Enter Gustave Flaubert

He is a friend of mine, said Pliny.

Who is, Flaubert?

Yes, Flaubert. As luck would have it he is in town at present for the Cabaret Festival. Would you like to meet him?

I would, Pliny, I said. Why don't you invite him round.

Certainly, said Pliny. I'll give him a call.

So it was that later that evening there came a knock at the door.

Knock! Knock!

Pliny opened it.

Ho ho! Come in old friend, he said.

A portly man with a walrus moustache came in.

Ah, it is good to see you again, mon cher ami, he said to Pliny. Good evening, madame, he added, glancing in my direction. May I ask why you are staring at me in that fashion?

Oh, I said, forgive me Monsieur Flaubert, but I was expecting you to have a beard, either pointed or fringed.

No, no, said Flaubert, I have never grown a pointed or a fringed beard. I take it you have been reading my Sentimental Education?

I have, I said. Am I right then in assuming that the character with whom you most associate is the moustached Frederic?

Indeed, said Flaubert, puffing out his chest and twiddling his moustache. Frederic, c'est moi. As a younger man, of course.

He's a bit of a drip, you know, I said. He's passionate, but he never follows anything up.

I know, said Flaubert. I blame it on his mother.