Dear and intelligent readers, please believe it was superb meeting Rupert Jones. I am Colin Tyler from Bournemouth. It's the truth. All the way from Bournemouth. I was drinking too much alcohol. I did get myself together. I gave up alcohol before I started college.
Rupert Alexander Jones? We were both at college together. We were both nineteen. Both old enough to be at a fine university, getting to know both their subjects and the girls. I really admired his lyrics. He was very pleased. I was invited to spend some time with Rupert in a cottage. I journeyed down to mystical Cornwall using the clean train. I had my fat scarlet diary crammed with gifted Rupert's amazing lyrics.
'I actually own this cottage,' said Mary.
Mary was living with Rupert.
It was somewhere in Cornwall. Indeed it was a remote area alright. Where was one to buy a loaf of bread, the needed milk and eggs?
Rupert was making strange statements. He needed to murder a famous and talented sculptor living in Wales. Mary just laughed. She poured cider over a rabbit there. The shamed rabbit's name was Horace, as was a writer's in ancient times.
Mary was forty.
Mary Jones was just about to switch off the light. She was too exhausted by the good book- Daniel was being read- to read anymore. There was an athletic person's thump on the hard green door.
'Eric, I just can't believe it!'
It was Eric, Mary's brother. She had not seen Eric for twenty years. She was in a haze. Too much alcohol.
Mary told Eric about Rupert's strangeness. Eric promised to take Rupert to the police.
I discovered that Mary and Rupert were lovers. I didn't want this. I was against gaps in the ages two people in a relationship shared. Then strange things came. Mary was using the black arts to control Rupert's mind. I felt better. I was told Eric was an alcoholic. It was enough. He'd sort it all out given the sufferance under his belt.
Eric and Rupert left the cottage. Eric thought Rupert had too much alcohol in his head.
Reply With Quote
