The Professor Peregrine Papers

The Professor at one point in his past became the mixologist at the famous, hard-to-find “Middle of Next Week Bar” just outside of Moulton Eaugate. Connoisseurs of exotic and lovingly overpriced drinks flocked to to try his “Uncertainty Principle Spritz” and “Categorical Syllogism Daiquiri”.  However, following a number of minor explosions and an embarrassingly large number of swans a-swimming appearing at Christmas, he was asked to leave. The Professor has written (on paper previously used to wrap a piece of Lincolnshire Poacher): "'The one thing I regret is that swans cannot speak." Subsequently, the Professor took up the position of Chief Archivist, Inattentive Researcher and Occasional Beadle at the Society for the Preservation of Devil Among The Tailors.

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...

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...

To further my understanding of the Professor's baffling family tree, I sent him a note enquiring about the life of his Great Uncle Quidnunc. The Professor's reply arrived the following day together with a half-eaten Eccles cake. I present that reply in full together with a facsimile of Quidnunc's original design drawing: "Great Uncle Quidnunc avoided almost everyone, including me, for most of his life, except when he understood that there might be a little spare cash on offer. He preferred to live a scholarly life. In his will, however, he was generous to a fault and I inherited the only completed example of his Inverted Solleret Pantomorphic Machine. The paper he authored concerning the theory of this device was described by an anonymous academic and quodlibetarian as 'The grand piano of theoretical physics but without the pedals and the bit that holds up the lid.' The gift was accompanied by a simple note, written in large, capital letters: 'WHEN NEAR THE...

At that time she had a lingering desire for an absence of atmosphere. The craft that she built would never succeed but that was immaterial. I watched her for an hour as she contemplated flight.  The next day I took a train to the coast.

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. "

The Professor has continued to struggle with the development of his camera that records dreams. I confess that I had begun to harbour serious doubts concerning the feasibility of the entire project. In the last few weeks, however, a number of indistinct but interesting images have emerged from the Professor's dreams. They are all images of hats.  The Professor believes that this is to be expected since he asserts that everybody has at least one dream every night about hats or other headwear. I suggested that perhaps this might not be entirely true and that it may be useful to analyse such dreams. 'I believe,' the Professor replied, 'that Freud said that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Personally, I think that sometimes a cigar is also a bird in flight, a briefcase and a passing thought I had about knot gardens on Tuesday afternoon.' That's close, I suppose, but no cigar.  Last night the Professor dreamed of top hats again.

For some time now I've been assisting the Professor with the development of his new invention: a camera that records dreams. I confess that we've run into a few teething troubles and, for several weeks, the only image the camera produced was of a cat in a box that might not have been there at all. However, last night the Professor produced this convincing image which seemed an accurate reflection of one of his more mundane dreams. The Professor has suggested that the amount of cheese consumed at dinner may be significant.