THE TEAM

Nathan Davies

Hazel Marshall

Stuart MacDonald

Oliver Moor

Jim Johnson

James Skinner

Jess Wynn

Sam North

• 2001 Hackwriters
• Oliver Moor - Hackwriters Editor

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MEMO

From: Bertram Wilberforce Wooster

To: The Membership Secretary, The Drones Club, Pall Mall, London W1

Re: Proposed Membership for Oliver Moor

Now then, what’s there to say about this Moor chappie? Not a great deal really.

Oh, he’s a sound enough cove, I suppose, usually good humoured enough, although he has a bit of a tendency to brood. Yes, that’s the word I want. He’s a bit of a moody brooder. For some inexplicable reason he has a tendency, on occasion, to fling himself about, when wracked with self-pity -- in what Jeeves would call a “most disturbing” manner -- acting for all the world like a sheep with the bends. He has a memory like the proverbial steel trap for the most ghastly trivia but can be remarkably forgetful: recently, for example, managing to arrive for a evening with the lads a full twenty-four hours late - I could make some comment involving organisational abilities and breweries, but it’s really rather vulgar.

Sartorially, he’s a washout. I have shown him my article on “What The Well Dressed Man Is Wearing” but he heeds it not a bit. As far as I can see he appears to own about three items of clothing which he wears in different places about the body depending on his moods. Regarding him invariably takes me into a different and a dreadful world.

Perhaps I’m making too much of his taste in couture, or lack thereof. He scarcely needs a tailor since he’s departed the good old Metrop., preferring to leg it to the provinces. He tells me that he wishes to earn something of a crust with his pen. Well, one doesn’t like to discourage, what! I say good luck to the blighter: perhaps if he succeeds in becoming vaguely successful we may yet see him don a white tie. I believe it is his ambition to write for the movies, so perhaps he might pen a successful comedy for Messrs. Fairbanks and Niven. There remains the slight problem of exhuming and re-animating their long-dead corpses; but quite frankly there’s probably more chance of that than of La Moor creating a work for them to star in.

What else? He makes a decent fist of the odd melody on the jolly old piano, though I’ve yet to hear his rendition of “I Want A Motor Car With A Horn That Goes Toot Toot”. He’s even built his own instrument -- a harpsichord, if memory serves -- from about eight billion bits of wood. He once built a car from a similar quantity of bolts: it more or less fell to pieces at once, but still, he tried. I think that’s really him in a nutshell. He trys -- and he’s not too trying. Good Lord, that was practically poetry, what? In summary, I wouldn’t sanction, if that’s the word I want, a full membership, but perhaps we should give the bloke a crack of the old whip for a few months. He may yet turn out to be a goodish egg. Anyway, toodle pip.
BERTIE

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