Monday, 9 July 2012

Toxin-stuffed crab cakes . . .

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
Inner Hamlet

My Dear Ralph
Thank you for sending me a photo of your recent artistic endeavours pet.  However, I am not altogether sure what to make of said portrait of a headless wax doll, which seems to have been subjected to the influence of a flame thrower.  I know you keep telling me that such works are of no misogynistic consequence (and are the product of a Surrealist influence) but, nevertheless dear, I would keep very quiet about this interest in any dealings you might have with members of the Establishment.  Not, I know, that either of us know any such personnel, except when they impinge upon the extreme fringes of our lives.
Pom-Pom's computer does, unfortunately, seem to have blown up this week and I do feel a mite guilty.  During the course of my researches on the poisoning of that east European dissident who has featured so prominently in the media recently, I did have occasion to consult some 'alternative' web sites which may, or may not, have been secure from the virus/trojan horse/worm point of view.  When we got that nasty, and non-removable, image of a foreign scimitar up on the screen, I'm afraid I did dissemble somewhat and made no mention of sites selling toxin-stuffed crab cakes.  (Pom-Pom can get so easily aggravated at his age!)  Anyway, it is unfortunately the case that it is not possible to 'rescue' the computer owing to permanently corrupted boot-up files on the hard drive.  This is a mite depressing pet.  One of Pom-Pom's nephews has been along to collect the dead device, with a view to - eventually - installing a new hard drive.  Heavens only knows when this will now happen and, in the mean-time, Pom-Pom has sunk into a deep furrow of despair and not even the mention of chocolate has been able to rekindle the light in his eye.  I, myself, have had to resort to using my new machine - and to actually copying files and printing them out: totally unaided!
Today's only highlight has been a visit to Bright Litton on the bus.  I made my way to the Bowl (located, as you will recall - during our last rendezvous - on the banks of the river) for today's talk on the culture and geography of Laos, and found myself at the threshold of a huge, darkened, auditorium with synthetic green leaves blowing about in an overhead net.  It was a positive joy (and a great change from the setting here at Perfect) to find myself surrounded by intelligent-looking people.  That vague feeling that I am constantly surrounded by individuals bearing a distinct facial resemblance to weasels - totally disappeared (if only momentarily).  I found a very nice lady at the membership desk, who kindly invited me to join the club, and handed me an events sheet.  And now the world is my oyster pet!  I really can't make up my mind whether to embark upon 'Haute Couture for the Older Lady' or 'Pictorial Methods for Entrapping a Soul Mate.'  What do you think dear?
Aunt Agatha

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