Tax Office
Summer ’95.
Dear Mrs Weymouth
How lovely to get a letter from a ‘Mrs’ (a Miss would have been Justas nice) instead of a Ms. Ms always sounds so aggressive. I imagine them in black berets, worn straight,1” above the brow as per regs. And smoking cheroots made from strips of dried flesh. You sound lovely. I’m only sorry that I’ve got to tell you what I’ve got to tell you. No, one thing at a time. Have you got a drink? So have I. Right! Eyes down, look in, there’s no waiting, we’re racing right away! AND your first number is- no, first let me tell you that the items and order are as formulated by that Boy Middlemiss, before they pushed him in the sausage machine. Now- (schedule of figures omitted here, followed by-) Now we have to concentrate a bit, here- use of car. As you may know, I don’t drive; never have done (I decided early on it would endanger the drinking) Aisha does the driving.
Its her car. If I did drive, I wouldn’t be able to man the stall at the same time, or paint. This is collecting and delivering pictures and materials, pictures to exhibitions, sometimes out of season, the vacuum cleaner to the studio once a week- all related stuff- all legit. The amount has gone up a few coppers since I last wrote, due to the effect of inflation on my maths, but a word about rates. I got these from an Establishment information sheet on rates claimed by, say, the likes of yourself; we won’t bother with which branch, then we don’t get bogged down with speculation on who might have given it to me and should they have, and all to that effect. I would point out, though, that it is dated Oct.’93 and I wouldn’t mind betting that inflation has put them up a bit since then, plus we’ve got a Maestro and we should possibly be in the next group up. And (oh yes, it gets worse. I should pour another drink- I have- ‘Barneybeejolais’ I make it in six gallon lots- often- ‘Not a drop is sold ‘til its all gone cold!’ Well, that would be the slogan if I did sell it, but I don’t- I drink it) Ah! Yes! ‘And’ we left dangling, didn’t we? Right. Haul it in- and I found another 400 miles worth (417 to be precise) of winter drawing and photo trips (I can’t go out in the summer- I have to make up those little fluttery bits- little- green-things- leaves! That’s ’em) so if you want to add that on then be my guest, I’m not. I daren’t. I mean you sound like a jolly nice lady, but you might turn nasty. I’m not saying you would; I’m just saying you might. I’m saying nothing because nobody loves a smart arse and why spoil a beautiful friendship (you are my friend aren’t you?) for a pittance? Not me.
I’ve just had a mild attack of déjà vu and I know what it is- Phil Harris, ‘The Deck of Cards’. The soldier opens his defence with a sentence that ends- ‘but I hope to satisfy you, sir, with the purity of my intentions’. Well, Mrs Weymouth, I don’t tend to aspire to much purity. Probably when I first listened spellbound to Phil Harris in the early 50’s- “Friends, here’s one of the most stirring and unusual stories to come out of the last war…” probably then I was all purity- not much meat but loaded with purity. Now I think the most I’d claim is harmlessness.
There was something else I was going to- yes. You said my expenses seemed high relative to my turnover. You’ve got it the wrong way round- its my turnover that’s not high enough, and that’s because I don’t charge enough. I ought to charge more, but I wouldn’t get it. Its better to live modestly by selling cheap goods, than to starve to death surrounded by expensive goods. Marrying an expensive teacher helps, I find. This is a lesson (not the teacher bit- the previous) that Haysoosans and Blokes and all their little friends never learned. That’s why so many boatyards have been built over, why there’s so much more choice of mooring space of an evening, and so fewer people with less money looking at pictures they can’t afford. My prices have gone up but only commensurate with increased quality, whereas framing costs alone go up every year by probably anything between 5 & 10%
I’m starting to ramble, now, aren’t I? Just a bit. Go on- admit it. Right then. I’m going to finish this port (I didn’t tell you; I went onto home-made port- its fortified with brandy to help it keep- until I make the next lot. I only make one barrel a year- at Christmas. That’s something else that very nearly didn’t get done because of all the other stuff, but I made an effort) and now I’m going to seal this letter so I don’t need to read it in the morning (probably best) and now I’m going to wish you good night and I’m going to bed.
P.S. Say hello to Mr Revitt if he’s still there or if he calls in, and give Todd pp Foulger a playful kick in the slats from me.