Monday, 11 June 2012

Disposing of their remains . . .

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
Inner Hamlet

My Dear Ralph
I don't know dear.  I have just returned from a session of root canal treatment down at the Inner Hamlet NHS dental surgery, and am in reflective mood.  After my last two perfectly ghastly experiences on these premises, I lay myself down on the seat with the air of one lamb to the slaughter.  'I am petrified,' I announced to the dental practitioner with an air of pathos.  And he replied, 'So am I . . .'  While this remark was not terribly cheering under the circumstances pet, we did smile at one another - and there are times in life when one has to surrender oneself into the hands of another.  I have often thought, in my long career as an NHS patient, that some of the most intimate moments of one's life are spent with the hands of a dental practitioner inside one's mouth.  It's almost like both people are sharing the same potentially harrowing experience unto its conclusion - and achieve a kind of congress of the souls as a result.  I know it is most unlike me, pet, to be telling you all this, but even I occasionally have a more thoughtful moment.
It was stressful dear.  However, when the needles were inserted - one by one - into the tooth's root canals, the pain was not (this time!) severe enough for me to physically grip the dental practitioner by the throat.  I tried to focus on the lights above, and on the radio playing, and on this man's forearm resting on my chest, and on his ribs pressing against my side - and to take even the soldering iron and the general smoke wafting about the nostrils in my stride!
Meanwhile, dear Guthrie has been regaling me with details of his gay stalker!  I must admit that I hadn't realized that the poor man has endured nearly five years of this lurking about - and actual stalking - style of behaviour.  It did sound most hilarious (to one luckily not involved) to hear anecdotes about sightings of the same
car, containing the same set of cronies, zipping from right to left - and then left to right - across multiple junctions and motorway intersections on Guthrie's (long) route into work.  And who would want to get home to a general blaze of headlights in the car park and a view of individuals loitering under street lamps?!  'Are you absolutely SURE they are not dealing in crack cocaine or some other substance?' I enquired, for God only knows what thoughts are passing through the urban headset nowadays.  I have, of course, volunteered to dispose of these individuals for my chum (for less than the usual rate of course) and have a particular plot in mind for depositing the remains!  You know the spot I think pet?  It is that one in Carpool's voluminous cemetery characterized by quite some quantity of Yew trees gloomily dripping upon the general rabbit warren of paths.
Aunt Agatha

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