The Professor Peregrine Papers

Uncle Leucocholy had a life-long fascination for wind instruments and was said to be a crumhorn virtuoso.  He wasn't, of course, but people said it anyway.  His favourite instrument was, in fact, the basset horn. Sadly, this was also an instrument that he was completely unable to play. Nonetheless, he amassed a fine collection of basset horns which were much admired in woodwind circles.  Unfortunately, he frequently mistook a basset hound for a basset horn and added these to his collection as well. They followed him everywhere.  The story that Uncle L once mistook an albatross for a postage stamp is, I must add, a complete and frenzied fantasy.  At least, I think it is.

Recently, the Professor and I attended the ‘Six Cricketers In Search Of An Umpire’ event at Willingham St Mary. The result of the match was most unexpected, in particular:  Sophrotatos (The Armenian) c. R. Queneau b. S. Stylites 23 I decided to seek the Professor's opinion on a pet theory of mine: “Queneau provides us with a convincing narrative as he fields at first slip but, I fear, he is overly concerned with the conspicuous plenitude of options available,” I suggested. The Professor considered this before replying thus: “I believe it's said that the laudable FJ Durston (of blessed memory) ventured a similar opinion in the bar during a Test Match at Lords. However, everyone present feared that such a filipendulous and acroamatic assertion could be the cause of notable fashery and so it went no further. Although, just last week I did greatly enjoy rereading Long Jack's article in the Extra Cover Almanac in which he discussed, in a far less contentious manner, Mr T...

Some years ago, you may have come across the Professor's paper titled “The Quasi-Quantum Implications of Divarication Patterns in Incipient Coherence Interactions”. This paper became famous, perhaps even notorious, in academic circles at the time, since almost everyone found it incomprehensible. The Professor attempted to explain his theory in a series of lectures where he made innovative use of puppets to demonstrate the more abstract points. They were entirely unsuccessful, partly due to chaotic puppet string entanglement. What is less known, though, is that the Professor attempted to encapsulate his core theory by using the complex metaphor of surprising and unlikely events in a recognisable context. To this end he produced the pilot episode of a sitcom set in 1959 entitled “Whoops! Here Comes The Vicar” in which Beryl and Stan try to live their traditional, comfortable lives with hilarious but enlightening consequences. However, the Professor abandoned the project before it was...

Knowing that his time here was coming to an end, ChopChop began to spend more and more time sitting halfway down the stairs, remembering.  But, in order to chronicle his recent exploits, he found the time to summon the sonnet committee. Finally, ChopChop acknowledged his friends and supporters as he set out on his farewell journey across the Lake of Inertia. This lake is usually hidden by a great fog of doubt and is only visible on alternate Tuesdays in November. Thankfully, he's gone (at least, for now), but whenever I stick my fingers into glue, I find I miss his feathery face and I must admit that his 106 not out for Greenbooth against Little Raveley proved conclusive on that glorious summer day.

ChopChop has an intensely irritating propensity for somewhat cryptic practical jokes and, as his sojourn in this version of reality dragged on, he began to indulge in this pastime. The first report I received was from The Ashby Puerorum Ghost Museum, where an unaccredited, seagull guide had been causing considerable disquiet and turmoil among the visitors and exhibits with his specious attempts to explain quantum theory and his unauthorised cocktail mixology. (Incidentally, I've always been a little disappointed by the gift shop here and can only award it 2 out of 5 stars).  By the time I arrived at the museum, ChopChop had disappeared, of course. Shortly thereafter I received a call from Lord Acnestis, owner of the Victorian country house Lickpenny Hall. It seems that, after summoning a number of guests in mysterious circumstances, ChopChop had arrived during dinner in the guise of Inspector Toucan and solemnly declared that there had been no murder or crime of any kind, that the ...

Not for the first time, our discussions have inadvertently led to the summoning of the Overlord of the Birds. Fortunately, these visitations do not last long but, in the meantime, we need to put up with him. However, let me put your mind at rest: he's always peaceful and respectful, despite having the changeable head of a bird, and he has a wealth of improbable anecdotes, a heartfelt love of cricket and an admirable distrust of politicians. Admittedly, he's also excessively fond of practical jokes, is slightly too obsessed with dancing and is prone to stealing food from your plate when you're not looking. Incidentally, ChopChop is a name that he refuses to acknowledge but, I think, secretly enjoys. ChopChop's appearances follow a broadly predictable course and began this time with him meeting up with old friends, including Max the cat. (The Professor has on occasion offered the opinion that the cat may be "pulling the strings". The occasion in question is usua...