My old pal, Ned, has e-mailed me to say that his recollection of the notorious 'Bolloms episide' I recounted last week does not quite agree with mine. Though he is unspecific on the details, it seems he believes the piece of soiled clothing that gave such offence to the sensitive dry cleaning man actually belonged to our other college contemporary and habitual partner-in-crime, The Bookseller.
Now, it is of course quite possible that faulty memory - or an irresistible, subconscious impulse towards improvement - has corrupted my recollection of these events. However, I have been telling this story (and - I'm fairly sure - in pretty much this version) for nearly 20 years now.... so corruption, if such it is, set in very early on.
I rather suspect, in fact, that it is Ned's recollection that is at fault, his doubts born of embarrassment: in sober middle-age, he would rather believe that he had never been involved in anything quite so unwholesome.
For me, the whole point of the story is the incongruousness of this rather proper, decorous, well-behaved young chap becoming embroiled in such uncharacteristic excess - and being so charmingly embarrassed by its consequences.
The Bookseller, on the other hand, was a complete reprobate, for whom such incidents were relatively commonplace; and who was quite beyond feeling any shame about them. There are many wonderful - terrible - stories I could recount about him.... but the starring role in this tale is just not appropriate to him.
If the truth and the legend disagree, print the legend.
No comments:
Post a Comment