The Library | Write to Sir Charles | Cast of Characters | Credits | This Week

September 7, 1998

Ah, Wales. The location of one's yearly holiday. How one anticipates visiting one's hunting lodge in the quaint town of Llogarachddywddyngogoguch . . . or whatever its name happens to be. After a certain number of syllables, one begins to fall quite, quite asleep. Until one's return next week from holiday, one leaves one's readers with tidbits of wisdom culled from previous exercises in erudition and wit. Cheesed writes: Dear Sir Charles: Who the hell do you think you are? You stink!!!!!!!!!! Cheesed (Editor's note: No return address, but undoubtedly some execrable residence) Sir Charles replies: Dear Sirrah or Madame: As a lad, one was granted by one's parents, Sir Theodore and Lady Frederica (known as 'Teddy and Freddy' among the vulgar press, until the Mater and Pater bought them all), an education unsurpassed in all of history. One's tutors, recruited from universities across the world, unfailing drilled one in letters, including and especially the classics, in mathematics, in the use of globes (including those astronomical), in philosophy, and in the practical management of one's estate. One was presented at the tender age of nine, upon whence one became a favorite at court for many years until the unfortunate Gammonsford Incident. Even now, the royal family begs one's forgiveness in letter after tiresome letter, though one suspects they wish an association with one to lend that fallen family 'tone.' As if one would stoop that low. One has traveled; one has seen the world from camelback, from yachtside, and from the back seat of one's Rolls. One has learned languages both modern and ancient. Some claim that one has led a sheltered life, but one disagrees; one has learned enough of the vulgar patois known as modern English to offer the following well-meant and cheerful advice: Please do sod off. Hoping you have learned your lesson, one manfully remains Sir Charles Grandiose Sir Frederick writes: Dear Sir Charles, the girl I love is always rude to me. What should I do? Sir Frederick Gastron Sir Charles replies: Sirrah: One can scarcely suppress the temptation to behave rudely to you oneself. One therefore concludes that you are, as they say in the common parlance, 'asking for it.' Admirably refraining from mentioning the correspondent's arcanely juvenile handwriting, insensibility to the laws of capitalization, and amusing delusions of nobility, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Colleen writes: My Dear Sir, Having perused your latest edition of hilarity, I had reason to pause over a small aside regarding one Prince of Wales and his auditory abundance. Perhaps you hadn't heard, but there was an incident regarding quick-dry glue and the "pinning back" as it were, of said abundance. Please, don't anyone try this at home. A most unfortunate incident ensued whereas the Prince and a companion of the female persuasion where enjoying a candle lit dinner for two, when, with an audible swoosh, the aforementioned glue gave up the good fight and the Prince's ears sprang to attention! Such a gust prevailed that one of the candle fell over and a fire ran rampant at Buckingham Palace, where several thousand dollars worth of artwork was destroyed. And the rest, as they say, is history. Jolly fun lot, those Royals. With regards, Colleen Sir Charles replies: My dear Irish lass, Oh, what Miss 'Kitty Kelley' would have given for your assistance. To think that the juiciest rumours up with which she could come alleged the involvement, during the procreation of our current Queen and her sister, of an instrument known as the 'turkey baster.' As if we couldn't already tell by their buttery aroma and crispy skin. Hungrily, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Mr sTrapping writes: Dear Sir Charles, My husban dand I recentl yattended a performance of Messiah performed by the Philharmonic Symphony of Switzerland. He fel lasleep during 'For Unto Us,' unfortunately. I was most aggrieved by hi slack of interest. He didn't even wake up until the strident entrance of several Swis strumpets later in the performance, and then he seemed to be riveted. I sthere anything I can do about thi strumpet problem? Mr sTrapping of Northampshire Sir Charles replies: My dear lady, Gracious, your experience doesn't sound like any performance of Messiah that one has ever attended. Fortunately, your husband seems to have found a solution to his own problem. A few Swiss strumpets always keep a man's focus, every time. Halleluiahing about the place, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Befuddled writes: Dear Sir Charles It is with regret that I write to inform you that John, Lord Beedaye, has passed away, and also to ask your advice on quite a conundrum which vexes the staff of Lord Beedaye's house. Lady Beedaye has taken the notion that the late Lord should lie in state in the dining room, because (as the Lady puts it) 'What better place to lie, after dyin'?' We fear our Mistress has never been strongly orthographical, and this latest whim of hers will make her the laughing stock of the Shire, as our last Master takes up a goodly portion of the dining room table, and she would insist we place the pudding in his hands, for decoration. What course of action shall we take with our newly widowed Lady? Funereally Befuddled in Fotheringsgill Sir Charles replies: Dear Befuddled: How one sympathizes for the household. When one's own Pater passed away after the unfortunate accident with the electrical toaster in his bath, we did not quite know what to do with the body. First we laid it out in the morning room, but it got in the way of Mater's whist game. Then we attempted to let it lie in state in the library, but one's brother objected, because the old man's expression of frozen horror had an adverse effect on his houses of cards. Finally, one had the inspiration to have the servants move the corpse to the smokehouse until the funeral could be held after the family's annual holiday to Wales. Not only did the kippering save the Grandiose bank account the costly expense of formaldehyde and whatever else these modern mortuaries use, but the summer sausage was unusually tasty that year. Nostalgically, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose