On what descending act of flagellation will you see me?
And not long afterwards, at what reduplicated den of refreshment?
The double bar (“Sounds like my kind of place”, nods Myles.)
On the reasonable assumption that the imbibing of a certain liquid refreshment will be de rigueur there, what is your only man?
A pint of Plain. (I don’t mind if I do.)
Where, you ask me, can I come and do a Messiah next Monday night?
And what is there not?
But what will there be, pray?
A jolly good tea (scowls).
And upon what nocturnal occasion will it be all right?
On the night.
At what relative labial experience did the Maestro take that Scherzo?
Quite a lick.
And if I ask you, from what angular body-part does the Maestro not know his arse?
Finally, where is there a cheque?
In the post.
Meanwhile, for the classicist (manqué or otherwise), another (“real”) entry from the Catechism of Cliché:
Quando timeo Danaos?
Et dona ferentes.
The enticing Dona Ferentes also plays a cameo role in At-swim-two-birds: the two Greek lawyers at the trial of Dermot Trellis [any relation to Ivy?—Ed.] for authorial autocracy are Timothy Danaos and Dona Ferentes.