🚀 go-pugleaf

Strangler today failed (yet again) to make the honours list, and
though I may add the name in ink to the OBE section (landscape
gardening division), it ain't the same.  However, the climate
is pleasing here in Emory, and LIBJRM is teaching me lace-making
and snake-charming; he says I can practise on garden worms
(though I always assumed white cotton was best: the worms wriggle
so when I try to thread them into the needle).  I haven't met
LIBWCA yet, but they've shown me where he works, and I think
I could find it again by following the trail of crumpled cadavers.
(They play the most marvellous partie games during their lunch-hour:
LIBJRM paints a portrait of a zebra, and the others guess its rank
by counting the stripes.  Asphyxiatin', hah?)

Usual Postcard: having lovely time, M., wish you were (digression:)
oh yes, mes wormest affectations to sir velma, who may be upstaged by
the seemingly deli*ious fun(ambulism) of test@come-into-my-parlour
(digression:) oh again, I've decided to marry you (vamp clamp), and
shall neither brook nor river nor torrent no irrefragable argument;
next Tuesday, say?  If Arthur says "crazy" . . .