Roger Lewis letter: 'I'm like an old crap in a Larkin poem'

Roger Lewis

Dear Madame Arcati,

As I'm still weak and feeble -- like an old crap in a Larkin poem suddenly -- I had to miss Molly "Noyle" Parkin's party. Clearly it was as magnificent as Truman Capote's Black & White Ball. I am spreading the rumour that that wasn't Rachel Johnson talking to all and sundry about codpieces but Janette Krankie.

Further to my illness, when I wrote about everything for the Mail, I received fourteen nice cards from old ladies, who clearly form my fan base. The cards that weren't adorned with frolicking kittens and puppies had jolly pictures of teddy bears.

I also received a mad unsigned message from a fan who scrawled in red biro, "I hate your guts just like everybody else. Pity you didn't die and do the world a favour you cunt." No address, alas (though I suspect Cornwall ) -- but that won't impede my chums in forensics, who will track this person down so that I can pay him (or her) a little visit in person. The thought of a little light violence has perked me up no end.

Yours,

NIL BY MOUTH ROGER LEWIS

Darling Roger

Thank you for your restorative missive. Old ladies are a tough breed and adept at projecting healing energies while balanced on crumbling knees in pews. The person in Cornwall is I feel a young atheist who has been corrupted by the twin evils of Professors Dawkins and Cox and is, as I write, filling his (yes, his) face with cashews in front of a stolen flat screen TV. He probably views you as some sort of religious figure. Jess Yates redivivus, perhaps.

I always aim to enlighten.

Love and projected healing energies,

MA x

Roger Lewis' wonderful and funny second memoir What Am I Still Doing Here? can be ordered here