HOMAGE WEEK #2: Try too hard to be Vladimir Nabokov

Given the prurient vigilance of my (if I am permitted to say) chaetiferous would-be lapidators, I fear and suspect that this tristisonous recounting of my own purgative and perhaps, I will readily admit, parachronistic account of the circumstances surrounding the events of which we were previously talking may prove to be somewhat invidious. As you are no doubt already cognisant, I am resident – have been resident – remain resident – in what is perhaps best described as an establishment whose express purpose is the containment of persons of what might be termed, I suppose, sociological interest (persons, it is now painfully evident, such as myself).