2024-01 *UPDATED*: Now everyone can comment!

In reply to Rebecca's 'letterospective', including the mystery of the missing breakfast and a steamy sex scene*

*That ought to boost the open rate

*UPDATE*

Here’s a cautionary tale for y’all. I couldn’t understand why my first letter of the year to

Rebecca Holden

had attracted relatively few comments. I mean, it’s witty, incisive, thought-provoking, and deals with all the major issues of the day, such as Puddlegate. What’s not to like?

Terry Freedman — photo by Elaine Freedman

Then this morning I thought: “I wonder if I’ve accidentally set it up so that only paying subscribers can comment.” Lo and behold, that was exactly what I’d done.

So now that has been rectified, and I see no reason that anyone should refrain from commenting. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.

Of course, it could be that most people thought the post was so banal as to be uncommentable on, but I am hoping that that wasn’t the case.

But enough of this persiflage! On with the letter.

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Dear Rebecca

Happy new year and all that guff, but about that letterospective you wrote. This is not the first time that you went off-piste and messed up the numbering system. Not only does it mean that my meticulously-designed filing system, complete with several indexes, tags and cross-referencing, is now totally defunct, more importantly I can no longer work out how many times we’ve written to each other. In other words, I am afflicted with what Nabokov described as “calculatory ineptitude”. For that reason, and that reason alone, I have started a new numbering system, as you can see. I hope you like it.

Nevertheless, credit where credit is due. It was a marvellous piece of work, and a veritable chortlefest. When I write my autobiography I might commission you to write it, as you’re clearly very good at keeping references and stuff.

You mentioned a few things in your letter that demand further explanation. Here goes.

The mystery of the missing breakfast

While sitting on the bed in my room in the hall of residence at university, quaffing tea and scoffing toast, I was rudely interrupted by a knock on the door. Once I’d dealt with that I went back to the bed, only to discover that my breakfast had disappeared. I knew it couldn’t have been the work of a local arch criminal known as the phantom milk swiper, so I assumed, in my normal absent-minded state, that I must have finished it.

A few months later I decided that perhaps it was time to make the bed. When I moved it in order to tuck the sheets in (I’m nothing if not orderly) there, on the floor, lay a half full mug of tea and a slice of half eaten toast. Mystery solved!

A steamy sex scene

On another occasion, my girlfriend Yvette (name changed), who I’d been going out with for about a week, and I were sitting on that same bed chatting. And yes, we were just chatting.

All of a sudden, from next door, through the paper-thin wall of the room, came the sound of a female voice: oooh, aaaah, ooooh, mmmm etc.

“Charming!”, said Yvette, while I was trying to think of a way of dealing with this quite embarrassing nuisance.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in”, I bellowed, glad of the distraction. Two of my friends, from the other side of the block, came in. One of them was brandishing a clipboard. “Good evening”, he said. “We’re from the local noise abatement society, and we have here a petition….”

Well of course we all fell about laughing and then went out for a drink.

I do hope you enjoyed reading that, Rebecca, because that is my first, and I can very much assure you my last, description of a sexual encounter. Please don’t let your parents see it.

Puddlegate

The whole of our area is now one monstrous puddle, with a few islands here and there. I went shopping earlier today (everyone needs a hobby) and when I parked opposite our house upon my return I had to wade through a lake to get to the kerb. I suppose I should have parked a bit closer to the kerb rather than abandoning the car in the middle of the road, but even so.

Advanced drivelling

Thank you for advertising my advanced drivelling course. As it happens, I’ve recently started re-reading Northanger Abbey, and there’s one part where Catherine says:

I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible.

Isn’t that brilliant? That’s what my advanced drivelling course is predicated on: the need to drivel in such a way as to cause people to imagine that what you’re saying is too advanced for them to understand.

Reading matter

Speaking about books, as well as enjoying Northanger Abbey I am also enjoying having cancelled a literature course focused on memoir. I looked at three of the books I could obtain from the library and only one of them, On Chapel Sands by Laura Cummings, seemed remotely interesting.

I’m also reading The Book At War, which is a page-turner, an expression that is not always associated with academic non-fiction. I’ll say more about it in my next Start the Week post.

Christmas holidays

Did you do anything nice over the festive period? We had a quiet day to ourselves on Christmas Day itself.

On other days we saw friends, and on New Year’s Day we went to a family party and then on to one of Elaine’s friends. All in all it was very enjoyable, and then today I thought I’d start 2024 as I mean to go on: at the dental surgery followed by a visit to a supermarket. Such is the exciting life of a world-famous writer.

Tea

I was going to make a video in response to yours, but thought I’d give you some more hints and tips in writing.

The first thing to remember, once you’ve acquired loose tea (none of your innuendos here, thank you) and tea nets and a proper measuring spoon, you have to gently sift the tea from the spoon into the nets.

Teassentials, by Terry Freedman

Then heat the water using a gas kettle rather than an electric one. My researches in this area have demonstrated beyond any doubt that tea benefits from slow heat. It’s all to do with molecular agitation.

By the way, soon after I’d been made a lord¹, we went round to my in-laws. Elaine’s mum made tea using, as usual, tea bags. When she gave me my mug with a tea bag string hanging out of it I picked it up gingerly with two fingers.

Me: Er, what’s this?

Ma-in-law: What do you mean, what’s this?

Me: I mean, is this supposed to be tea?

M-i-L: Of course it’s tea, what are you talking about?

Me: In the circles in which I mix, by which I mean peers of the realm and other worthies, we are furnished with real tea, not these — what did you call them? — tea bags.

M-i-L: Good heavens.

And on that note, Becks, I shall love you and leave you. Here’s hoping for a happy new year, and many a chortlefest. Thanks for pointing out a few typos in an earlier draft of this letter.

Peeps, make sure you subscribe to Rebecca’s wonderful newsletter so you don’t miss her response.

And to mine please!

1. “You, a lord??”, I hear you scoff. Well here’s proof. Put that in your pipe and smoke it: