The Professor Peregrine Papers

I came across the following photograph, stapled to a receipt for spoon rests, as I tried to make sense of the Professor's treasury of learned papers and other tea chests. The Professor considered the photograph with some interest before beginning to explain.  “Ah, the Case of the Disappearing Bails. A cause célèbre of the 1960s. At critical moments during significant matches, the bails would suddenly and inexplicably vanish. People were up in arms and stiff letters were written to the MCC, various members of the House of Lords and other incorrigibles. Eventually, Chief Inspector Drongway was called in to investigate.” The Professor stared absent-mindedly out of the window at a passing milkman before continuing: “Everybody had the greatest faith in Drongway of the Yard, so called because he owned a small yard behind a pub where he kept his valuable collection of Edwardian unicycles. However, no arrests were ever made. The belief expressed by journalists and other wastrels was that t

You may well have heard of the Parisian Painting Machine, constructed in an attempt to relieve the “Grande pénurie d'art” in the 1890s. (This was, history leads us to believe, an entirely imaginary painting shortage invented by M. Tartempion, who found he had in his possession a gargantuan surplus of canvas to sell). As luck would have it, while the Professor was undertaking a field trip to aid his research into the pataphysical implications of white holes, he came across what he believed to be the derelict remains of that very machine in a barn just outside Purse Caundle.  After many months of  restoration work and not inconsiderable piles of cash, I'm pleased to say that the machine has recently produced a particularly unpleasant cup of espresso and the following “fine art” rendering of a bucolic landscape complete with waterfall. M. Tartempion would have been so proud of this spectacular success.

The Professor has always held Steehop Latibulate, Lecturer in Indeterminate Philosophy and Controvertible Vexillology, in the highest regard. His admiration is not based solely on Latibulate's renowned lectures, with their inventive use of cowbells and sealing wax, but also on his less academic undertakings. As the Professor was at pains to point out: “I remember with great affection Latibulate's sterling efforts back in 1983 when he established The First Annual Festival of Walking Up and Down A Hill For No Very Good Reason in Higher Muddiford. Has there ever been a finer example of whatever it was he was on about?”

One afternoon our conversation turned to augury and soothsaying for no good reason that I can recall. As usual, the Professor had an anecdote to tell from his long and convoluted life. “Many years ago I had occasion to visit the residence of that notable expert on Italian Pipe Cleaners and aficionado of the ciaramedda, Professor Stefano Cavatappi. Although a man noted for his pauciloquy and ineffectual juggling, he insisted on attempting to divine my future by staring into a wine bottle." "He informed me that I would become a successful but languorous plumber and that I would adopt the name of Jimmy Spangles. So far, this hasn't happened. But, in his defence, he did accurately predict the number of no-balls in the next Test Match against Australia.” 

As I have previously implied , the Professor is the world's leading authority on the cycling tour that the eminent author and madeleine enthusiast Marcel Proust undertook in the county of Norfolk. In the course of a peer review of the Professor's recent paper on the subject (‘An analysis and critique of the Burnham Overy Staithe off-break bowling technique in volume three of “À La Recherche du Temps Perdu”’) a number of scoundrels masquerading as eminent academics or members of the MCC have questioned the reliability of evidence relating to this pedal-based activity. The Professor would never sink low enough to enter into discussion on this point but, on his behalf, I offer a picture taken from the North Creake Gazette. It purports to show Proust playing cards with 2 Merchant Bankers, a Passing Sailor and a Marchioness just outside of Mundesley. I rest my case.  Actually, I rarely carry a case for fear that I may forget where I rested it.

After finding the Professor hiding out in his garden shed pretending to look for an esoteric barometer, I insisted that we return to discussion of the artistic side of his illustrious career. The Professor is known for his loquacity on most subjects but oddly silent on both his artistic endeavours and his idiosyncratic stint as a Lasker Morris adjudicator.  During his time as visiting lecturer at the Odstone College of Fine Arts and Herb Strewing, the Professor created a memorable, site-specific work at Barton in the Beans. The work entitled “Intimation Wall” required that a specific wall should be observed for an entire week. The Professor pointed at the chosen wall early on the Monday morning before wandering off somewhere for the remainder of the week. The observers were told to expect a “precipitous manifestation” during the ensuing days. People came from far and wide to play their part in the experience and, at the end of the week, absolutely nothing had happened. The Shackerstone