Second Punic War. "I say sir" said one little scamp yesterday, "does exholare mean exhale or expire?" Well as you can imagine we all laughed and laughed and as reward for the boy's wit I took my diamond tipped cane and poked a tiny hole in one of the ancient windows, welded shut since the 1842 Cholera epidemic, to allow a small breath of fetid air into the room.
Preparations for the new project are apace though they are being interrupted by my collaborator's continued stream of successes that compel him to go to prize-givings, visit Tuscany, open new branches of ASDA etc. I do not grudge him any of this and do not subscribe for a second to Gore Vidal's notion that "whenever a friend succeeds a little something in me dies", though I have been feeling a bit peaky recently.