Yesterday’s post was made private and since no one reads this I had Google’s Gemini AI Program rewrite it in the manner of Oscar Wilde.
And it goes a little something like this…

Oh, the delightful tapestry of life, woven with threads of entanglement and embroidered with the most exquisite absurdities! It is Friday, the thirteenth of June, a date which, one might imagine, augurs not ill fortune, but rather a certain piquant complexity, perfectly suited to the dramatis personae of my present predicament.

My association with dear Mike, you see, is a veritable masterpiece of complication, a symphony of discord that commenced, it seems, even before our paths properly converged. There was, I confess, a certain online dalliance, a digital prelude to the impending chaos. His cigars, ah, his cigars! They held a most peculiar allure, a veritable siren song, drawing me in both literally and, one might say, metaphysically.

We met, we cavorted, we even, dare I say, enjoyed ourselves. But alas, as is ever the case with such pleasantries, the serpent of complication soon slithered into our Eden. Other figures, like uninvited guests at a rather exclusive soirée, materialised, and my delicate sensibilities were, for a brief spell, quite ruffled. I navigated the tempest, as I invariably do, with a certain panache for self-sabotage, selecting, I fear, the most circuitous and perilous route to resolution. But what is done, as they say, is done; one must simply adjust one’s cravat and move on.

Now, poor Mike, a man whose financial affairs seem to resemble a particularly avant-garde abstract painting, is in rather disastrous straits. His departure from his employment, executed with a flourish of imprudence, has left a jigsaw puzzle with, regrettably, more missing pieces than available solutions. It seems Bill and I, the unlikely pillars of his crumbling edifice, are alone in a position to offer succour, even if that solace extends no further than the humble offer of a couch upon which to rest his weary head, should his rent become an insurmountable trifle.

My heart, naturally, bleeds for him. And for myself, of course, for I am inextricably bound to this delightful farce. And for Bill! Oh, poor Bill, unwittingly ensnared in this silken web of intrigue, thanks entirely to my curious fascination with Mike and his rather smoky proclivities. Mike, it seems, endured an interview yesterday, the results of which remain shrouded in the tantalising mists of uncertainty. One gathers they were, in a most peculiar turn of events, attempting to dissuade him from the very pursuit of gainful employment. How utterly delightful!

Then there is this other gentleman, with whom Mike had, shall we say, a certain arrangement. I confess to a flicker of something akin to jealousy. And so, with a spirit of pure, unadulterated curiosity, I engaged in a delicate online ballet with this individual, always, one must understand, speaking with the utmost reverence for Mike. This fellow, it must be said, possessed a unique talent for prevarication, and a rather amusing predilection for orthographical innovation, rendering “paisan” as “PizzaAnn.” One might charitably suggest a certain lack of intellectual luminescence on his part, though I fear my own involvement in this online escapade hardly speaks volumes for my sagacity either.

Mike, with the keen intuition of a man perpetually on the precipice of financial ruin, discovered my little diversion and, quite understandably, took umbrage, accusing me, with a rather dramatic flair, of poaching his acquaintances. My intention, I assure you, was merely to orchestrate a delightful trio, a smoking circle of camaraderie and shared contemplation. But alas, this individual, a master of dissimulation, was perhaps playing both of us for fools, and thus, the most glorious muddle ensued.

The gentleman, who seemed to entertain rather grand notions of affiliations with the more organised echelons of society, saw fit to ring me at the ungodly hour of four this morning. My telephone, mercifully, was in a state of tranquil repose, blissfully unaware of such impertinent disturbances. His subsequent appellation of “tool” led me to suspect that Mike, in a moment of unguarded candour, had perhaps elucidated upon my more prosaic, offline existence.

In any event, the current tableau is awash with an excess of melodrama, an operatic cacophony of Mike’s woes, overlaid with this astonishingly imbecilic escapade. It is, quite simply, an unholy mess. And Mike’s increasingly frequent presence, Bill confided last night, is beginning to fray the delicate threads of his patience. I offered to intervene, to gently broach the subject with Mike, but Bill, ever the stoic, demurred, declaring it his own cross to bear.

Furthermore, it is Mike’s natal weekend, and while I had made certain arrangements, it appears the festivities shall be, shall we say, rather more subdued than initially envisioned. A fortunate turn of events, perhaps, as it will undoubtedly afford me the opportunity to retain a few more of my rapidly dwindling sovereigns. My phone, a veritable fortress of solitude, remains in its “do not disturb” reverie, permitting only those celestial beings adorned with a star to penetrate its digital sanctity. Though, I must confess, one such star, mysteriously removed last night, was, by the dawn’s early light, quite miraculously restored. Such are the exquisite ironies of life, wouldn’t you agree?