Awaiting Pars Secunda

Since my university years have now come to their scheduled conclusion, there has naturally been much speculation in the learned societies and respectable journals as to what shall become of me. One of our Novanglian fellow-travellers has suggested I follow young Winston Churchill’s aim of legislative service, though I’d rather be a subaltern in the 4th Hussars! Colonel Cusack, meanwhile, has suggested the Executive Mansion rather than the House of Assembly. Alas, the future of young Cusack remains as yet shrouded by a misted veil of uncertainty through which not even old Tiresias can portend. My own particular desire is to be rolled around Bronxville in a wheelchair, flannel blanket covering my lap, with a cane to shake in fury at passing vagrants.

Previously: Whither Cusack?