My great uncle once stated that “The well-traveled person is a friend of mine,” and, although this statement was serving as his sole defense against accusations of soliciting a prostitute, I believe it to be a maxim that can benefit all of us.
For the well-traveled person has experienced much of the world and therefore lives a richer, wiser life. I know this is true for myself (you can read about some of my adventures in my three-volume series Agatha Goes Elsewhere).
Of course, not everyone has the resources to travel the world as I or my uncle’s whores have done. However, let us not forget that the world starts right outside our own doorsteps, and everyday we have the opportunity to make a journey of our day-to-day lives.
Earlier this week, I recommended that Christopher go on a mini-odyssey himself and, despite his early protestations, he admitted that the excursion was profitable. By simply changing his attitude and looking with new eyes at the path that leads from my house to the corner shop, he saw two kittens playing in the sun, heard just how much love the two teenagers in the alley apparently have for each other and found a discarded 50p coin. Perhaps more valuable than all of these experiences, he realised how happy fresh tonic water to add to her gin made his employer and this is a life lesson he can carry with him for the rest of his days.
If you ever do get the chance to travel to another land, I wholeheartedly recommend it. You become wiser and more cosmopolitan, and it’s also hilarious to hear people talk funny. However, even if your wanderings only extend to a five mile radius, with an open-minded attitude, you can truly see our world.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
Earlier this week I took your advice and decided to go to Liverpool but when I got there found I wasn’t able to follow your suggestion and go around looking at as many things as I’d have liked to because there were lots of police stood in the way preventing it. Unpreturbed, I returned to Manchester but I was amazed to discover exactly the same situation there! The Police told me I should turn around and go home instead, and as they were carrying shields and large batons at the time, I thought I’d better go along with their suggestion. Still, it was all, as you suggested it would be, very educational.
Did you enjoy hearing the locals speak? From what I understand via David Starkey, the dominant language in both these areas is Jamaican patois, which can be quite revolutionary but confusing to racists. I hope you were at least able to do some shopping.
Yours,
Agatha
No, I didn’t enjoy hearing the locals speak because I’m afraid I don’t find the scouse accent very agreeable, it being a bit too nasal and whiney for me, and unfortunately (for them!) in a way that makes you think that what they are whining about is that they have their genitalia trapped in some kind of industrial machinery. Perhaps, using your talents as described in your latest entry, you would be able to tell me what that is all about? This isn’t accent bigotry, I just don’t like the sound of it. The Manchester accent on the other hand is one of the finest in entire world, which is fortunate for me as it’s the one I happen to have.
If I’m correct in my history (and I usually am), the accent comes from the original Liverpudlian mayoral dynasty of the De More family. Sadly, your analysis is correct: it is the result of trapped genitalia. Given the time period and the fact that it’s Liverpool, it’s likely John De More got his trapped in a wine press; hence, the “whine” that is so often associated with the region. Because De More was known to “put it ’bout a bit” (oddly, even more fervently after the unfortunate accident), science proves that most locals are in some way genetically related to him and therefore are likely to have inherited his distinctive vocal tone.
There, now you’ve learned something today!
Yours,
Agatha
John De More, I think I may have been to his art gallery. Thanks for the information. I’m sure I’ll astound many people when I slip it into the conversation. Although I can’t help thinking it will be a bit worrying for the descendants of those who have suffered similar traumatic accidents who had no idea that afflictions incurred could then become hereditary. Still, best they are prepared.
If they’ve already got offspring, I say, don’t share the information. Science is always telling us things we don’t know want to know. If they’ve already reproduced, there’s little that can be done at this point.
If they are considering reproducing, though, it might be sway them towards a wiser decision of sterilisation.
Yours,
Agatha