My Dearest James

I write to apologise for my behaviour at the Governers ball... simply inexcusable. Had I known that the tensile stength of tri-weaved electric cable was so little I would never have attempted my best Johnny Weissmuller impression. Oh the blushes on my cheeks... becoming bruises by the next day... And as for drinking to pain to my sham friends through the Governer's wife's Mahnolo... oh the inglory!

I am hoping though that you can clear up where I might have acquired those delightful yet head-aching gaudy Christmas candy canes that hung, strung on dental floss, from my hotel room's ceiling. Did we visit the docks again... oh my head!!!

But peace. Back now in grey old London, let me buy you some Scotch mist to ease any divisions my athletic drinking may have caused.

I will stick to something less alcoholic, Dr Antonovian's orders.

Qu'elle Horreur...