I do not usually approve of things with diary entries (in case you read anything highly alarming or rude), but I thought I should include one today. This week has been a horror! My laptop is playing up, the socket at the base of the tree I use has blown a piffle-fuse, I've had raging Weevil Flu, and it seems my sister, Bench (near left), has forgotten to come and collect her daughter who arrived for a week - over a month ago. I have written her a letter, and I'm posting the response I got this morning.
Dearest Bernard,
I am so glad you wrote, dear! Poor Folly! I'd had this nagging feeling that I had mislaid something. It was only when I read your letter that I realised that it wasn't the pinking shears I'd lost, but my own darling child! Do send her back, dear, and I am so sorry to have been such an imposition.
You know it's been a trial for me since she was born, and I honestly thought now she'd turned thirty that things would get easier. Tell me, has she grown much?
I await her return eagerly,
Love and apologies,
Bench
Well, I became a little exasperated of her at this point. Bench is terribly selfish, and gets so absorbed in the Weasel Stretching Foundation that she doesn't give a second thought to others. But I'm not entirely unsympathetic. Folly (above far left) is a treasure, but she's dreadfully thick for a girl her age, and playing with traps and poisonous spiders in the garden is asking for disaster. Only yesterday, she set fire to her own shoes then pushed them into a letterbox (the public one - so you can imagine I'm wondering if my letter to Bench has been collected at all!) Well, I can't do much more about it this evening, so we'll have a pleasant dinner. I've got an adder or two left in the freezer and some chicory that needs polishing off so I'll create something Marco Pierre White would be in awe of. Perhaps.
Whatever you're drinking ... Mine's a 'alf! I love it!
ReplyDeleteAaaa-thankyou! It's only tea, actually!
ReplyDeleteHey Mad Aunt B , you make a box of frogs look like nornmal upstanding citizens and that's a good thing, well done, you should be proud of yourself-we are!
ReplyDeleteI'm blushing girlishly, feck, beneath my warts and stubble...x
ReplyDeleteI hope you have a better week next week, Aunt Bernard.
ReplyDelete(Maybe you could try installing electrical sockets higher up the trees like we do, out of reach of rising damp?)
I'm amazed that Social Services haven't removed Folly from Bench's care (or lack of it). You'll have to cook those adders slowly with plenty of liquid or they'll be tough.
ReplyDeleteWell, Delia is a bit backward in her approach to adder cuisine so I used the classic Marco Pierre White recipe. You skin the adders, run three times around them (widdershins)to dispel bad spirits, marinade them in Tizer, black pepper, chopped wood, and olive oil, then bake over a raging fire for 30 mins. Remove before the flames catch the trees alight, and serve warm with chicory and hessian salad and a Vesta beef curry. Parfait!
ReplyDeleteI'm still not convinced that hallucinogens are not being employed. Whatever the case may be, I'm along for the ride.
ReplyDeleteKat
It may help your predicament if you bear in mind what my old Mum used to say, but since she had no teeth and an addiction to sticky toffee, I couldn't understand a word of it. I hope you find this comforting.
ReplyDeleteI do, bub, I do....
ReplyDelete