The Professor Peregrine Papers

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.

Recently, the Professor and I visited The College of Raffish Waistcoat Makers and Bematists in Potterhanworth Booths as guests of the Provost, Professor Tobias Maffled. This hallowed institution is, of course, dedicated to Roland Bell of Blessed Memory and his single, first-class appearance for Surrey.  Following an excellent lunch consisting largely of salmagundi and pottage, we were about to take our leave when we passed a door emblazoned with a finely-worked plaque: “The Morton Bailey Memorial Room and Bar”. Two shrouded figures armed with what appeared to be wooden replicas of The Racing Times guarded the door.  The Provost appeared embarrassed and haltingly explained that access was forbidden to all but a select few. It is said that a game of milking cromock has been in continuous play in there for at least the last 70 years. The players are apparently replaced occasionally in the event of unforeseen insanity or death.  The Professor and I removed our fedoras and bow...

I'm sure that many of you will be very familiar with the long-running “Spot The Emeritus Professor” competition in that admirable magazine "The Church Pulverbatch Academic and String Winders Gazette". I recently had a near miss with my entry pointing out Percy Woofits, Emeritus Professor of Applied Numismatic and Thumb Pianos at  Middleton Baggot University.  I ventured to show my entry to Professor Peregrine, who laughed so hard at my schoolboy error that he missed an entire over of questionable leg spin in the match we were watching.  “My dear chap, that figure is clearly Archibald Pooley-Wavering, Emeritus Professor of Theoretical Numismatics and Ocarinas at Lower Netchwood College.”  Of course, he was right and the prize of a month's supply of Osborne biscuits was awarded elsewhere.

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...

The Professor is very much the archetype of a rational man (he denies this) but, the other day, I did venture to ask him if he had any experience of the paranormal. His answer sent a chill down my spine. “Some years ago, while taking an afternoon constitutional in the walled garden of Lord Parvanimity of Foddington's estate, I came across the ghostly figure of a cowled monk. He pointed directly at me and declared in a portentous voice that I should repent before it was too late.... or something like that. Anyway, we got chatting and it turned out that his name was Brian and that he was doomed to walk poorly-attended gardens and deliver vague messages of impending doom.  We went off to the local pub (The Trombone and Gooseberry, I believe it was called) and, after a few pints of fine local ale, parted on good terms. As he drifted off into a cloud of diaphanous mist he gave me a tip on a horse called Elozable Mineshaft in the 3:30 at Chepstow the following day. I'm not normally a...