The Professor Peregrine Papers

I came across a set of notes in the Professor's archives (stuffed into a shoe box, if you must know), which appeared indecipherable and made up largely of symbols. Stapled to these notes were a series of mysterious photographs. It is my duty to record here the Professor's attempt at elucidation. “I was invited to speak at a Symposium at Berck titled ‘Thyme on our Hands - Aspects of Herb Cultivation and the No-Communication Theorem in the Works of Antonin Artaud’. There was a great deal of lively and insightful discussion which, on the second day, somehow metamorphosed into a series of visionary experiments described as ‘Alternative Uses for a Bicycle in the Age of Entanglement’. I cannot imagine a more expressive tribute to the work of Louis de Broglie."  "However, attempts to achieve flight were abandoned following a near miss with a sand yacht and an incident involving delicious but unquestionably odoriferous cheese. Such happy times. At least, I think ‘happy’ is th...

One sunny, summer day many years ago, taking a slow train through suburban London to her house, these are the things that we enjoyed seeing from the train window. Scene 1 : A weightlifter in a garden proving to be a source of fascination for birds Scene 2 : A woman in a quiet street pushing a large wheelbarrow full of flowers, in a floriferous manner Scene 3 : A colourful statue of a cow Scene 4 : A vision from the 1930s with pots and pans suspended above a joyful husband and wife   Scene 5 : In a garden, two men dressed in Victorian clothes staring at something that they consider intractable As dusk began to fall and we neared our destination, she whispered to me, “Love is the man in quiet shoes walking close behind you as you make your way home.”

I had heard many rumours concerning the Professor's great uncle, the widely-respected ecclesiastical scholar, the Reverend Prebendary-without-Portfolio, Glanton Pyke. While briefly trapped in a defective lift between floors at The National Pith Helmet Museum, the Professor eventually confided the vexatious story to me.  “Following his recovery from a sudden crisis of faith, Glanton began to invest an increasing amount of his time in researching the role of the lithophone in the development of modern liturgical music. He was determined to see this project through to its conclusion, in spite of warnings from colleagues and a passing onion seller that he was neglecting his long-held ambition to be appointed to the office of Suffragan. After some years, he triumphantly presented his conclusions in the legendary lecture hall at The Monkton Up Wimborne Seminary and Butterfly Observatory. It's said that on that day many tears of joy were shed, many lives were changed and Nottinghamshi...

This year I accompanied the Professor on his annual visit to Grammersow Hall, the crepuscular stately home in Moreton on Lugg. Following a bracing constitutional around the grounds, I came across the Professor deep in thought at the entrance to the Ice House. After some minutes had passed, he spoke:  "I come to this place on every Saint Jude The Uncertain day. It was here that I last set eyes upon my great friend Admiral Quilkin  * . He marched into the Ice House, giving me a cheery wave as he disappeared. But he did not return. Some say he's playing glockenspiel in a reggae band on the outskirts of Tromsø. But I recently received an anonymous letter claiming that he'd been spotted buying blotting paper and safety pins in a shop just outside Wrangle Lowgate. That does sound the more likely option." "But Professor," I felt compelled to ask. "If he failed to return, then could he still be in there somewhere?" The Professor's expression became ind...

The Professor and I were greatly honoured last year to make the acquaintance of Dr Twanketen Overmorrow, visiting Solivagant Scholar and noted exponent of the contrabass clarinet. Her discourse on the inference of quantum effects in the elegies of Sextus Propertius will never be forgotten in these hallowed halls and surrounding parishes. However, late one evening, following a notable dinner based upon a series of variations on Battenberg cake, she confided to us that she had been troubled and intrigued by dreams relating to the works of Guillaume Apollinaire. She described a recurring dream as “debout devant le zinc d'un bar crapuleux designed by James Ensor”.  The Professor recommended an increase in jasmine tea consumption and a reduction in the amount of liver sausage prior to retiring for the night. However, on subsequent evenings, we did hear plaintive notes of the contrabass clarinet drifting through the air in the early hours. Shortly afterwards, at the end of her sojourn, D...

Eventually, having allayed his initial and understandable doubts, we met with the Inspector Diddlecum in a small, private bar close to Elva Hill Stone Circle. At first, the conversation was faltering and the Inspector remained reticent, but once the Professor realised that they shared an interest not only in early Scandinavian mead halls but also in variants of the White Lady cocktail, we were able to begin a useful dialogue. It seems that, despite our best efforts, the jockey's adventurous spirit together with a troubling fascination for the works of Schopenhauer were still causing him to seek out the most complex locations and enigmas without a single thought for how to find his way back again. We left the bar with heavy hearts shortly after the Inspector began a karaoke version of Wittgenstein's Tractatus (abridged). In the taxi on the way back to the railway station, the Professor confided in me: “I've never trusted Schopenhauer. I believe that he kept poodles as pets a...