Letter to Vidor

Vidor,

It's funny that you should mention public intellctuals in your mail. You've always struck me as the kind of chap who could slot into that role with enormous ease. Enjoyed that tale of Billy Grier by the way. There was a dry wryness to it that had me chortling cretinously at my desk for several minutes. Keep ‘em coming, as Jack Frost once said to the Fleadh Cowboys.

Now, let me go on. I was heading in this morning, scuttling down South Great George's Street, and about to veer onto Dame Lane, when a most abberant mise-en-scène greeted me. A group of budding thespians from the nearby Gaiety School of Acting had assmebled at the doorway of the famed homosexual tavern located in the area I've just described if you've been paying attention. There was quite a number of these young actors to the extent that they were blocking the sidewalk to the annoyance of many of the passing denizens of dear old dirty Dublin. In fact one passerby was moved to exclaim: "Get out of the feckin' way yiz pretentious gits!".

Anyway, the actors were playing charades, which was the abberant aspect of the whole thing referred to in the seventh sentence above. I mean who plays charades in the middle of a busy street? One of their number, a lad who by the look of him could be the next Kenneth Williams, was doing "a person, two words, second word, second syllable" and pointing midway down his leg as he did so. I have to say, I got it in one despite the fact that I was scuttling at the time. The visages of the thespians, surprisingly, were flooded with puzzlement. After all, who else could it be but George Clue Knee?

With abject humility,

Graydon Reagan