YELLOW JOURNALISM

Darling, you do know how I detest cheaply sensational and unscrupulous methods in newspapers simply to influence readers, right? Well, Jennet tells me that's all the rage in America, yellow journalism, you know? Oh, I just must rid these PEOPLE far from my mind. Have they truly lost all sense of their selves? I can be of no service to them as long as they continue their decline. I mean, why bother? It's such a waste of my precious abilities and time, as the polls say American's think Mr. Obama is leading them in the right direction. WHAT?

Well, God save my Queen, in that Lizbeth loves and appreciates my Post for all that I provide in rational and at the same time, adorable reporting for the PEOPLE. So much that I've just received a cable from her that I must return to the United Kingdom immediately as she wishes to grant me the title Lady Jacqueline, this very afternoon. Whatever shall I wear? Oh, why fret, Lizbeth's surely kept a few of Lady Di's delicious dresses for me to choose from. Oh, and the hats. Remember darling, she had such the collection of fabulous hats.

I just can't wait to get to the Windsor's. Oh, that most likely should read: Arrive at the Windsor's. What with me being a lady now and all. Everywhere from this point forward I shall arrive, as never again can I simply just go. Oh, this must have been so hard on Lady Diana, but if she could do it, then so can I. Mmmm...but then that didn't work out so well for her, did it darling? Well, nevermind that, as I have no intention of following anyone's legacy. Why ever would I? I'm creating my own.

Oh, what a scream. IT IS ALL ABOUT ME.

Anyway, darling, just wanted to wire you the great news about me. I'm in a dashing rush to have them stop this train to let me off. The porter will escort me to where the Queen Mary is anchored waiting to sail me home.

I'll do France later. You do see, don't you darling, how great writing can propel you to the top?

Like Winston said, "Never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever give up."

-Lady Jacqueline

TEAPOT OF SENSE

Darling, I had the most splendid meal with the WASP company and all plans have changed. When do they not? I've ditched Harry and the driver and riding the train this very moment. The porter now is in charge of my corona no. 3. You should see my berth, nothing short of a royal carriage. I simply just dialed up Queen Sophia and told her my issues with Harry's demeanor and she agreed that I needed to escape his overwrought emotions for
MY OWN MENTAL HEALTH.

God save the Queen!

Anyway darling, I'm traveling with Jennet Conant, you know, she's part of the Dahl family, and has the most daring sense of style. Style I can admire, which is so very rare these days. You do remember, darling, Roald Dahl, don't you? He was so tall, handsome and intelligent, and part of that wonderful British spy ring in wartime Washington. They had such madcap times with the Americans in their little espionage operations in swaying them to join the war and save our GREAT ENGLAND. Oh, the wonderful days of Churchill and FDR, that I only can wish were here again. Did you ever make it up to Tuxedo Park on any of your travels to the States?
Well, it's in a sad state of affairs now.

Just heard over the BBC that Americans are losing their jobs faster than I can get room service, which you know darling, is so very easy for me. Well, I mean it's simply beyond my
comprehension that these unemployed PEOPLE are volunteering for non-profit orginazations to keep THEIR MENTAL HEALTH from sliding into depression while staying on the government's dole. Please, someone explain to me how this makes a teapot of sense. Working for free to keep one's spirits up? Have they all gone mad? Well if that's not a foreign state of affairs, don't call me Jacqueline.

Is this the sort of change Americans were all sprited up about during their presidential election? Gawd, it's too much for me to ponder. And now what with Mr. Obama spending so much time traveling Europe, I only can pray we don't run into each other, because I simply refuse to work for free for him. I know, I know, I need to dial up Michelle and ask her to check his temp. She's simply got to rein him in. Too bad she's not HIS Queen. This is no roman a clef, darling. I heard it straight from the BBC.

Anyhow, we're traveling the Coast of Biscane and English Channel through Poitiers, Nantes, Rennes, Caen, Rouer, and should be in Paris by tomorrow morning where my darling driver shall be waiting to escort me off the train.

Wracking, how news from America can be so distressing to one's sunny outlook and I'm simply ashamed for its
PEOPLE WORKING FOR FREE.

What a tragically socialist state they've gotten themselves into now.

Truly, all one needs is friends in all the right places. Well, I mean, LOOK AT ME.

Always affect.-

-Jacqueline

WASP COMPANY

I'll have to pen a thank you letter to my new best dear friend Queen Sofia, as she so graciously ordered a driver and car for Harry and me in gratitude for all I had given of myself to her Spain and its PEOPLE. Darling, she is such a lovely woman. So lovely in fact that she's insisted I not only keep the driver and car for my entire holiday in France, but she set Harry and I up in the most fashionable part of Paris at the HOTEL DE CRILLON.

Fortuantely, I think the courtroom scene went quite well, don't you? Everyone was so perfectly dressed that you just couldn't help but feel blessed amongst such ravishing attire. And Harry? Well, I was forced our entire afternoon by the sea to wipe his tears over losing Antony. It was so not me, but it's Harry, you know? And, darling, I would do just anything for him, anything at all. If only he could learn not to have emotions, and be more like me. Anyhow, I find myself rather bored speaking anymore of my time spent in Spain, so lets us not.

Tonight we're first joining the delightful WASP crowd in Boulogne-Billancourt at the fabulous Chez L' Ami Jean restaurant before driving on into Paris. I know darling, they're American, but their ancestors are NOT. And I do so enjoy them as they always have such marvelous gossip about other Americans not in their crowd. Their quite cosmopolitian, you know. Of course never so much as the French, but I'll cover that social set tomorrow when I'm feeling more up to par and can lose Harry.

I truly am spent with him as he wishes to walk along the Seine and mourn for Antony. Gawd, it makes you want to throw yourself to the floor, does it not? Mourning by the Seine? Oh, please. I mean, lets so get over it, as I have so many guests I wish to receive and this is MY holiday, not his. I mean, really darling I couldn't bare Harry ruining my reputation with the French set. They are so not about sympathy. So, obviously you see my predicament and why it's best I let only Americans enjoy my company this evening.

Tomorrow? Oh, darling, my plans. I'm off to Montmartre. And if Harry hasn't pulled himself up by then I'll sneak out without him, as now I have my own driver and all. I shant let him ruin my happiness. He's just become such the pill, truly.

Well darling, France is calling my attention so I must go. Oh, and thank God for my driver as he now is in charge of lugging that damn heavy corona around for ME.

-Jacqueline

THE SPANISH COURT

Oh, please be a doll, won't you and round up your friends and have them buy tomorrow's Post?

SCOOTER KEYS SNATCHED IN MURDER TRIAL

BARCELONA SPAIN: ap wire
Jacqueline de Ladefaire

Early this morning in Spain's central court American Antony Baekeland by and through his guardain ad litem, Harry S. Wadernut, pleaded insanity in the murder of his mother Barbara Baekeland, dressed in Chanel. The dress was presented as evidence. It was obvious to the court what once was a beautiful creation now is nothing more than a bloody dress. The body of Mrs. Baekeland has yet to be discovered.

Justice Fredrico presided over the proceedings by making quite the fashion statement in wearing a beautiful silk robe of red. The courtoom was overcrowded but, done so reasonably well.

Justice Fredrico asked Mr. Wadernut what he recommended be done with Mr. Baekeland and was met with a compelling story of Mr. Baekeland's insectious affair with his mother, Mrs. Baekeland, and requested the court take into consideration Mr. Baekeland's kind gesture toward his mother in appeasing her terrible plight of trying to sway him of his homosexual nature by lavishing him with fine Italian clothes fit for a proper young man. It was their shared love of fashion that brought them to reach heights of unacceptable passion.

The senior Mr. Baekeland was heard laughing from the stands, though he made a grand statement in his own Italian silk suit of charcoal and black lizard tie up shoes. Justice Fredrico was forced to ask the Senior to settle down his amusement.

The prosecutor looking dashing in Armani requested the court take into consideration Mr. Antony's boar like behavior at a cocktail party given only moments before he stabbed his mother which caused a bloody mess and ruined the party for all in attendance. Given he was an American and had taken advantage of the Spanish people's custom of allowing children to enjoin with adults while at table, yet did not show proper manners called for a sentence of murder in the first degree.

Justice Fredrico asked if there were any witnesses and a stunning woman in Prada asked to take the stand stating her name only as Jacqueline and that she had been the guest of honour at the cocktail party. Ms. Jacqueline proceeded with a great sense of self as she was precisely cogent in unraveling for the court the direct circumstances of the whole bloody incident. She described in breathless detail what each guest had been wearing, going so far as to say what a devestating moment it had been for her to have witnessed the death of a stunning Chanel dress soaked through and through with blood from Barbara.

She further stated that she found the young Mr. Baekeland's table manners deplorable and felt he was responsible for ruining the party and no one else. Ms. Jacqueline in her impeccably sharp demeanor spoke quite eloquently of the events, giving the court a wonderfully illustrated image of the entire tragedy and that not only had Mr. Baekeland's behavior annoyed her that night, but she agreed with Mr. Wadernut that young Mr. Baekeland in an ironic twist of fate was sadly a victim of fashion and should be allowed his freedom based on his obvious insane desire to please his mother's sense of style wherein homosexuality was a faux pas in her social circle. At the closing of her statement the PEOPLE stood and clapped in approval of her good grace.

Upon leaving the stand Ms. Jacqueline stopped to gather her wide brimmed navy hat, white gloves and scooter keys when young Mr. Baekeland jumped from his chair and snatched from her hands the keys to her little scooter, then made a fast run through the court's doors.

Mr. Baekeland still is on the loose and a warning has been issued to all fashionable mothers to beware of a young homosexual man dressed in an Italian suit motoring on a light green coloured scooter.

A handsome reporter from the British press asked Ms. Jacqueline what she thought of losing her scooter keys to Mr. Baekeland after having just testified that he should be set free because irony and fashion don't always make sense?

With her charming wit, in place as always, Ms. Jacqueline told the reporter that quite honestly she felt terribly relieved from the burden of the atrocious little scooter, as it had done nothing but cause her distress, what with her couturier outfits not matching its style and colour. Further, she stated that Antony's departure from the courtroom was nothing less than a coup de maitre as far as she was concerned.

Asked what she would do next, Ms. Jacqueline replied that she and Harry Wadernut would first do a bit of sunbathing by the sea before hiring a car to drive them to France later this afternoon and that she hoped someday little Antony would appreciate his art and not smash it on mothers' heads.

HAPPENSTANCE

Down at the la Queerita bar I was, I know, looking for nothing or no one in particular.

And, darling, wouldn't you know, the du Pluexs walked in and Mrs. du Pluex was wearing one of those happi coats. You do know of them, right? Those awful little short lightweight Japenese coats worn with a narrow sash over street clothes? I know, I felt for her too. My God, we're in Barcelona for heaven's sakes. Not Portugal where anything goes. That is so the other coast.

Well, I highly doubt it was happenstance that brought me to their attention as they are staying in the same hotel Harry and I are. I mean, truly, after all I had been through this evening you'd think they'd have the good manners to stay out of the bar and let me soak in myself, alone.

But, tragically not. Seems they wanted to kiss me up. Now suddenly, I am not the terror who caused Barbara's beautiful Chanel dress to be ruined in that awful murder? Don't you just deplore people who once they realize how wonderful you are, you don't think they are?

And of course Mrs. du Pluex went on like a nut over my lounge wear and slippers as if I were the tops. I simply lit a cigarete and blew smoke above her direction. She was so of no interest to me. I mean, darling, the woman had turned on me only hours before.

Anyway, I let her go on as I did so want to hear what had happened to Antony and all. I don't think she took one breath between her sentences as she just had to tell all that she knew. Well, why didn't she tell me how irrational the Baekeland's behave at cocktail hour before asking me to join them? That certainly would have saved me much distress. Some people are just simply forever and always mindless of good sense. I mean, don't get me wrong, darling, I'm always up for adventure, but bad manners, murder and incest? REALLY. Spare me the drama.

Seems Antony was appointed a guardian ad litem and is going to plead insanity. NO? Do tell. And Antony is a homosexual. NO? Do tell. Truly, darling, Mrs. du Pluex had nothing of news to share with me.

Harry? I've misplaced him again.

Mrs. du Pluex had the gall to ask if I'd like to motor over to France with her and Mr. du Pluex tomorrow. I mean, really, I was speechless, truly. Our trip together is so over. They have been such a disappointment to me all the way round. And here I had thought them once so swell. Well, you know, darling, Mr. du Pluex is no fool. I knew right away that he could tell I was bored beyond yesterday, so he kept trying to pull her up to their room, to no avail.

Eventually I excused myself from her dribble and ran up here to write you all about the NOT so happenstance of being bothered by the du Pluexs.

In any event I may run over to Antony's court appearance tomorrow before I leave as I feel it my duty to speak for the PEOPLE of Spain. It's as if I sense their emotions of our common belief that Americans take advantage of other countries customs, you know?

Well, I just can't wait because you do know, darling, how much I love courtrooms and justice.

My only quandry should be choosing which house help I allow to steam my Prada suit, you know the one that goes so smashing with my wide brim navy hat?

I've just got to get some sleep, darling. You know how much judges appreciate a fresh woman.

post script:

Harry's just rang me up with the news.
HE IS ANTONY'S GUARDIAN AD LITEM.

I need two pills.

-Jacqueline

YOUR UNWASHABLES

Pilfering about her wardrobe... her meaning I or me...yes, I mean mine, left me bubbling with utter distaste and frustration. Why, such a mess of frocks! Frocks all holed with memories. Each one an unshapely happenstance from the washed and dried.
OH HOW I DO NEED SOMETHING NEW TO WEAR!
-babette

THAT BLOODY MESS

Oh, first, do let me sigh . So much has transpired that barely have I the strength to move from this bed, let alone type. A quick respite at the pavillion simply wasn't enough, dear, not for what I just experienced.

First, darling, I must warn you to never ever wear a gown of any sort while riding one of those little scooters. I found it fashionable fun in the beginning, but quite the burden for where I was going, which was off to everywhere I may never have been. Which always is my point in life.

Zipping about on that scooter at all of 30 kms we went down one way streets during la siesta and it was the most daring fun. I might well have been a bull in Pamplona, sans the crowd, what with that gown twirling fast all up round my head.

The du Pluexs were swell as long as I left them to their suite, they're heavy drinkers, you know and can become such the bore more suddenly than not. All was fine if I stayed only with Harry, who just simply begged and begged to come to Spain with me. Darling, have you noticed the price of petrol and a box of cigaretes? Thank God I haven't money or I'd have to purchase them myself.

Anyhow, darling, you'll never imagine the circumstance Harry and I found ourselves in. Just a spectacular moment of complete insanity. Well, the du Pluexs are great friends with the Baekelands and invited Harry and I to join them at their villa Estaca el simone round 9p. You remember, darling, that insane family that invented Bakelite, which became the modern form of plastic? (That's a story in itself) Well, they're just mad, you know? The whole lot of them. I needn't try to express their level of madness, which is limitless, as you surely remember them from your trips to the States. FRANKLY MAD.

Now, the Spainiards were lovely to me, of course, and helped Harry and I to revel in our adventure. And certainly, please, don't get the idea that the Baekeland's possess a drop of Spanish blood, because they haven't!
They are no more than Americans with passports!

THEY'RE TERRIBLY FRIGHTENING. I KID YOU NOT.

And the du Pluex's? Well, I'll never see them again. Oh, darling, they're awfully sore at me.
But, I was simply abashed at their American friends' neglect of table manners and delight in the dangerous sport of murder along with incestious behavior. I adamantly refuse to tolerate such obnoxious trivialties. Well, anyhow, darling, all was marvelous as we were enjoying our cocktails, that is until Barbara Baekeland's son, Antony, came running from his bedroom at her with some sort of art he'd done. That's right, a giant canvas, and came running like a wild boar and smashed it over her head. Well, Barbara just went on talking as if nothing had happened. And the du Pluex's? Well, they too acted as if nothing unusual had just wacked Barbara's head.

Needless to say, I looked at Harry and then at the du Pluexs with nothing short of shock. Then, Mr. du Pluex took me aside and whispered ever so charmingly into my ear that Antony was sleeping with Barbara and they might be having a lover's spat. At this, darling, my cocktail slipped right from my hand and crashed in shards onto the marble floor. Oh, by the way, the pattern was outstanding, just so you know. A delicious slab of marble they say that was imported from Morocco.

Anyway, I stood up and told Antony if he was sleeping with his mother and it caused him such nasty emotions that I'd get him a knife my very self and he should just do away with her, you know, as he was so ruining the party.

Well, Barbara said she'd get it herself, and went right to the pantry and pulled out a little razor edge steak knife, wonderful, by the way, for cutting filets and the sort. And, darling, darling, right there in front of us all, he stabbed Mrs. Baekeland, straight through her Chanel dress, and it was so beautiful, stabbed her dead, completely. Such the bloody mess.

And can you believe that the du Pluex's blamed me for this, darling? That I'd ruined the party? Which was absolute nonsense, as Antony had started the rucuss, not me. It was horrid how they turned on me. Did I mention my V. gown was the most beautiful colour of aqua? Anyhow, I did apologize for the mess I'd made from the broken cocktail glass.

Darling, never have I been so thankful to have Harry by my side.
Oh, my precious Harry; I'm quite sure he wanted to stay, as he himself seemed to have fallen for Antony. Isn't that the way it always is, darling? Those naughty boys are so enchanting if not mesmerizing. But, as always, HE PUT ME FIRST. He came round and grabbed my arm and whisked me right out of that God awful place faster than our scooter ever could go.

We motored straight to the police station to file a report, but by then la siesta was over and so many Spainiards were crowding the streets that they all noticed my gown and were reaching out to touch it so that we just had to, had to, stop and talk fashion before we actually made it to the station. I had to give the PEOPLE what they desired, you know? So give or take a few hours, I finally was able to rush in a frantic like state to tell the captain all of what had happened.

And, darling, do you know what he said to me? He asked me if I was speaking of the Baekeland family and of course I answered yes. He then thanked me, as if I had just given him one of my wonderful articles as a gift. He wasn't fazed in the least, but seemed rather pleased. I asked him if he were not going to send some officers round to report what I had witnessed, or at least to take Barbara's dead body away. And then he said the most marvelous thing. He said, "Why bother?" He told me it was just another dirty American down.

Well, with that, Harry and I went straight into a fit of laughter, right there in the station's doorway with all the Spainiards looking on from the street.

Isn't that a riot? Darling, I didn't even get in the least bit of trouble. Oh, I love those Spainiards even more so now than ever before. Heavens knows what happened to the du Pluexs, as you know me, darling, I never look back. Oh, well, just chalk them off; I haven't the time to kiss up old friends, and certainly not the slightest inclination. And as far as I'm concerned, it's the Baekeland's own bad manners that caused this mess, as truly I believe they took advantage of the Spanish people's custom of allowing children to the table.

So, you can imagine the state I'm in. Just exhausted. Completely exhausted and my hair's just a mess. And you needn't bother to ask what my beautiful gown now looks like. I've thrown it to the trash and changing into lovely cotton candy pink coloured lounge wear to meet Harry down at the bar after my bath. Oh, and most likely I'll wear those dainty puff slippers you sent over. I'll look stunning, which is the whole point, if not the only point, of my evening.

Darling, don't even bring up the Post. I haven't the time to wire an article and still have so many emotions NOT to face.

Oh, by the way, I've read with interest where Mexicans are experiencing difficulties with guns and the like supplied by Americans. And now with my having become embraced by their people, I truly feel as if I could relate, you know, to the PEOPLE. They are one in the same aren't they? Spainiards and Mexicans? Well, no matter, they seem close enough. Now, there could be a story for me, darling. A truly intriguing adventure. I'll talk it over with Harry to see if he'd like to escort me into such danger. You never know darling, they may be in need of a Mexican Queen. Oh, Harry will get such a kick when I share him my brilliant new thought: Queen Harry!

As is, my social calendar is booked for the season, so Mexico will have to wait; and we'll now not leave till late afternoon tomorrow before motoring over to France. I'm sleeping in.

Oh, darling, how fun it all would have been had you been along.

The Spainiards are simply mad about ME.

-Jacqueline

RAVISHED IN RED REBELLION FROM DIOR

The new LIP COLOUR just in from Christian: See above

I'm wearing it tonight when I motor over to France via Spain.

To hell with the Post. I've got places to be seen where I just don't care for my corona no. 3 to be an accessory.

Life just got so frantic once I woke from my nap. The invitations, darling, were just flooding my floor. The tel wouldn't quit ringing and people kept knocking at my door. There was just so much to choose from. I don't know where or however I should begin to tell you of all that's out there in the world tonight. So many invites that I had to narrow it down to only a few this evening and then scramble my social calendar to fit the rest in till late spring.

I chose to leave with the du Pluex crowd, as they're always such marvelous fun. We're starting in Barcelona. Oh, how I adore the Spainiards. Just simply adore. Anyway, darling, I've just got myself in a mad rush right this minute. I'm wearing my Valenciaga gown and won't I look smashing on one of those new little scooters everyone's raving about? Oh, how I do hope the colours match. How charming it all will be.

I do so need those pearls of Babette's, but she's off dancing somewhere with them wrapped round her waist. As always, she's never where I need her, but busy......
AND I MIGHT BE INTERRUPTING HER.

Spain in the moonlight and France in the morning? Divine. I'll write as soon as I've settled myself in some quaint little spot or grand mansion. Damn this corona and its weight. But, don't ever forget darling, I do it for the PEOPLE. I love them so. Such darlings to read my Post the way they do. You can't help but to fall in love with your readers.

And how appropriate, my lipstick colour, Ravished in Red Rebellion, as I feel such the rebel, not wiring anything to the Post today, you know? Well, if I wouldn't have had such a dreadful time on the beach I'm quite certain I'd have done my correspondence as required. But, damn that young couple and their radio. People have become so crass, you know. Have you noticed, darling? They really can put you right to your room with their obnoxious behavior.

All I can say is Hail to the Queen and thank the Lord for Christian's fabulous new colour, as I think I'm becoming quite more like ME. Was that not dreadful, that moment when I was sure that today was NOT ALL ABOUT ME? Thank God that has passed ME by.

Anyhow, I've got to run. Best to you, darling.

-Jacqueline

BATHING PROTOCOL

Jazz cigarros e um pouco de liberdade de expressão

Oh, really, do people not know the protocol of bathing by the sea? I mean, truly, I was resting quite peacefully only to be annoyed by the young couple next to me. Not only annoyed, but awoken from my nap. Certainly I love Chet Baker and all that jazz, but really, a radio on the beach? Oh, darling, please.

And what happened to Harry? Has he abondened me? I could find no house help and had to lug this heavy corona up all those millions of stairs all by myself, with no Harry in sight!

I need to lie down for a few hours more as it still is daylight. I'll worry about whatever spots I need to when I awake later this evening. Like wherever shall I go, whatever shall I do? That sort of thing, you know, darling. The Post has left me thousands of messages down at the desk wanting to know where my story is for the day. Again, I'll worry about THAT SPOT shall and when I choose to awake.

I dialed up Babette only to be confronted with her message which said she was busy and I might be interrupting her.

WHAT?

This day has so not been about me.

I need a pill.

-Jacqueline

TRAGIC EVENT: THE FITZGERALDS

Oh, darling, barely can I type on this corona no. 3 in my lap with the sand between my toes and the warm sun glowing down on my bathing body. Yes, in my smashing black one piece Chanel; your favorite. Oh, and what with the quiet noise from the mediterranean sea calling out to me, how ever do I do it? I must, must soldier on. It's income, you know? Though the King of Spain writes me not to worry about such trivial things, such as euros and deadlines. He tells me to give up my Post!!!!!!! What? Doesn't he understand that I'm a woman of modern lust. I just must; everything's a must. Oh, I'll give him a dial later this afternoon up in my suite. You know, just to let him know how I'm thinking of him so.

So cumbersome that I MUST report to the Post, what with such beauty surrounding, tempting me like crumpets on silver. Jam? Oh, darling, not this morning, please, the thought turns my stomach right round and then back again. Needless to say, I've got a crashing headsore from traveling 'cross the Atlantic last night.
NOT FROM THE BUMPING OF WAVES.

Thank goodness for Harry, he's mixed me up quite a cocktail and assures me that in no time at all I'll be back to myself. Perhaps if I can get the house help to bring round some Kosher salt for my rim, I'd be liking this drink a tad bit more. So dull as is. Harry says putting on a good one just as the night before relieves one of not only the head pounding but anything vulgar you might have spoken. Cetainly nothing vulgar ever passed my lips. It's the others I mourn so for.

Thank goodness for Harry.

God save the Queen(s).

In any event, the evening spent at Lady Elloise's grand party aboard her big liner (ship, you know) was so very tragic no matter which way I look at it this morning, even under my sun hat. Scads of Americans. That, was tragedy in itself. It's one thing to be on board with the lot, but such rot one is subjected to once they begin to speak of themselves. And, you know, darling, that is ALL they do: speak only of their selves. Well, that and drink till they no longer can speak. How very unproper. Where did they NOT learn their manners?
Weren't they raised on grand plantations or somewhere chic? Boarding school? Finishing school?

Is it truly any wonder they call Fitzgerald their hero? Oh, it's killing me, the thought. Sadly, I simply haven't a thing to report, as I've been smashed by Americans all through the night. Surely, darling, you understand the dilemma. I'm simply brain dead after such a dreadful time.

Perhaps Harry will be a good sport when I awake after my nap and have planned something gay for us to do this evening. Something I CAN REPORT.

Perhaps he can round us up a few Iranians or something of the sort. I hear there's much to report on what's happening in their little world. God forbid any of them wear towels on their heads. Have you seen them, darling? Just dreadful if not terribly awful, their fashion. I just couldn't bare it, not even over drinks. So unfashionable, you know? Truly, someone needs to do something about that situation of theirs. Are they not aware of spring hats? Really.

-Jacqueline

RETURNING TO MY POST

Life's such a frantic pace when you're reporting on it all. The native was such a divine help to my article. I've thought of a new title, having been inspired by his natural love of fashion and being so far removed from the whirl of it all. You know, living in such a horrid little village. Who knew? My, how the people are evolving.
So, I'm sending my article across the wire tonight titled:

DASHES OF PINK AND BROWN FOR REVOLUTION

Damn to the elephants and big cats. Who cares? I most certainly don't. So why should I write of such nonsense? Hemingway already covered all that years ago anyway; how very daring of him. No, my story is about the PEOPLE. They seem to want a revolution and are doing it in fine fashion. Oh, what a statement. Pink and brown. Amazing, their knowledge of fabric and colour. Who knew? I've just got to, got to, get it out to the world. But, then that's the beauty of my job, now isn't it? Reporting between all my other important activities, such as lounging by the sea. That, and laughing with Harry. Anyway, can you imagine, darling? A revolution in pink and brown. And with such attitude. Such aplomb. I can't wait till Michelle O. reads my article. Perhaps we'll start an orginzation of some sort together. You know, like providing billions to bail out the wildlife preservation while the people here starve, both pink and brown. You know how that goes, darling. It's not till you're starving that you'll do anything to survive. That's when you find you your true colour.

They've beefed up security across this land as there's not much choice left but to steal. Oh, and they steal the most wonderful things. Fruits of passion, not to mention clothing.
Yes, they're simply ripe for revolution. Banks, cars, industries, farming, insurance?
Really, darling, who needs such trivial things? There's just simply gads and gads of beautiful things to be had and the government is hording it all! How disastorous. How tragic.

China? Oh, darling, please don't make me weep. The quality is atrocious and never will do as long as people have passion for fashion and are starving.

Yes, a revolution is going to do quite nicely in this land of pinks and browns. Isn't it strange when you find a country you think doesn't deserve a silver spoon, but they do? It's sweeping 'cross the ocean I hear. America's in its own hour of despair. Well, I heard their government is giving away money to no one they can recall and everyone they do recall has to sign up for the dole should they want a meal, not to mention fashionable clothing. I just can't imagine. It's too much for me to linger over.

Yes, my sleeping Africa. How proud I am of its people. They're coming together to form a revolution and doing it in style! They're closing the government down and taking over the stores. How marvelous. What a splendid idea. Fashion first, darling. Always do it in style, no matter what it is you're doing, even stealing to survive.

And the colour combination...pink and brown. Stunning.

-Jacqueline

MY SLEEPING AFRICA

Oh darling, we're on safari this morning, though it's narely (is that a word?) 4a.

The bush looks brown from here, but it's still dark, you know? And I'm in dire need of some harsh Kenya coffee.

The elephants look fat, but they're far away at this point. Actually, they look lazy and fat. Perhaps Americanized. Perhaps wearing computer chips in diamond studded collars.

I need to wire something to the Post by late this evening and things just don't seem quite right. Not for safari.

We need some animals in action. You know, like charging toward us or something.

I want Pamplona!

Oh, wait, there's a native up ahead.

Let me get my recorder for an interview:

Me: So where are you traveling, sir, on this fine dark morning?

Native: umblaho neora nor la ramnboina

Me: Oh. That sounds lovely. Whatever shall you do there?

Native: grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr........

Me: My. Well, that might be a bit dangerous, don't you think? However, that's quite the stunning outfit you're wearing. Custom made? What a terrific sporty print you're wearing.

Native: Oh, this old thing? Let's talk about the new spring fashions showing in Paris.

Me: Oh darling, yes, let's us do. This safari thing has truly worn me down. And I love, just love that colour against your brown skin. Quite lovely actually.

Native: Who does your hair?

Me: Oh, you wonderful man, you do know my language.

-Jacqueline