It has been one week exactly since I left your bosom and moved into my university digs. I miss my home comforts and our games of ‘hide the electrical appliance’ which used to occupy us throughout the long, winter nights. Some observations – my clothes no longer miraculously move from my bedroom floor to my hangers, cleaned. They are still where I left them, festering, musty and unpleasant. This worries me. Secondly – I am hungry and no-one has brought me food. I have lost a little weight and my skin has gone pale. This also worries me. What I wouldn’t give for a plate of your steaming vole and apricot pasta with osprey egg sauce. Could you mail me some? Thank you, in advance.
I’m not really getting along with the other students, either. They seem to be obsessed with drinking cheap cider and sucking each others lips, doing something they describe as ‘kissing’. This looks perfectly disgusting to me, it looks like something that utter perverts may indulge in – they don’t seem to want to discuss coursework and they were practically hostile when I asked them to turn their music down. They were playing some dirty heavy metal Satanists called ‘Coldplay’ at considerable volume – and it was 9pm at night! I was trying to sleep!
I’m very pleased to report that they’re not all heathen here, though – there’s this young man next door and he has a very nice-looking young lady visit him most nights and they indulge in some very enthusiastic praying! I can hear them through the wall shouting “God! God ! God! Oh yes, God!” A little basic, but their passion certainly aroused my interest. They sound as if they’re having a deep and penetrating experience and they finish off every praying session by screaming, “Jesus! I’m coming!”. I must confess, it moves me – I am going to ask them if they would mind if I joined their sessions one day – I hope they will agree – there’s no reason why they wouldn’t I suppose! The more the merrier!
Anyway, Mother, that’s it for today – I will write again tomorrow. I must away now, however, to complain to the local constabulary about the funny smelling smoke coming from the common room. I think they must be lighting incense, which is surely a fire-hazard.
I remain, your loving son,
PS. Kisses to Daddy and a big ‘woof woof’ to Rumbold, the dog.