The Professor Peregrine Papers

Early last Absolu, Daglet Scribacious was convinced that he had seen Dorothea Tanning on a passing train. To his considerable regret, he failed to attract her attention.   That night, he dreamed of dancing with Ann Radcliffe to the music of Mozart.  The next morning, the Professor and I insisted on buying him a double espresso or three at his favourite coffee shop. We conversed at length on the weather, our favourite umbrellas and the best way to cook toad in the hole.  It was so much safer that way.

While, once again, trying to establish some degree of order in the Professor's papers, I came across a number of old postcards of Paris concealed beneath a biography of Evelyn Rockley Wilson.  The Professor leafed through the fading cards and, of course, began one his anecdotes:  “These cards remind me hardly at all of my meeting with Daniel Brereton in Paris one autumn evening. He'd just finished working his shift at ‘Le Maillot de Lumière’, the bar somewhere in Le Marais.” “He's no bartender,” I suggested. The Professor ignored my interruption and went on, “We strolled though a local park of fountains. As we walked on we became so deeply absorbed in a discussion concerning the diligence of lightning that we paid no attention to our surroundings. Eventually we looked around and were surprised to find ourselves facing a castle that had no meaning at all.” “He's no bartender,” I repeated.

Professor Peregrine has made an extensive and lengthy study of English folklore, traditions and puddings which culminated in his recent monograph entitled “What the Hocktide Is This All About Then?” (Vilipend Press, 2024). In order to learn more, I accompanied the Professor to the Annual Tree Glorification Festival in Gully-on-the-Mooch. The day began with the time-honoured breakfast of trampled potato and ambiguous berry jam before groups of villagers meandered into the nearby woods making vague, complimentary comments about the trees. Every now and then the traditional cry of “This bark is adequate for the most part” was heard, drifting through the woodland. After an hour or so of tedious but symbolic strolling about, the critical moment arrived. The villager known as the “Pompous Japer” stepped forward, resplendent in his purple top hat, and declared a particular tree to be the chosen one. The Japer then insulted the tree unconvincingly for 5 minutes or so before finishing with ...

Despite his instinctively optimistic view on meteorology and his strong desire to witness a full day's play at the Cocklawburn Beach Cricket Club and Campanology Academy, the Professor was forced to admit that the weather conditions did not look propitious.

Recently the Professor gave the Lumpy Stevens Memorial Lecture during which he strove to call into question a number of well-known paranormal phenomena. These included the legend of The Singing Rabbit of Haytor Rocks, which the Professor insisted was due to a trick of the light combined with a foolhardy overuse of metaphors. Shortly after, however, the Professor received a letter from The Moderately Reverend Moreton Valence containing indisputably spurious photographic evidence to the contrary. To underline the strength of his conviction on this matter, Valence went on to argue for the introduction of compulsory juggling at all church services and declare himself to be the reincarnation of King Beornred of Mercia.  This missive greatly moved the Professor and, staring into his rapidly cooling cup of fourth flush Darjeeling, he admitted to the first glimmerings of doubt. Leaning towards me conspiratorially, he whispered: “I must consider this in greater depth by visiting the Temple ...

The sea was calm. The light gleamed and was gone. So beautiful. "If you even mention Sophocles, it'll be a melancholy, long night for you on this darkling plain," she said. We went for fish and chips instead. 

It has been drawn to my attention that I could actually “do something useful” rather than accumulate arcane jottings on the life and times of Professor Peregrine. In my defence, I offer a small indication of the onerous nature of this honourable task in the shape of a week's entries from my diary.  Monday The Professor showed me a draft of his long-awaited article on string theory. Disappointingly, it seemed to dwell overmuch on the (theoretically) best containers in which to save string.  Tuesday The Professor was jubilant as he announced that he has added the 12-inch record of "The Umpire's Lament" to his collection of rare vinyl from the 1980s. The use of analogue synthesisers is, he claims, unparalleled in the field of leg-spin bowling.  Wednesday Nothing much happened that I can recall, although I did take the cat for a walk. I do not have a cat. The Professor is not answering his phone. Thurs day The Professor left a postcard in my letterbox under the cover of d...

For nebulous reasons, the Professor has been investigating the strange disappearance in 1922 of Puthery Quiddle, then Reader in Paradoxical Physics and Hat Manipulation at West Flotmanby Academy. Shortly after the publication of his infamous paper “Unexplained Disappearances and their Relation to Airships and Tethered Balloons” (Swinithwaite Press, 1921), Quiddle himself inexplicably vanished. Recently, following a particularly lengthy lunch, the Professor indicated that I should follow him into his crumbling garden shed. After locking the door behind us and checking for listening devices with what appeared to be a divining rod, he whispered to me in hushed and questionably portentous tones: “It cannot be a coincidence that Quiddle was seen in earnest discussion with Hanson "Sammy" Carter in a public house close to the Oval during the tour of the Australian Test Team in 1921. It is my belief that Quiddle was spirited away amongst the large collection of kit bags that our Sout...

My dear (indeed, unreasonably expensive) friend Professor Peregrine has for many years been on the very best of terms with Pugil Jabbernowl, Professor Emeritus of Implausible Geography and Dwile Flonking at Stratton Strawless University. Professor Jabbernowl is probably best known in academic circles for his work “The Preston Gubbals Woodland Debate of 1902”. This exhaustive study of the momentous event, covering its causes, outcomes and catering solutions, remains a great classic amongst “those in the know.” Indeed, amid much celebration and egregious wasting of cash, an attempt was made to turn the book into a feature film entitled “Woodland Showdown”. It was never finished, of course. Professor Jabbernowl considers this a suitable metaphor. But, in recent weeks, relations have soured between these two paragons of British Academia. At first, my attempts to determine the reasons behind this falling out came to nought. But, after I concealed his television remote control during the hig...

In the course of an evening stroll to the newsagents to purchase the latest edition of “The Square Leg Fielder's Quarterly”, the Professor began reminiscing about some of his former colleagues. “Professors Brabagious, Ricksteddle and Catterning spent many years travelling the less populated parts of Devon and Dorset in an attempt to complete their work on the tea and water biscuit ceremony reputed to take place annually in those parts on St. Benedict's Day. Everywhere they went, they were greeted by cheering crowds but, sadly, failed to find any trace of the fabled ceremony.”  The Three Professors and Mrs Ethel Slump The Professor paused and stared wistfully at a skein of geese crossing the sky, before continuing in a sad and leaden tone. “Rumour has it that they were often accompanied by a ghost called Mrs Ethel Slump, but I've no time for such tomfoolery. They were last seen setting out to sea on a makeshift raft somewhere near Budleigh Salterton. ”

Walking back from an agreeable lunch in that fine hostelry “The Trumpet and Monocycle”, the Professor and I engaged in a labyrinthine discussion on the merits of pickled eggs and Breton's use of the phrase “le jeu n'en vaut pas la chandelle” in the first Surrealist Manifesto.  We came to no firm conclusions.  This was due, in part, to my umbrella bursting into flames.

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?”

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 Shackers...

 Uncle Leucocholy insisted on dressing as a Cossack whenever he was near the sea.

One afternoon not long ago, I came upon the Professor relaxing in his conservatory and perusing a dog-eared copy of the unauthorised biography of that fine sportsman William 'Gutta Percha' See. (In my view, the unauthorised and, some say, imaginary biography of Larman Register is a more insightful read - but I forbore from mentioning this). Naturally, we found ourselves in a reflective mood and spent a pleasant hour or so over a cup of broken orange pekoe and a flaky scone reminiscing about the tragi-comic act of the indisputably illustrious Clotworthy Brothers in which they attempted to impersonate trees in the vicinity of late Neolithic stone circles around various parts of our Sceptred Isle.  Of course,  their later work, in which they strayed into the Early Bronze Age and the minefield of interpretative dance has never been as well received by critics and other malefactors, but we were not so hasty in our judgement on that blessed afternoon.

The Professor's family is famed for their alternative version of croquet. The game does include a ball and mallets (they're not fools and they own no flamingos) but it also requires a dialogue prior to each play in which the protagonists argue why the ball should be hit in any given direction. Indeed, there is no obvious need to hit the ball through any hoops since that is considered a distraction. The scoring system, moreover, is a thing of great beauty and emotional resonance, but is also completely incomprehensible to anyone other than Biskan Cannikeeper, Professor Emeritus of Mathematics and Loggats at Knave-Go-By University, who devised it. It is not clear if anyone has ever actually won a game. Although, this is not thought to be important. The Professor's Great Aunt Torrididdle was perhaps the finest exponent of this version of the game. She failed to win a single match but reduced any number of politicians, judges and other turncoats to states of silent bewilderment...

I had been pressing the Professor to reveal more of the details of his questionable family history with patchy results. Eventually he pulled a faded photograph from a dog-eared copy of Wisden (circa 1949, I believe) and began to tell a sad tale:  “Let me tell you about Great Uncle Purlicue. His notable skill was to entice an audience to a remote, bucolic location on the pretext of delivering a speech of national importance or distributing free tickets to a Minor Counties match with associated hog roast before unexpectedly removing his hat and delivering a heartfelt rendition of ‘Who Were You With Last Night?’.” The Professor stared wistfully from the window overlooking his fine display of prize dahlias, statuettes of first-class umpires signalling wides and enamel buckets before going on in subdued tones:  “Sadly, Great Uncle Purlicue was so successful at gathering a crowd that he was accidentally elected to various positions of dubious authority. This proved to be his undoing...

The Professor was in a pensive but loquacious frame of mind recently following a particularly agreeable game of pitch penny in Wickham Skeith. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when, once again, Arthur 'Toad-in-the-Hole' Shellbottom was declared Champion Pitcher and Foremost Penny Ruminator.  Taking a long draught from his pint of Dringey Forplaint Special Ale, the Professor began his solemn tale: “Shellbottom's great-grandfather was the principal reason that my own ancestor became an academic and funambulist. The two men were great rivals in the hatting business, vying for the role of principal supplier of doubtful hats to the Federation of Minor Cricket Umpires and Croquet Mallet Makers. My great-grandfather thought he had the edge on his opponent with his use of the finest gutta-percha in his much-admired, multicoloured trilbies. But there was no way he could compete with Shellbottom's development of a range of ventilated hats named after British politicians of...

Our work on a camera to record dreams is progressing at a disappointingly slow pace. This morning the Professor sent me his latest captured image together with the following note: "Once again I find that I cannot get beyond the two gatekeepers in my dreams. They seem determined to relocate the gate. One of the two reminds me very much of my uncle Cyril. This is odd, since I have no uncle called Cyril. "