Dear Ms. Erable, and all other concerned culture seekers.
My name’s Desmond and I’m going to be brutally honest with you – I don’t know where Bill Lynnot is. The last I heard he was posing as a rickshaw driver, stalking much-loved racist Al Murray around the city. The last submission I received was half a chewed up letter detailing a night out he had with Greyfriars Bobby.
This, Ms. Erable, is where you letter takes on a particular significance as the fear of dogs you mention is something which Mr. Lynnot seems to of now taken to heart. In the more legible part of his correspondence he details how he looked deep in to Greyfriars Bobby’s eyes and plumbed the troubled depths of a dog who knew too much – who had a secret which he wished to god he did not have.
Bill goes onto explain that during the night out that followed, Bobby dropped numerous hints that he had seen his master commit an act of unspeakable bastardry, but exactly what he would not say. The one solid fact he did glean was that the reason Greyfriars Bobby kept returning to his master’s grave was to ensure the bastard never came back to life. Bobby then went on to perform a solid if not a little troubled 25 minute stand up set, before returning to his iron form, worried eyes forever ingrained in his forehead.
That’s all for now. Please direct any further questions regarding anything so stupid as ‘culture’ to my secretary. There is much a boy your age could learn from her.