Yesterday we reported Quentin as writing ‘I would dearly love to be sharing the fag end of this year with the both of you”.
Ira, in typical fashion took exception to this proclamation, after totally misconstruing its intent.  Today Cecil Poole sets him straight.

On 5 January 2014 09:40, Cecil Poole wrote:
Dear Ira

I feel you have got the wrong end of the stick here.  I am in no way afeared of Fag Ends, In fact I have quite some experience with them, and pleasurable on the hole.

There is no doubt “Fag End” refers to what others among us would call butts, and when I say butts I can see that yet again and inadvertently one could misconstrue the meaning, in fact in the United States of America, particularly in the south amongst the Barbecue Set Butt refers to the dressed rump of a hog.  (Oh, dear, yet again I foresee trouble – dressed butt refers to the hindquarters of a hog what has been stuck – the term for killing a hog – and shaved clean, and make ready for healthy consumption after much basting and smoking.  Which of course brings me back to the proper use of Fag End.  My parents (whose death accompanied by emphysema confirms this account) would from time to time find their supply of Craven A Cork tips* seriously diminished to the point of zero.  This occurred invariably at one minute past twelve noon of a Saturday, the nearest shop having closed at noon.  This shop in fact was the Post Office and General Store.  If my parents had realised their parlous Fag state early enough they could telephone the said general Store and ask them to leave packets of Craven A Cork Tip cigarettes with the loaf of bread and mail and paper (the Argus) in the Telephone Box, where it would be safe and we could pick it up next morning on the way to church.  This would allow both mother and father to lights up and have at least two cigarettes prior to divine service.   Now If as from time to time was the case, and the emergency call had not been made to the General Store my mother and father would engage all their numerous children in searches of the house, of all the ask trays, of the rubbish and fire place and the car and truck and gather all the Fag Ends.  It was worth our doing well as the mood in the house was less than congenial in the absolute absence of tobacco.  Of course the Fag Ends that were best were those from wealthy and well bred people who used a cigarette holder – such as those from Frank McIntyre – who drove a Chrysler Royal, except that Mr Frank McIntyre smoked menthol and mother and father abhorred menthol.  Only the effete smoked them.  Which rounds us off nicely with Fag Ends.

I trust this allays your concerns.

With firm and best wishes

Cecil

* They graduated to Viscounts with filter tips at a later date.  Never did they smoke Greys – probably because their advertising was ungrammatical – “Greys is Great” was their slogan.

On 05/01/2014, at 11:27 AM, Ira Maine wrote:
My dear Sir;

Thank you for your extended and thrusting re-buttal in which you certainly ‘but me no buts’ on your butt debate debut.

This is why I constantly encourage you to write about your background. The bit about looking for ‘superior’ cigarette butts is priceless and might easily be extended into a 500 word smash without a single mention of buttressing your buttered buttocks or any of the other filth which seems to come so easily to you.

A good day to you,

IRA