Hello, and welcome to an edition of The Autolycan which almost but not quite steers clear of coronavirus. This one follows on from a delightful headline about Charles Dickens which the Guardian printed some time ago. Apparently he and Thackeray, who had been friendly for years despite the huge difference in their social class, had a bit of a spat in later life, hence the invective.
Please feel free to pass this on to anyone who you feel might like it and/or want a bit of cheering up in present circumstances!
To : The Freight Manager, Great Western Railway
…..but I didn't get no satisfaction there neither, so I thought I know best go straight to the top, get it sorted, know what I mean, whole thing goes back about a month now when I was ordering my Christmas turkey as per normal up the butcher's when he says it's got to come GWR from Ross-on-Wye, 'Ross-on-Wye?' I says 'that's bloody miles away, what's that all about then?' and he goes 'you won't hardly credit this, Mr D, it's got something to do with introducing competition across the network, improving standards and driving down costs for the benefit of the consumer' and I says 'don't give me none of that crap about driving down costs, I'm old enough to remember the Tolpuddle Martyrs, dash my wig!' and anyway how can I be a bloody consumer if I've got nothing to consume on account of you've lost it, and I don't want none of that bullshit about failing on this occasion to meet our normal high standards, it's not that long since you people half killed me in that train crash, nasty business, losing my turkey is just adding insult to injury, the gilt on the gingerbread as you might say though probably not, metaphor never was my strong point, although the guilt of the injured head was definitely yours, ha ha, I'm better on puns, OK, not that much better, but I can do witty stuff you know, how about “there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best part”, that's one of mine, I was thinking of that old fool Thackeray at the time, William Makepeace Thackeray, that is – Makepeace? - I mean what kind of family calls their bloody kid Makepeace, final nail in the coffin of nominative determinism if you ask me, toffee-nosed twerp never did try to make peace with me after that time we fell out, probably realised he was out of his league, I mean Vanity Fair, is that it?, I could go on but where was I, oh yes, my turkey, or rather the lack of it, I mean you lot up GWR can do difficult stuff like Box Tunnel, and fair dos, that wasn't easy but you can't find my bloody turkey, well, I'm saying 'turkey' but the despatch note says it's a thirty pound job, must have come from that farm just outside Hinkley Point, probably got four legs, five even, to weigh as much as that, what's Mrs D going to do with a thirty pounder, it'll never fit in the oven, we'll be eating turkey sandwiches till Easter when the kids will turn their noses up and gorge themselves stupid on chocolate instead, can't be good for them, and what if it's got one of them viruses, bird flu was it last time?, salmonella?, good job it's the whole bird not just the crown or it might get coronavirus, corona – crown, geddit?, just my little joke, and why you have to take it off the train and stick it on a replacement coach service beats me, have you any idea how much sheer dread is conjured up in the head of the average punter by the phrase 'replacement coach service', catching fire is the least of it, anyhow, seems to me that there's an opportunity there for a bit of a graft, know what I mean, substitute my thirty pounder for a smaller one, then transfer that back to a train somewhere else and swap it for a chicken, by the time it gets here I'd be lucky to get a bloody quail, have you ever tried feeding, what - eight kids is it plus God knows how many grandchildren, I lose count - off a quail, now I'm not saying for definite that's what happened and to be fair I didn't never get no quail which would have proved it but you can't help wondering, anyway I'll tell you what, I had this great idea see, you know I said I'd got all these grandkids, well I said to them let's have a bit of a competition, prize for the winner, how about making up a story explaining how GWR come to lose my bloody turkey, well, swearing, Mrs D don't like that and gives me one of her blackest looks, and the Devil himself don't have blacker ones, but fair enough, I hold my hand up, but anyway it was a kind of challenge to the kids to use their imagination, now I know I shouldn't really have asked little Augustus, kid's got a very dark side, very dark, always has had, and he come up with some quite chilling stuff about the bird being stolen and taken to Stonehenge where it was sacrificed on the Heel Stone at midnight and its heart buried at the dead centre of the circle, then various other bits buried under different what-do-you-call-'ems – the ones like goalposts except they can't be 'cos they didn't have football then - trilithons, that's it, and when they chanted some black magic incantations all the bits were resurrected and came together again as a Freight Manager, ha ha, no sorry, he didn't really put that, he put vampire, but you see what I mean about him, very odd for a kid his age, he's only seven, but anyway I give first prize to little Emily who come up with a heart-rending tale about Rudolph falling sick at the last minute, Santa didn't know how he was going to get round, when my turkey puts its wing up and says let me take Rudolph's place, I'm sure I've got the strength after all I am a thirty bloody pounder – and you simply wouldn't believe the trouble I got in for that off Mrs D, there are no words - but anyway Tallulah Turkey, don't ask me where she got Tallulah from, kids eh?, gets harnessed up at the front and just about gets round before collapsing of exhaustion and pleading piteously that someone should come and say sorry to me for ruining my Christmas dinner, then lies down and gobbles her last, what a talent that kid's got, bloody sight better than that plodding oaf Thackeray, he couldn't never have thought of that, but getting back to the competition I gave a special commendation to young Charles who come up with quite a promising story, needs a bit doing to it to smarten it up a bit, but good for his age, anyway in his story there was a miserable old skinflint, he called him Scrooge but I'm sure an old pro like me could think of a better name than that, and Scrooge is mean and horrible to a bloke called Cratchit who works for him, no idea where he gets these names from, and Cratchit has a disabled kid, well he would, wouldn't he, and Scrooge gets visited by three ghosts, puts the fear of God up him, so on Christmas morning he sees the error of his ways, yells at some passing kid to go and buy a massive turkey and take it round to the Cratchits - perhaps I'd better have a word with him about just how easy it is to buy a turkey on Christmas morning - anyway, when it gets to Cratchit it turns out to be mine, apparently the ghosts had seen to that, Cratchit whistles up Scrooge and me and the kids and I tell them all to come here with the bird and we'll have Christmas dinner at our place, all works out a treat if a bit late by then, story full of holes of course but see what I mean about the lad having a bit of promise, oh by the way, sorry about no full stops, my publisher says there's a national shortage- I expect you've lost them as well, have you? - and can I get by with commas, semi colons and colons, 'semi colons and colons?' I said, 'who uses them?' then I remembered its Vanity Fair colon followed by some subtitle, he's probably been panic buying colons and semi colons, got cupboards full, just the sort who would have, anyway, I got to go now, so I just want to say I got great expectations that you will sort this turkey business out for me, we're having a hard time without it in what is a bit of a bleak house
Yours ever
Charles Dickens
Please feel free to pass this on to anyone who you feel might like it and/or want a bit of cheering up in present circumstances!
TALKING TURKEY
Charles Dickens's final Christmas turkey lost by Great Western Railway
Rediscovered letter records that 30lb bird was despatched by train but transferred to a replacement coach service that caught fire.
The Guardian
To : The Freight Manager, Great Western Railway
…..but I didn't get no satisfaction there neither, so I thought I know best go straight to the top, get it sorted, know what I mean, whole thing goes back about a month now when I was ordering my Christmas turkey as per normal up the butcher's when he says it's got to come GWR from Ross-on-Wye, 'Ross-on-Wye?' I says 'that's bloody miles away, what's that all about then?' and he goes 'you won't hardly credit this, Mr D, it's got something to do with introducing competition across the network, improving standards and driving down costs for the benefit of the consumer' and I says 'don't give me none of that crap about driving down costs, I'm old enough to remember the Tolpuddle Martyrs, dash my wig!' and anyway how can I be a bloody consumer if I've got nothing to consume on account of you've lost it, and I don't want none of that bullshit about failing on this occasion to meet our normal high standards, it's not that long since you people half killed me in that train crash, nasty business, losing my turkey is just adding insult to injury, the gilt on the gingerbread as you might say though probably not, metaphor never was my strong point, although the guilt of the injured head was definitely yours, ha ha, I'm better on puns, OK, not that much better, but I can do witty stuff you know, how about “there are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best part”, that's one of mine, I was thinking of that old fool Thackeray at the time, William Makepeace Thackeray, that is – Makepeace? - I mean what kind of family calls their bloody kid Makepeace, final nail in the coffin of nominative determinism if you ask me, toffee-nosed twerp never did try to make peace with me after that time we fell out, probably realised he was out of his league, I mean Vanity Fair, is that it?, I could go on but where was I, oh yes, my turkey, or rather the lack of it, I mean you lot up GWR can do difficult stuff like Box Tunnel, and fair dos, that wasn't easy but you can't find my bloody turkey, well, I'm saying 'turkey' but the despatch note says it's a thirty pound job, must have come from that farm just outside Hinkley Point, probably got four legs, five even, to weigh as much as that, what's Mrs D going to do with a thirty pounder, it'll never fit in the oven, we'll be eating turkey sandwiches till Easter when the kids will turn their noses up and gorge themselves stupid on chocolate instead, can't be good for them, and what if it's got one of them viruses, bird flu was it last time?, salmonella?, good job it's the whole bird not just the crown or it might get coronavirus, corona – crown, geddit?, just my little joke, and why you have to take it off the train and stick it on a replacement coach service beats me, have you any idea how much sheer dread is conjured up in the head of the average punter by the phrase 'replacement coach service', catching fire is the least of it, anyhow, seems to me that there's an opportunity there for a bit of a graft, know what I mean, substitute my thirty pounder for a smaller one, then transfer that back to a train somewhere else and swap it for a chicken, by the time it gets here I'd be lucky to get a bloody quail, have you ever tried feeding, what - eight kids is it plus God knows how many grandchildren, I lose count - off a quail, now I'm not saying for definite that's what happened and to be fair I didn't never get no quail which would have proved it but you can't help wondering, anyway I'll tell you what, I had this great idea see, you know I said I'd got all these grandkids, well I said to them let's have a bit of a competition, prize for the winner, how about making up a story explaining how GWR come to lose my bloody turkey, well, swearing, Mrs D don't like that and gives me one of her blackest looks, and the Devil himself don't have blacker ones, but fair enough, I hold my hand up, but anyway it was a kind of challenge to the kids to use their imagination, now I know I shouldn't really have asked little Augustus, kid's got a very dark side, very dark, always has had, and he come up with some quite chilling stuff about the bird being stolen and taken to Stonehenge where it was sacrificed on the Heel Stone at midnight and its heart buried at the dead centre of the circle, then various other bits buried under different what-do-you-call-'ems – the ones like goalposts except they can't be 'cos they didn't have football then - trilithons, that's it, and when they chanted some black magic incantations all the bits were resurrected and came together again as a Freight Manager, ha ha, no sorry, he didn't really put that, he put vampire, but you see what I mean about him, very odd for a kid his age, he's only seven, but anyway I give first prize to little Emily who come up with a heart-rending tale about Rudolph falling sick at the last minute, Santa didn't know how he was going to get round, when my turkey puts its wing up and says let me take Rudolph's place, I'm sure I've got the strength after all I am a thirty bloody pounder – and you simply wouldn't believe the trouble I got in for that off Mrs D, there are no words - but anyway Tallulah Turkey, don't ask me where she got Tallulah from, kids eh?, gets harnessed up at the front and just about gets round before collapsing of exhaustion and pleading piteously that someone should come and say sorry to me for ruining my Christmas dinner, then lies down and gobbles her last, what a talent that kid's got, bloody sight better than that plodding oaf Thackeray, he couldn't never have thought of that, but getting back to the competition I gave a special commendation to young Charles who come up with quite a promising story, needs a bit doing to it to smarten it up a bit, but good for his age, anyway in his story there was a miserable old skinflint, he called him Scrooge but I'm sure an old pro like me could think of a better name than that, and Scrooge is mean and horrible to a bloke called Cratchit who works for him, no idea where he gets these names from, and Cratchit has a disabled kid, well he would, wouldn't he, and Scrooge gets visited by three ghosts, puts the fear of God up him, so on Christmas morning he sees the error of his ways, yells at some passing kid to go and buy a massive turkey and take it round to the Cratchits - perhaps I'd better have a word with him about just how easy it is to buy a turkey on Christmas morning - anyway, when it gets to Cratchit it turns out to be mine, apparently the ghosts had seen to that, Cratchit whistles up Scrooge and me and the kids and I tell them all to come here with the bird and we'll have Christmas dinner at our place, all works out a treat if a bit late by then, story full of holes of course but see what I mean about the lad having a bit of promise, oh by the way, sorry about no full stops, my publisher says there's a national shortage- I expect you've lost them as well, have you? - and can I get by with commas, semi colons and colons, 'semi colons and colons?' I said, 'who uses them?' then I remembered its Vanity Fair colon followed by some subtitle, he's probably been panic buying colons and semi colons, got cupboards full, just the sort who would have, anyway, I got to go now, so I just want to say I got great expectations that you will sort this turkey business out for me, we're having a hard time without it in what is a bit of a bleak house
Yours ever
Charles Dickens
ANAGRAM CORNER
Haven't done one of these for a while, but didn't want to let the moment pass
O! CORONAVIRUS BITES ME!
BORIS VENOMOUS : I TRACE!
