[See note regarding source FILOFAX.]
PL: Where were you in the summer of 1992?
FILOFAX: Well, do you want the straight answer, or, as they say, the queer?
PL: How about the true answer?
FILOFAX: Oh, pish posh, we’ve dispensed with that notion by now, haven’t we? Truth, really. Well, if we must. Would you like my truth, or the girls’?
PL: Who is the girl?
FILOFAX: I don’t make grammatical mistakes, my dear. I said girls, and I mean it. Except of course that they weren’t exactly girls, if you catch my drift.
PL: I’ll ask again – where were you in the summer of 1992?
FILOFAX: Well, do you want the straight answer or, as they say, the queer?
PL: Damn you. Damn you?
FILOFAX: Now now, no need for that, the gods above reserve the right for damning. I pray they won’t judge me so harshly.
PL: Were you in England in the summer of 1992?
FILOFAX: I was in many places. You’ll have to be more specific.
PL: Where were you in June 1992?
FILOFAX: I was in many places. You’ll have to be more specific.
PL: Where were you on 22 June 1992?
FILOFAX: Ah, yes, 22 June 1992! A lovely day. I was in Ouagadougou, as I’d been for some months, near the end of a job that I wouldn’t be able to tell you about even if I could. I’d spent the day toiling away at an establishment known for their gin rickeys, and in the evening I’d settled down in the home of a foxy young maiden by the name of – well, I’ll call her Gabrielle. The thing was, of course, that she’d insisted on inviting her friend, a little brunette who I don’t suppose we’ll have to hang a name on. Could barely hang a dress on her as it was. I can show you, if you’d like.
PL: That’s alright.
[At this point, the diary flipped to 22 June 1992 and began to display a visual memory. The editorial team opted not to include transcription of the scene that commenced.]
PL: Can you show me something a bit more – relevant?
FILOFAX: Relevant to what? Not enjoying the show?
PL: Were you informed of any news on the evening of 22 June?
FILOFAX: Not that I can think of, no.
PL: What about the early hours of 23 June?
FILOFAX: Well, why didn’t you say that, you devil you? Of course I was. That was the day old Mr. Pollox showed up and dragged me out of my blessed concupiscence.
PL: Who is Mr. Pollox?
FILOFAX: Well I couldn’t be telling you that, could I? But suffice it to say that along came that particular spider and – well, the rest is history. Or isn’t, as the case might be.
PL: Could you show me what happened when you first met Mr. Pollox in Ougadougou on 23rd June?
FILOFAX: I can show you, if you’d like.
THE PENSIEVE PAPERS 