For some time now, I have had the growing suspicion that you all think these letters were written a long time ago, and that all I am doing is to update them.
To correct any misimpression on your part I am writing this note, which will both remind you of The Greystoke and act as a reminder of your role therein.
As you know, there is an area of of The Greystoke pub which is secluded from the more lively atmosphere pervading the place. This special area is known as "The Departure Lounge", and contains those who will not be with us much longer.
The rules for membership are highly complex and therefore are unspoken. They were formulated by Cameron or Peter (or anyone who happens to be present).
Recently, Cameron invented a gambling game. To join in one has to wager a penny or two to predict whether the next person to enter the pub will be male or female. At first, Cameron would creep around the back of the pub and enter boldly and the door nearest our table, claiming to be a strange male. We quickly saw through this ruse and barred it from the bet.
One day, we were bored with the bet, when the door opened and a strange creature entered. It was impossible to detect whether it was male or female because it was dressed from head to foot in a single shapeless garment rather like a Muslim chador. The face was hidden behind thick cosmetics which displayed a grisly grin. The only one with a definite opinion was Lou, who said it could not be a Muslim, since Muslims eschewed alcohol. This left us in uproar! Who, if anyone, had won the bet?
It seemed natural that Cameron should decide our action. Like all great field commanders, he chose the most dependable of subordinates – Peter. This man had shown great knowledge, both tactical and background, to apply to our problem. Peter knew everyone who visited the pub – their personal backgrounds, their occupations, hobbies, friends, relatives and lovers. In a flash, Peter had contacted everyone in the pub. He'd drawn a blank. Meanwhile, the strange person had moved, sedately but purposefully, towards the toilets. But which toilet would be used?
By now, a silence had descended over the pub. Would Gentlemen or Ladies be chosen? We watched eagerly. The ladies' toilets were chosen. A sigh of relief came from the Departure Lounge. Our strange visitor was female. This means that those betting on a woman had won. However, Cameron does not accept defeat without a struggle. With a dismissive gesture, he indicated that Peter should "follow through", Peter is not an automaton. He exchanged a few co-operative words with Wendy, a leading figure among the bar staff. "You want me to lead the way and find this person of indeterminate sex. I suppose what we do then will depend on what we find." They disappeared inside the ladies' toilets. We heard a few of Peter's mating calls, such as "Hello, Flower" and "How are you, Petal?" Then there was silence.
After a while, the stranger appeared and made its way to the pub exit to disappear in the melée that characterizes the pedestrian traffic in Queen's Parade. All eyes now focused on the ladies' toilet.
Then the door swung open and Wendy appeared. "I didn't find anyone," she announced. "You'll have to ask Peter." Meanwhile, another person had arrived and had taken his place where Peter used to sit. He looked like an exact copy of our Peter, except that he had less hair and was not very good at crosswords. Still, the new Peter was an acceptable substitute for our one.
We never found the old Peter. Later, the police were called. Again, we got no result. Even Cameron was prepared to accept that Peter had gone. We organized a reward. The notice was contrived by Cameron:
WE WILL PAY A PREMIUM PRICE FOR A PREMIUM PETER
