Spring 2025.
I received a blast from Fred, a short burst of enthusiasm about some wall implants that he had sourced from Canada. It wasn't what I had expected at all: the last I had heard about Mr R, as he has been known in the years since 20011, was that he had retired to his province near the Lakes and couldn't be parted from his new baby, the twenty-five metre Reichmann-Riva that was delivered to him the week following his purchase of the old Sarnico company. It will go down in the annals of boating history that when asked why such a relatively short boat, Mr R replied, without a smile: hey, it is a lake!
It had long been rumoured that Mr R was thinking of creating some fresh artworks (I had never believed it, personally) but his purchase of the combined Leica, Getty and Condé Nast Print Galleries really had been well documented as describing a sort of moral dividing line between supply, demand and the ethical balance of the different factors that had come into play almost immediately after the infamous acquisitions. To be fair, it had indeed resulted in the ending of any new MR originals. But, if absolute power... well, would I or Fred have behaved differently?
Fred had mentioned that his interest in Fotos Antartica had sprung from a sentimental relationship with fish and the long-vanished ice-cap, but I hadn't imagined he would have exchanged credits for the feeling; after all, one ice-cap is much like another and I would have though he'd have sufficient frosty personal images from his Absolut Vodka assignments. Oh well, one man's goddess is another's serving wench.
December 2045.
Still on the water, Mr R is now driving a Lamborghini-powered super zero displacement Sport Diablo which doubles as second tender to his latest Reichmann-Riva touring palace. (Speaking of tenders, imagine having one if you called your principal boat Tumescent.) However, having eschewed the Lakes, Mr R is currently happily ensconced at historical Lyford Cay in New Providence, Bahamas, where his old-but-reconstructed neighbour James 'Sean' Bond is long-serving Scottish Nationalist Member of Parliament for the Bahamian branch of the Scotch Whisky Federation, whose amazingly successful (and cunning) strategy for the reverse take-over of the Suntory empire caused such a fuss after the '08 Depression. (Less generous spirits have blamed the Mr R departure from Toronto on the infamous power-cutting escapade when all the electronically clad bikini girls were suddenly left exposed when the WiFi power supply failed. I understand Mr R denied all involvement in the disaster, even though Mr Bond did lose a bundle on the subsequent collapse of Virtual Emperor Clothing. But, some people say that it was strange that the usually reclusive Mr R was to be seen lurking in doorways with his ancient M9 in his hands at the very moment when the lights went out ... I make no comment.
Oh, I just remembered. Russ has won the freshly reintroduced Schneider Trophy in that old Sabre Jet that he bought from Ray who had discovered it in a garage in Bangkok. That's what you get for chasing transvestite pictures: bargain aircraft!
Coffee calls. But damn, I gotta make my own.
; - (
Rob C
