Day Eleven: In which she admires hair in its infinite variety

My dearest Jane —

One of the many, many happy differences that have near to overwhelm'd me in this strange, new world is that not only Women, but Persons of all colours are now Equals. 'Tis a marvellous thing.

Of late, my eye has been caught by the varied coiffure possibilities that Black women have. (And, not to be outdone, I see many young White women injecting colour of the most extreme nature into their own hair).



Of the young women above, the one with the masses of curly hair was simply too beautiful for words, but alas, her lack of sense rendered her terribly silly. She prattled away on her little mobile telephone (a miraculous device that allows one to speak to anyone, anywhere) spreading intimate details of a scandalous affair to the world at large. I at first b'lieved her to be speaking of her own friends and family, she spoke in such familiar terms, yet I determined it was of certain "celebrities" -- or as we would say, Society -- of which she spoke. These "slebs" are exalted beings; sometimes actors and musicians, yet more oft they are no-bodies who have achieved fame through no honour or industry or cleverness, but simply through notoriety or promiscuity. The saddest aspect of this adoration of celebrity for its own sake is that young persons seek to emulate them. They desire only fame and will debase themselves in the most shameful ways to achieve it. Sadly, the very pretty young one I sketched t'was as empty-headed as the ones she worships.


with love from your sister,

Report from a London Fashion Week correspondent

Dear Miss Austen,
Whilst strolling down the bustling thoroughfare that is London's Oxford Street during the season known as "London fashion week" I happened on a stylish young lady dressed all in black with a stuffed raven perched on her head.

Would that you had been there to observe the wondrous sight!

Your humble servant
Sue

Day Ten: Wherein fancy-dress costumes are everyday wear

My dearest Jane —

I have been busy of late and find little time to write, forgive me. Believe me in that you are always in my mind - the most astonishing costumes are paraded before me almost daily and we would be beside ourselves were you here with me.



F'r instance, take these two young women ... both took extraordinary care with the coordination and colour matching in their outfits. Yet, one wonders, why? The Harlequin on the right was absolutely black-and-white from top to toes - black boots, black and white woolly leggings (in the heat of summer!); her blouse, in the "sporting" style was blocks of solid black and white. Even her hair was very-nearly white. All this might have worked on a dainty little person but on this great, stomping-about-sort of mannish woman the effect was rather overwhelming.

In contrast, the Neo-Roman in her eye-burningly bright-blue toga and black leggings was such a delicate creature that, despite the peculiarity of the costume, was actually quite attractive. One does wonder what she will think in 20 years on looking back ...

with love from your sister,

Day Nine: In Which She Ponders the Cult of the One Red Toe-Nail

Dearest Jane —



I believe I have, e'er now, mentioned some of the peculiarities of summer footwear but lately my attention has been drawn to the most rare and diverting sight. T'is the preponderance of One Red Toe thrusting out from a gap in the toe of many ladies' shoes.

'Pon my first encounter with this phenomenon, I naturally assumed the poor woman's toe simply could not be enduced to stay inside the shoe, and attributed it to misplaced vanity in regard to the largeness of her foot. And I did wonder if she were so vain as to wear such tiny shoes, if 'twas quite so wise to paint the offending digit with such a bright red shade of varnish?

Yet then I saw another, and yet another. So I began asking myself, to what could this be attributed? Could so many women be so convinced of the tininess of their feet? And why the extremely red paint was so desirable? I fear my imagination leapt quite away (as it sometimes does) and I dreampt up a Secret Society of Women who identify themselves to each other through expos'ng said toe to the world. The very redness of the toe would signify ... what? T'was then I realised the flaw in my reasoning. It could hardly be a Secret since it is so immediately noticeable (or in the parlance of the Young today "in yer face"), it must be ... alas ... merely a passing fashion.

Or p'haps toes have just got larger and shoes shorter? I fear I shall never know;

with love from your sister,

Day Eight: In Which She Angers a Young Woman By Simply Looking

My very dear Jane —

Words fail me.



The young man seemed perfectly respectable. He was attired in the casual style so much favoured by the young here; but tidy and clean & softly spoken. Whatever could motivate him to dig such a large hole out of his ear, pierce the bridge of his nose and push a SPIKE through his lower lip? His female companion likewise seemed ordinary enough, but one must respect her bravery, if not her judgment, in hoping for an amorous relationship. A courageous woman indeed, to dare to kiss that mouth!

The second young woman astonished me and I daresay I could not take my eyes off her, tho' I must confess it very ill-mannered. She did glower at me for daring to look! But, upon my honour! t'was was impossible to look away! Her clothing was most extraordinary ... a dirty, frayed flouncy skirt over grubby leggings and bright red "basketball" boots.

But more peculiar than that ... what manner of creature leaves her hair unwash'd till it forms gigantic spiralling rat's-tails & puts rings thru her nose & pierces her lip to leave a nail's-head behind? &, having chosen to bedeck herself in this most unwholesome and unusual garb, why should she become angered when persons are amazed enough to stare? One would think that, by this, her objective would be fulfilled.

It grows ever more lonely and strange here,
love from your own,

Day Seven: In Which a Carefully-placed Handkerchief Serves as Clothing

My dearest Jane —

Today I saw an attractive young lady on Reading Station who was naked from the waist up, save for a strategically positioned handkerchief and an elegant design on her back. (To be fair, 'twas a rather large handkerchief, but that is indeed all it was).

The two gentlemen walking ahead of me and just behind her were most delighted at the vision thus placed before them. I believe one of them was having difficulty breathing, he wheezed at every step, and all the more so when she turned and smiled at him!

The design on her back, by-the-bye, was permanently marked on her skin in the manner of Savages from far-flung Islands. Such markings or "tattoos" (for so they are called) is all the rage amongst the populace ... young and old alike have inky inscriptions in various colours and degrees of tastefulness marked on their wrists, to serve as permanent bracelets or as marks of affection to their loved ones on their arms. The young lady's pictures were surprizingly nice, but many such seem little more than ugly scratchings.

Even more alarming is the peculiar habit of Piercing their skin - noses, ears, cheeks, even tongues. It looks most uncomfortable. I have seen the most horrific disfigurement done in the name of fashion. I cannot yet bring myself to draw these sights, it is still all too disturbing.

I did think the preposterous sights would soon diminish, dearest Jane. Perhaps in time, they will.

with much love from your troubled sister,

Day Six: In which a gentleman performs ablutions best done in private

My dearest Jane —

I shan't have you thinking that I limit my observations to merely the young & silly.

This middle-aged, rather smartly dressed gentleman could have stepped from the pages of your own Sense & Sensibility. He was engrossed in his own book, utterly oblivious to the world as it swarm'd past him; he reamed his ear in search of imperfections, carefully withdrew the digit for a deep perusal of the results of his efforts, and then re-inserted said digit for another dig.

Most astonishing. And, given his range of rather expensive-looking accoutrements, I am sure he considers himself a man of Taste and Refinement.

And whilst I ponder on ears, do you recall my earlier missive in which I mentioned the corks that people put in their ears, to shut out the dreadful noisiness of this place? Well, it seems I was mistaken in their intent. 'Tis not to shut out noise, rather, it is to introduce new noise. I learned this because the dangling wires are connected to an ingenious device, like a tiny pump, that spews out this noise. It is rhythmic, to be sure, and although they claim it is music, I am not so certain. This sound often "leaks" from their corks and all one can hear is a grinding and clammering, such as you would hear at a miller's or perhaps a combination of the millstones and the hammerings of the blacksmith. It is most curious. My head quite thumps most days from the multitude of loud engines already. I am most unclear on why they would chuse to introduce yet more.

with love from your sister,