Cuffe

Call me unsentimental, if you will, but I find it a shame we lose an actual contribution to the sphere of wizarding music and fine arts in lieu of the mere trifle of the propagation of pureblood society, even if only for a small amount of time.

It occurs to me that the more people that speak out, the harder it is to target every single voice that calls a foul. Nobody should be scared to speak their opinion. Opinions shouldn't be thought of as something that has to be hidden. In fact, one could think of their opinion as something that could be added to other opinions, as a safety in numbers approach. When enough voices are heard, it's impossible to quiet them all.


Or we, as a culture and society, can continue to live centuries behind the social victories of our muggle counterparts. Certain groups may speak of our thriving legacies and magical blood superiority, but the more I see, the less value comes of anything we've done.


Are we really all that better? Or are these just the mad, half-asleep ravings of a treasonous muggle-lover?

On a lighter note, but a muggle-loving note nonetheless, Celestina Warbeck will never sing as well as Freda Payne and she might as well retire her limp, insipid vocal cords.

Dear mother and father,

( A public thank-you note )


Barnabas B. Cuffe


P.S - I should add:

NINETEEN FIFTY-TWO

[Entry charmed to block out profanities and make them look like ink smudges, but only to one Greta Catchlove]


Sometimes I wish the words "damned ignorant bitch" were fit to print in the popular media. I've heard it said that comparing something to Adolf Hitler is a journalistic sucker-punch and a cop-out when you have nothing else to say or attack something with. Perhaps those people never think they would see anything legitimately close to tactics used by Adolf Hitler.

This is sounding like a good idea. I don't expect many in high society to care enough about the rest of the world they are inhabiting in a mere minority status to know about world changing events outside their own highly charmed and warded walls, so perhaps they won't know Adolf Hitler when the finger is pointed at them.

At any rate, I am bound to be surprised.

I have never been so thrilled to be out of Monaco. One thinks of muggle movie stars turned to royalty or elegant games of Blackjack and overpriced champagne, hopefully being poured onto massive towers of glasses. Instead, I would have been lucky to see an American toilet-bowl cleaner turned to a busboy, or a hotel-wide game of chess, or ginger ale in plastic party cups.

[Greta]

I got back tonight, but I'm afraid I'll have to wait at least four days until I can stop by the shop to visit. They don't allow durian in public transportation or hotels for a reason.


[Dempster and Grizel]

Dempster, I'd stay away from taking Mr. Lovegood on in person for a week, depending on if he tried the fruit basket I sent the lot of them. Or just don't breathe in around him. Well, the same goes for me, seeing as I ate two of them myself, but that's not important. Or that woman they have on now, the one you called a Death Eater. Perhaps it's true, if she ate the durian - smells like death, at any rate. Ha, get it? I made a funny.

I'm taking far too much delight in this ridiculousness, aren't I?

Of course I am always away when anything interesting happens. I find myself flipping through the backdated entries of my journal and those of others from here in Monaco. As some of you may have heard, the new buzz is a newly opened seafood restaurant, the executive chef being Beauxbatons' recent graduate Henri Basquiaterre.

Why anyone, especially in Monaco, would want this undereducated simpleton who could barely clean a monkfish prepare their food remains a mystery. On the topic of remaining, so does the unfavourable taste of baked sea urchin of possibly low quality. One thing wizarding society lacks is a belief in experience and age being the training one needs. Of course, some simply have the unwavering and natural talent, but Basquiaterre is not one of these. I expect this butchershop closed within the month, and the chef should certainly be sent back to Beauxbatons to learn a different trade.

Long story of horrible flavours and indigestion short, steer clear of Le Trentin if ever you have the privilege of finding yourself in Monaco. Certainly a street cart selling fried sardines would be chiefly a better choice.

One thing I find myself surprised by as well are allegations against other journalists, and new, unrecognized ones at that. Let this be a welcome to the media, Miss Burbage, as it is a truth universally acknowledged that any press is good press. And The Quibbler needs any press it can get if it wishes to thrive and outgrow the reputation of being a mere laughingstock of printed news and information.

Until next time and next museum, next show, next shop or next meal,

Barnabas B. Cuffe

( How ‘bout some credit now where credit is due for the damage that we’ve done. . . )