Thursday, 24 May 2012

We swelter in frightful conditions dear . . .

The Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
Inner Hamlet

My Dear Ralph
I don't know whether I have ever mentioned Perfect's quarterly newsletter have I pet?  This publication arrives here in large quantities for our perusal and is, I must say, splendidly glossy and well laid out.  However, it does appear to fall down in the sphere of actual meaningful content, for one is presented with an idyllic picture of residential life which, as Pom-Pom and I have frequently remarked, we sometimes find hard to recognize.  On page after page, we find eulogies about post-retirement life in Perfect establishments, not to mention any number of photos of beaming residents clustered about their birthday cakes at the age of 100.  (I personally would not wish the mayoral chain to be flapping about my face on this day - should I ever reach it - pet.)  There are also one or two instances of rather silly articles and one such recent item has, as its subject, our artificial flower/pot displays, set out - as you may recall - in the alcoves outside our rooms.  Some nitwit from Perfect hs apparently decided that these items may constitute a 'fire risk' and so the Management may well be on their way round to remove them.  I ask you pet!  Whatever next!  They might just as well rip up the carpets, tear down the net curtains, and remove the pictures from the walls.  Doubtless the resulting bare and unprepossessing grey corridors would not be flammable - but neither then would they look like Home!
On the subject of fire, I don't know whether I have told you, dear, about our letter boxes or, for that matter, the roof?  Our letter boxes are protected by TWO metal flaps and this is, presumably, to contain any fire which may break out in a Perfect bedsit.  And this might well be to the good pet, if only said bedsits had windows on more than one wall and weren't situated under a flat roof!  The net effect is to contain the residents inside a virtually sealed box and to bake us like chickens in an oven whenever the outside temperature reaches 25'C and above!  We swelter in frightful conditions, dear, all summer long, and God only knows what this incineration does to the health of those immured behind closed doors with heart and breathing conditions!
A couple of years ago, Pom-Pom and I dared raise this subject with Our Leader who, for some reason best known to himself, reacted like an enraged bull and refused to solicit the opinions of other residents on our floor when asked to do so.  Somewhat scorched by his reaction, Pom-Pom and myself repaired to our rooms to write a letter to Perfect's head office.  This piece of correspondence was, of course, pleasantly worded pet, but left the intended recipients in no doubt whatsoever of the level of our suffering under the roof.  We then had the problem of who was going to deliver a copy of said epistle to Our Leader: Pom-Pom or myself.  Well, after some considerable debate, Yours Truly was finally nominated and off I trotted.  Well, Our Leader practically burst into flames himself when he read it and suddenly shouted - red as the proverbial pillar box ' 'I THINK YOU'LL FIND THAT PERFECT WILL TELL YOU, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU CAN MOVE OUT!'  I don't, myself, think that was the most professional of responses, do you dear?  I think I'lll save my thermometer story to next time pet, as even the recollection of this incident, seems to leave me prostrated!
Aunt Agatha

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