e Squared (49 page)

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Authors: Matt Beaumont

BOOK: e Squared
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From:
David Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.05
Subject: O'Keefe
 
When Godley returns to work, remind me to e him re a raise for O'Keefe.
 
From:
Dotty Podidra
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.06
Subject: Re: O'Keefe
 
Neil Godley's coming back?! And Liam?!! OK!!!
 
From:
Janice Crutton
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.15
Subject: FYl...
 
... you have:
 
Daughter 1 Status: very poorly
Son 1 Status: missing
 
(Just in case you give a damn.)
 
From:
David Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.16
Subject:
 
Did I not ask you first thing this morning to look for Noah?
 
From: Dotty
Podidra
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.17
Subject: Re:
 
No, you didn't.
 
From:
David Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.18
Subject: Re:
 
Did you by any chance look for him anyway?
 
From:
Dotty Podidra
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.19
Subject: Re:
 
No. Sorry. Should I have?
 
From:
David Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.20
Subject: Re:
 
Yes! Do it now.
blogass.co.uk
Posted by
Hornblower
27/01/09, 11.29 GMT
 
Crépuscule dans le Périgord Partie 83: le Dilemme
 
Ah, Madame Fortune, quelle maîtresse
volage elle est. Never let us try to second-guess her, for she will confound us at every turn.
 
In my last post, I might have betrayed
un gros chagrain.
I had the unsettling intuition that I had reached
le début de la fin.
“Mais pas du tout!” Mme Fortune decreed. I had actually arrived at
la fin de le début.
 
Allow me to relate the latest twist in
la fameuse vie de Hornblower:
 
At dawn yesterday I was awoken not by
le
coq, but by a tumult at the door. Papin turfed me from
le lit matrimonial
with the gruff instruction to send whomever on their way. “Si c'est les flics, dis-leur que le garçon à dix-huit ans,” he added.
 
But it wasn't the police. It was what seemed to be the entire London
communauté littéraire
literally (ha!) camping on ma
véranda.
To what did I owe this invasion?
 
I was rapidly informed that word of my modest blog has traveled far and wide; that, shockingly,
ma célébrité
est
universelle
! I was staggered. In all sincerity, I sought no spotlight for my rudimentary jottings. I honestly cared not a fig whether or not anyone read them. Despite my
indifférence,
however, it seems that my hastily scribbled musings on
une vie plus simple
have struck a chord and captured that elusive zeitgeist.
 
And so there they were, gathered as Mme Fortune had ordered them, publishers from houses grand and small clamoring for
mon autograph.
 
But was this what I wanted? The question exercised me greatly as they trooped into my cuisine to vie for my hand and drink me out of
café.
Should I give up my hard-earned idyll in the balmy vales of Périgord for the whirligig of launch parties, book tours and Sunday supplement profiles?
 
Despite their entreaties, my mind was quickly made up. I began to formulate the polite but firm non
merci
with which I would send them on their way.
 
Papin finally stirred and, fetchingly dressed in Celine's silken kimono, surveyed the assembled literati. He raised an owlish eyebrow and in his style
inimitable
muttered, “Quel groupe des cons. Ils sont exactement comme toi, ma salope. Allez tous vous faire enculer à Londres!”
 
Once again it took
mon ami sage
to make everything clear. He was right. If our troubled world's increasingly beleaguered citizens need me to provide them with
une
mesure
of solace garnished with
un soupçon
of earthy Gallic insight, then who am I to begrudge them?
 
But which imprint deserves my favor? I am spoilt for choice. One editrice, though, is in prime position, if only because I pitied the very sight of her. Such was her determination to sign me that she camped the entire
nuit glacée
on my doorstep. The poor mite was hypothermic and she had to be taken to
l'hôpital.
I fear that the damage wreaked by
l'hiver cruel
will enforce her retirement as une nageuse
synchronisée.
 
Monsieur Bloomsbury can flaunt his Harry Potter swag all he likes. Dear Katie's devotion to
mes mots humbles
has won
mon coeur.
 
From:
Susi Judge-Davis-Gaultier
To: All Staff
Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.59
Subject: Minute's silence
 
Ted has asked me to remind you that the minute's silence in memory of Harvey Harvey will commence in sixty seconds.
Susi Judge-Davis-Gaultier
Assistant to Ted Berry
 
From:
Róisín O'Hooligan
To: Susi Judge-Davis-Gaultier
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.00
Subject: Re: Minute's silence
 
Phones are going mental. Can I answer them or do I have to wait till the minute's over?
 
From:
Susi Judge-Davis-Gaultier
To: Róisín O'Hooligan
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.00
Subject: Re: Minute's silence
 
Better wait. Only 13 seconds to go!
 
From:
Pertti Van Helden
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.01
Subject: Phenomenatic coinciment!
 
Hello Dave, my old friend! After all years what a surprise I am finding the reason for e-mail and in not the happy situation also. Yes, I have concerned news to told to you.
 
I begin the begin. Last the night my son Veiko and his power hair metal rock band Dethrush play Helsinki. As the legendary head-smasher from long ago, once again I put on the spandex pant and join the mash pit. I do not mind to told I have not danced the same since Aqua sing its song in a creative pitch you might be recalling! Everything go groovy and Veiko do the tradition crowd surf. This is where the matter go a small bit wrong. Veiko land on his old father and though I have excellent top-body strengths thank you to train for the Finland Strongest Man Over 50 competition, I fall and I start a domino of hard rock fans to fall also to the floors!
 
To cut the story shortly, a few fans were make injured and four go the hospital. Myself I have the dislocation finger that make type e-mail very slow and painedful! One young fan has the big bang to the head. There is something recognizable about him that I cannot place on the finger. I ask him the name but he not remembered. Bang has gave him the amnesty. I look his pocket and find passport. I cannot believe my eye! He look exact same as the father!
 
Yes, he is Noah. Natural, when I leave the hospital I take him with and he recover in my apartments. I am fill of the hope that a strong meal of raw herring will have him again the memorize. It is very amazing fish and maybe you hear I leave the advertising to make the promote of its incredible superpowers.
 
I think that Noah is not too well to travel and you must come to here to take home. You are very most welcome, natural. I put in the freezer a bottle of herring oil vodka to toast our reunitation!
 
Pertti Van Helden
TheHeroicHerring.com
 
From:
David Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.03
Subject:
 
What's my diary look like?
 
From:
Dotty Podidra
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.04
Subject: Re:
 
Big and black with “DIARY” on the front (in gold). Why?
 
From: David
Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.05
Subject: Re:
 
Jesus fuck.
 
WHAT EVENTS AND APPOINTMENTS DO I HAVE WRITTEN DOWN IN MY DIARY THAT ARE SCHEDULED TO TAKE PLACE BETWEEN NOW AND THE END OF THE DAY?
 
Capisce?
 
From:
Dotty Podidra
To: David Crutton
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.06
Subject: Re:
 
Sorry. Here you go:
 
From:
David Crutton
To: Dotty Podidra
Sent: 27 January 2009, 12.07
Subject: Re:
 
Cancel everything. Get me on earliest flight to Helsinki.

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