How funny that you should mention spending the day in the park! I was thinking the same thing, just before you phoned. We could spread a blanket down on the new grass, all wet and dewy. How fresh, nature's dew. I'd fill grandmother's wicker basket with hard rolls, cheeses, kippered beef, lettuce, fresh tomatoes from the garden. Young Hildie would come along later with a large jug of wine. Nothing fancy, but perhaps some robust red, a red so fruity and red, as red as the reddish lipstick on young Hildie's coquettish lips. We watch in splendor as sweet Hildie hoists the jug to her lips, taking dainty sips at first, then giving in to her unquenchable thirst, taking huge gulps of the fruit of the vine, a thrirsty young thing she is, drunk with life! Ah, nature's wonderful bounty. Then, falling back into the grass, young Hildie would catch your randy eye. Hiking up her skirt, Chadwick, she'd bekon you with her milky white thighs. Oh dear boy, what a picnic indeed!
But back to the reality of the day. It worries me to hear about your rowe with Piffington. It is my sincere hope that you will find it in your leathery heart to patch things up with him. Now I don't need to tell you what an ass he can be, not to mention a ruffian. But damn it, Chad, we need him on our side. All you have to do is pick up the morning's paper and take a look at the financial page over your plate of bubble and squeak to know that all is not well in the Commonwealth. All the signs are there -- the lower classes are beginning to grumble about their lot in life. In their view, we are all a bunch of dandies, regular poufs -- lining our pockets at their expense while drinking and fucking the night away. And while that may be the truth of the matter, we musn't let on. For all that is great and good, Chad...do what you can to win back Piff. Plus, I think the bugger owes us a night on the town. Our favorite spot in Kensington calls!