Here I shall chronicle the careers of Pitt the Toddler, Pitt the Embryo, and Pitt the Glint In The Milkman's Eye.
P. the T. eventually dropped out of politics and became a shepherd/milkmaid/ox, going on to be elected district ale barrel and dying a happy man.
P. the G.I.T.M.E. (Not the MOST fortuitous set of initials ever) went on to start a religious cult which believed that since everyone knows the road to hell is paved with good intentions, it followed that the road to heaven is paved with bad ones. Unfort unately, he and all his followers were hung in public squares throughout England for the crimes committed in pursuit of this noble goal. There is no truth to the rumour that he was shot by a transvestite on an unrealistic grassy knoll.
P. the E. grew to be the clan's black sheep, the wayward branch on the family tree. He was a rebellious lad, as I'm told middle children often tend to be, and never quite fit in with his more politic relations. In fact, he left home one night after an embarrassing incident involving three sheep, the town drunk, and fourty-two pounds of rather rancid cottage cheese.
From that point he has passed into the obscurity of legend, having been reported sighted in many and various exotic locales, ranging from the Queen's private chambers to Burger King to a large stew pot on one of the carribean islands. Most recently, The Weekly World News reported that he had formed a partnership with Elvis and opened a small convenience store somewhere in the Midwest.
Due to the lack of reliable information on his later life, he rates only five pages in Mr. Pratt's biography; however, these five pages are some of the most interesting and exciting of the tome. I must note that only nine years ago a young lady turned up claiming to be his only living descendant and demanding a share of the Pitt family fortune, which, unfortunately for her, at this point consists of twelve pair of socks, four pounds ten pence, a rather straggly turnip farm, and an ancient and quite suspicious-smelling dachshund named Colin. She was later sighted on the Letterman Show, trying to convince David that not only was Colin the original dog acquired by the family after a rather disasterous by-election, he could also say "I love you" in three different languages, not counting pig latin.
Anyone with more information on this most mysterious deep dark Pitt, please share it with us - what a loss for his no doubt fascinating life to be shrouded in the mists of time, unknown forever to his fellow humans.
Now that I have enlightened you all with the definitive biographies of these giants of humanity in the annals of history, you may wish to read several considerably heavier treatises on the two, such as A. Pratt's Absolutely The Pitts - Britain's Brattiest Ballot-Boxers, a charming study. And it looks absolutely lovely on a coffee table.