It has not escaped my attention that the previously loyal League of Ambrosians has been less than keen of late to express their appreciation of my efforts in word and misdeed. In short, you bunch of indolent herberts have buggered off in droves.
Have my wise pronouncements and audacious exploits become so mundane that you have all tired of them? Have I become "Ambrose One-Note", demoted in status to a minor league rotter?
I would remind you that it was I who led the raid on the Dorchester Hotel, when Groida blew off so magnificently in the dining room. I was responsible for getting the gig at the Royal College of Nursing's banjo marathon and played accompaniment on Y Nauci 14 for three whole days. And who was it saw off the ghastly Aznavour Quins back across the Channel?
I was going to try to get my memoirs in the shops for Xmas but now I'm wondering whether to bother, or just sod off to Hades on the harmonium. You'd better use me or else lose me, folks!
Yer loving but wounded Uncle Ambrose.
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