The two Misses Wyatt
Sir: I was very surprised to see someone called Petronella Wyatt lamenting the steep rise in homosexuality among Italians (Another voice, 29 March). Apparently, far from being God's gift to womankind, Italian men have always been a bunch of nancies. I am not qualified to comment on the truth of all this, but I thought you might like to know that the day before your maga- zine came out there was an article in the Daily Telegraph by another young woman, also called Petronella Wyatt, saying that marriage was a life of drudgery, romance a self-inflicted con-trick and sex an overrated waste of time. The problem for this Miss Wyatt is that Englishmen are always pester- ing her, telling her that she ought to be get- ting married or falling in love with them. She wants some time off from all this atten- tion. She hates the thought of marriage and sex because when she falls in love she turns into an imbecile and can't think straight.
Could someone not put the Spectator Miss Wyatt in touch with the Daily Tele- graph Miss Wyatt? The latter would find out about all those places in Italy where she, like Venus, would be able to walk naked down the street quite unmolested by amorous overtures from the pooftahs who live there. In her turn, the Spectator Miss Wyatt could be advised to stay permanently in this country, so that she could have some fun running around while we Englishmen beg for her hand in marriage, pinch her bot- tom and generally ogle her. This arrange- ment would cheer them both up no end.
Besides, it would be cruel if they remained in the same country, working in such similar jobs, while sharing a name. People might think they were the same per- son. They both write so entertainingly about their separate lives; it would be a shame if their readers were to labour under the mis- apprehension that the Spectator Miss Wyatt and the Daily Telegraph Miss Wyatt were just one young woman exchanging this pos- ture for that as the mood suited her, from one day to the next. Even worse, rumours might circulate that poor Miss Wyatt had fallen hopelessly in love in the best Auste- nesque fashion and had, sadly, deranged her critical faculties in the process.
Benedict King 60 Abingdon Road, Oxford
Previous page
