Wednesday 29 August 2012

Secret Service: EPISODE 65

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
 
My Dear Ralph
I am sorry there has been a hiatus in my correspondence, but I have been otherwise engaged in thoughts about Pom-Pom and in activities related to carpets and tile paint.
I have also recently embarked on some tree work over at Colonel Mustang's extensive premises.  Now I have my tree certificate, I would like to use it.  On my first visit, I was trotted over to a mature Beech tree which was lying prone across the lawn, having snapped off at the base in the recent high winds.  'I wonder if you could identify the fungus sprouting out of the side of this tree?' asked Penelope, the colonel's wife.  Oh dear pet.  I do hate questions of this nature.  I am always so convinced that I will not know the answer!  Luckily however, having studied the blackened excrescence emerging from the bark, I was able to confirm - with some considerable confidence - that the fungus in question was Ustulina deusta.  This particular fungus has a penchant for chomping through cellulose, leaving the tree liable to snapping in the slightest breeze and with very little prior warning.  As there was a very similar Beech tree (standing) in the immediate vicinity of the fallen one I was, of course, keen to assert the possibility of said fungus trotting across to it via a root graft.  'What we need to do' I said, 'is to establish any evidence of decay in this other tree with my extra-long, brad-point, wood drill bits!'   I am particularly keen to try out these items on an actual, real-life, tree.  It should be most exciting generally sniffing the aroma of emergent wood shavings!  Maybe I should practise first on a deceased log?   What do you think dear?
I do wish, however, that I hadn't professed an extensive knowledge of swimming pool maintenance as, with their other gardeners on holiday, I was asked to inspect the pump!  This item had apparently been making noises along the lines of a liquidizer which had been fed a particularly tough leather boot.  Well I locked myself in the pump house and studied the equipment, bracing myself to lift one or two lids and examine the contents.  Somehow, God knows how, a deceased waterfowl of some description had been sucked into the device and all that was required was for me to fish it out!  I must says I was quite flushed with my success and, thus emboldened, thought I'd dive in and swim down to the pool drain situated at what appeared to be the deep end. Oh dear pet!  I think I should have thought to turn the pump off before embarking on an activity of so risky a nature.  I really thought I might never emerge alive as, having applied my nose to the grille - in order to have a really good look - it became obvious that quite some considerable suction was in operation!  And, if it hadn't been for the proximity of the pool ladder, around which I hooked a high heel, I think I would have been altogether extinguished.  I wonder if you could possibly acquire some kind of reference volume for me on this subject - ideally before the start of next week!
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Saturday 25 August 2012

No return hospital . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
 
I am trying to assemble my thoughts dear.  I called round to visit Pom-Pom round at the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex last night, only to find him splayed out on the floor of his flat and surrounded by a pair of paramedics, resuscitation-style equipment, and Our Leader.  I came in through his open front door, just as they were fitting an oxygen mask and taking a trace of his heartbeat on a portable cardiac monitor.  The poor old thing was just about conscious and did recognize me but, of course, not being a blood relative, I didn't have much of a say in the proceedings - nor in any decision regarding whether or not to ship him off to No Return District General Hospital.  Pom-Pom has always been adamant that, under no circumstances whatsoever, was he to be despatched to this fortress-like establishment, some 20 miles distant, but I knew that the dread day, with its huge black inevitability, had to come upon us sometime.  The paramedics shook their head of course, and announced to Our Leader that Pom-Pom had to be taken away.  And the dear old thing assented meekly, for what else was there to do?  The only thing I succeeded in doing was to scoop his elderly tabby cat, Meribel, into a carrier and slink off down the back stairs with her, while the rest of them were pre-occupied with packing a bag and loading Pom-Pom on to a stretcher. (I should wish Pom-Pom to be at ease on this matter as his blood relative, the carnivorous Xanthe, suffers from some kind of cat fur allergy and seems unlikely to invite the unfortunate Meribel into her own household!)  Pom-Pom and I are close you understand; he trusts me and I wish to honour that trust.
I have not in any way used the phrase 'No Return District Hospital' as a misnomer you understand dear.  I had a terrible experience in connection with that place, just a year or so ago, while engaged in visiting my chum Sarah, a lady in her nineties, also ensconced at Perfect.  Again, I was not a blood relative and so had to look on as a most horrifying sequence of events unfolded.  Firstly, it is very difficult to get to this place - and must be even more difficult for any elderly spouse - and, once one does arrive, there is a mile-long walk along featureless concrete corridors, and ascents in large bleak lifts, before one arrives at these 'Care of the Elderly' wards.  I don't know how many times I visited Sarah (five perhaps) but she was always in bed and, as anyone knows, staying in bed, and not ever getting out of it, leads to the progressive weakening of anyone - even of someone with as indomitable a spirit as Sarah.  One is disempowered, both as patient and visitor in these places, surrounded by noise and busyness, and unable to do anything much, except for sit at the bed-side and try to communicate the fact that you do care.  Sarah herself whispered, on one occasion, that it was best not to press the buzzer at night, in order to call for help, because someone was likely to turn up and take the buzzer away!  And I know this type of thing does happen pet because I have done a certain amount of undercover work for The Service in institutions of this type. 
On another occasion, I arrived to find that she had fallen out of bed during the night and her entire arm - from hand to shoulder - was coloured a dark purple-blue as a result her impact on to the floor.  What happens here dear, is that the unfortunate patient calls and calls to go to the toilet and no-one comes.  Desperate, they then endeavour to climb over the cot sides and walk to the toilet themselves.  It is quite a drop from the top of cot sides on to the floor and this is how one sustains massive bruising.  And do you know the most terrifying aspect of all?   This can happen to any of us in old age - and probably will.  I am not quite myself in these reflections pet, I'm sorry.  I hoped never to remember any of it and I hoped that I would never need to describe it.
Eventually, the consultant came along and said (I was there) that, as Sarah was not recovering from her heart failure, he thought the time had come to prescribe her Morphine!  He did ask me what I thought - mistaking me for her daughter - but I corrected him and told him that he should telephone Margaret.  I should have spoken up dear and strongly expressed the view that - as Sarah did not appear to be in pain - that I was strongly opposed to any such idea.  After all, I know more about this subject than most.  
The next time I visited, several days later, Sarah was attached to a  Morphine pump but still able to speak.  Flat out in the bed, with one arm remaining in a heavily-bruised condition, she whispered to me that it was hard to get enough food and drink because she was unable to access her plate or hold a cup.  
I last visited Sarah about a week later.  She was unconscious in the bed, grey, cold, and drenched with sweat.  There was no 'drip' up, only the Morphine pump relentlessly infusing its killer dose.  And who, after all, can survive its sedative effects in the total absence of food and water?  I bent over her and whispered that I loved her and, somewhere in those numbed depths, I felt that she heard me.  At home, that night, I felt as physically close to climbing the walls as I have done in my life.  I phoned the ward in the middle of the night and spoke to the nurse in charge.  I said that I would have preferred my friend to die of her actual condition and not of what surely was dehydration and starvation.  The following morning I learned that she was dead.
I'm sorry pet if I have related to you a story almost beyond the bearing.  I have told it so that you may know the reason why Pom-Pom's disappearance to this self-same place causes me distress to the point of actual anguish.
Yours 
Aunt Agatha       

Friday 24 August 2012

The hunting owl . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
My Dear Ralph
I have been watching (from the top of stepladders) the outdoor activities of dear Chumley, now he has worked out how to exit from the garden by physically climbing the wall.  I must say I was somewhat anxious with regard to his safety at first, but he has certainly proved able to climb with some celerity into the canopy of the Ash tree adjacent to these premises.  And, luckily, Sebastian's pet Eagle Owl must have been off the scene hunting alternative prey as - looking so white and fluffy up in the tree - Chumley does bear an unfortunate resemblance to a young lamb.  Maybe I should acquire (in addition to my own, not negligible, collection of hardware) a rifle with a telescopic sight?  What do you think pet?  Should I observe said bird flapping across the sky with Chumley caught fast in his talons, it may become necessary to use this piece of equipment!
Meanwhile, I am still levering up tens of flagstones with a view to establishing a garden with foliage I can blend in with.
I haven't quite got around to setting up all the overhead wires running from one fence to another, but I am sure I will achieve this in time.  Also, Edith's idea of using human urine as a compost activator, has been most useful, and I have been out there with several early morning jugfuls now!  The one slight snag, which someone mentioned the other day, is that I should have lined the fence inside my improvised compost bin - with plastic sheeting - as the compost product will eventually rot the wood.  On a more uplifing note, it turns out that cats are most fascinated by the scent of fresh Valerian root and that the training of racehorses is often facilitated by the siting of a clump of Comfrey leaves at the finishing post!
How are you faring dear?  Last time we spoke you mentioned the mass painting of a batch of a miniature toy soldiers.  I am not altogether sure that your idea of my whiling away the winter hours, doing something similar myself, will work too well - as I can imagine the paint freezing over in my sitting room once we reach December!
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Wednesday 22 August 2012

Directional felling . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
My Dear Ralph
Owing to exciting events of one kind and another pet, I have not had an opportunity to put pen to paper.  Earlier on in the week, I went off on a jaunt with my co-students to study arboricultural machinery out at Further Niblet.  It was most illuminating, I must say, to actually observe wood chippers and stump grinders in action, and then to have the opportunity to throw branches into the jaws oneself!  The headgear one is required to oufit oneself in - helmet, visor, and ear muffs - seems very effective at muffling the general racket accompanying such activities.  It was actually quite fascinating to be examining stump grinder 'teeth' and to observe someone changing wood chipper blades.  However, the highlight of the day's proceedings, dear, was to be able to ascend some 20m into the sky on a MEWP (Mobile Extending Working Platform)!  It was a trifle disconcerting, I must say, to be hydraulically raised so swiftly up into the air - especially with what appeared to be a vestigial quantity of railings surrounding the basket and no actual harness clipping one on to the side.  However, I did my best to look nonchalant, as you may well imagine, although, when someone waved at me from the ground, I did feel a trifle too gripped to be able to take either hand from the rail in order to wave back!
I have also been beavering away at my studies and trying to gain some elementary knowledge of the safe practices associated with the use of a petrol-driven chainsaw.  The whole thing does seem somewhat abstract - especially to one who, hopefully, will never have to ascend into the canopy of a tree and actually use one!  One whole examination appears to be devoted to the safe use of a winch for directional felling, de-limbing a large tree, and various methods of rescuing tree practioners from out of a tree.  If I succeed on boning up on all this dear, you will certainly know who to call if a tree requires to be felled on your own property!
And, finally, this morning, down at the local apiary, I 'succeeded' in getting stung by a bee.  I do not think that this was altogether my fault, as I was standing in a group of also partially-disrobed beekeepers when a bee flew in through my unzipped veil.  I myself pet, was more than prepared to stand there and wait for the bee to fly out again but, no, another beekeeper snaked his arm into my helmet and squashed said bee into my hair in an effort to extract it!  It is most painful to get stung on the side of the head by a honey bee but, luckily, so far, I do not appear to be the type of person who is in any way susceptible to anaphylactic shock - and so there was no requirement to depart the premises by ambulance!
On a more domestic note, I have been acquainting Chumley with the techniques associated with operating a cat flap and we have had one or two pleasant saunters out in the fresh air together.  I have also been levering up the odd paving slab, lugging about giant bags of compost (you know, I'm sure I saw the back end of the Banger 0.9L sink about 10cm when I loaded up the other day) and threading galvanized garden wire through any number of screw eyes.
Nevertheless dear, I do feel rather lonely out here in the sticks and hope to acquire a human companion of an empathetic kind in the forseeable future.
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Sunday 19 August 2012

Blood orange . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

My Dear Ralph
I am restless at the moment pet; perhaps it's the change in the view and having a whole room to sleep in instead of the 'mortuary drawer' experience back at Perfect.  I think the sheep are now getting used to my bowling past every morning at dawn's early light.  Even the not-so-deaf ewes are starting to remain flat upon the grass, eyes shut, when I go by.  The lambs are certainly putting on a bit of meat, owing to several months of cropping on the grass - and the phrase 'leg of lamb' is taking on an entirely new meaning!  It is rather more difficult to put a forkful of said fare into one's mouth at the dinner table, when one has been looking these animals full in the eye for a whole series of days.
I have also been cogitating, dear, upon various means by which I might cultivate some acquaintances.  And today I decided to call upon one Edith, who organizes weekly meditation sessions at her own demesne.  I had not actually spoken to said individual in person but, for some days now, the poster in her front window has been attracting my attention while passing.  I knocked at the door, dressed in my most suitable frock, at 10am, and the first thing that happened was that part of the knocker fell off in my hand.  I stuffed it back of course pet, into the aperture from which it had apparently come.  Just in the nick of time I may well say, because Edith herself then burst through the opening in a welcome which was somewhat reminiscent of the 'View Halloo' uttered, I imagine, whilst out hunting.  But the most striking aspect of the situation apart from - I might as well add - a head of most unruly white hair, was that she was clearly denuded of one of her front teeth.  White cotton wool was wedged into the space from which this tooth must have come.  And it did glare somewhat from the black backdrop behind it.  I'm afraid I gaped pet, but then, who wouldn't?  Edith, not being one of those people to whom gaping and body language is an irrelevancy, then remarked, 'I impaled it on a blood orange during breakfast and it is still sticking out of the flesh!  I hope you will not think I am less attractive toothless?'  Well what could I say dear.  I naturally assured her - that with or without tooth - she was quite the sort of interesting lady whom I would wish to admit into my own personal fold.  I was ensconced in an armchair for hours while she expatiated on her activities as Outer Hamlet's 'compost ambassador' and other activities of a more arcane nature.  We just took to one another and, do you know, I rather think we will become bosom chums!
And this evening I have been engaged upon my fifth session at an introductory beekeepers' training course.  Kitted out in white-netted 'astronaut' suits, we gathered round a number of hives for a demonstration of how to inspect the frames.  The bees were certainly quite chummy pet and showed no inclination whatsoever to divebomb one's attire.  It was actually most interesting to observe them all scurrying about on their frames of brood.  I think other people did observe larvae at the bases of the cells, but I must get around to the purchase of a new pair of spectacles pet - as it is becoming easier to see things without them!  The men in charge also demonstrated how to remove a swarm safely from a tree, as one had most conveniently materialized on the outermost twigs of an adjacent Turkey Oak.  All one has to do is to spread a sheet under the branch, climb up a pair of stepladders, and snip through the twig holding the swarm.  The bees then drop in a clump on to the sheet and one picks them up, twig and all, and places them into a bee box.  What could be easier?!
Returning to more mundane matters, I went to the local paupers' clothing outlet yesterday afternoon and purchased a lovely pink, gauzy, type of curtain and a rusticated pink and green pair of lined curtains.  I think I am beginning to get the hang of this curtain glider and hook arrangement dear.  The net result of all my efforts is that the bedroom window looks very tasteful all decked out in pink, green, and cream.  And it is certainly advisable to start with the easiest window and leave that giant window to last.  However, I am sure I will crack it in the end!
Yours
Aunt Agatha
   

Friday 17 August 2012

Secret Service: EPISODE 60

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT


My Dear Ralph
I have not had  a very good day dear.  However, despite feeling distinctly peaky - to say the least of it - I tried to show willing and turned up at my Tree Pruning course promptly at 9am this morning.  I hadn't been able to attend last week, owing to heavy involvement in box-packing activities (belongings, not bodies, pet) and seem to have missed out on a session planning how to dismantle the giant oak tree situated alongside the tennis courts.  I am not altogether sure I can tell you what the words 'chogging' and 'snatching' mean, but I believe they have something to do with methods by which large pieces of timber can be lowered out of a tree!  I don't somehow think I will ever actually be practising these pursuits myself; all sorts of kit, in addition to the obligatory chain saw, is required and I personally would much rather be penning a story from the comparative safety of my desk!  I say 'comparative' because the subject of draughts, sat here at said piece of furniture, keeps on capturing my attention.  Anyway, I don't know if I am unduly tired, or what, but it would have taken more than a pair of matchsticks to keep my eyelids propped open on this tree dismembering activity this morning.  Feeling that, at any moment, I might actually slump over the table, I made it as far as the coffee break before easing my way out of the situation and motoring back home.  And, apart from a short excursion to purchase a pair of warm slippers, I have been napping in my reclining chair for the rest of the day.  You know dear, it is not easy to get used to feeling chilly in August when one has been experiencing the opposite extreme at the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex.  Indeed, I do feel a mite envious that the inmates of this establishment will not be having to peel off 17 layers of clothing every night at bed-time - and nor will they be having to endure bathing in 7.5cm of tepid water whenever they feel like washing!  But here I am moaning again.  I have a lot to be thankful for in my new abode: fresh air is certainly not in short supply and Chumley and I have more than one room to walk about in now - plus an actual back door.
Unfortunately, Pom-Pom phoned when I was in the aetiolated condition described above and he appears to be in a virtual state of extremis: left back at the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex all alone.  I was regaled with a lengthy exposition of his plans for ending it all, despite all of them sounding most impractical for a man who can barely exit his armchair unaided.  He described the suspension of self from the light fittings method of auto-annihilation and the leaping from a first floor window method of achieving the same.  I did point out, of course dear, that neither of these methods were all that practical - given, firstly, a very low ceiling and, secondly, a particularly lush-looking lawn on to which he would fall (given that he could fit through the - small - window).  I would speak to the carnivorous Xanthe on this matter if I thought it would help.  But, unfortunately, said daughter has a detestation of Yours Truly which amounts to the nearly homicidal.  Surely there is room for us both, pet, in Pom-Pom's affections?  Speaking of homicidal intentions, one recourse is the possibility of using my Licence to Kill to delete Xanthe and to get Pom-Pom installed in a more healthily-run, and more comforting, establishment.  I have cogitated (at some length) on this option, but one is required - absolutely - to act under licence only and my licence has expired!  And, inevitably, this does mean that I am unable to offer effective aid and succour to a good and decent man in the hour of his greatest need.
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Wednesday 15 August 2012

Gunshot incident . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT


My Dear Ralph
I must confess to feeling somewhat pale and wan today dear; yesterday's gunshot incident is colouring the air!  Whilst I was perambulating across the local fields at some early hour, I unfortunately came upon a sick badger prostrated across the path.  Of course, I had left my mobile telephone at home and, in any event, have no present knowledge of suitable phone numbers to use in such a happenstance.  However, in the distance, I could see what I took to be a farmer motoring about a field on his tractor.  Off I trotted, waving my spotted hankie and hoping that he might glance my way.  No such luck pet.  I actually had to catch up with him before he saw me.  Explaining the situation, and the fact that the poor animal required to be stretchered off to the nearest wildlife hospital, this chap trundled off in the direction of his farm to take appropriate action.  Meanwhile, I was left to trek back to the badger and sit with it while its breathing rasped noisily into the countryside air.  After some 45 minutes or so had elapsed - the latter 20 of which was spent holding the poor animal's paw - the farmer re-appeared over the horizon with a small trailer attached to the tractor.  Imagine my consternation pet, when he got off his machine, broke out his shotgun, and proceeded to blast the animal to pieces in front of me.  Speechless with horror and shock, I watched him load the deceased creature into the trailer and motor off into the distance with barely a glance my way.  I don't know dear.  Quite apart from the generally affecting experience of observing death at close quarters, I was extensively splattered blood and brains from said animal.  I know I am a former operative and all that, but one generally fire's one's gun at the 'other side' and is not actually sat at their bedside holding a paw!  This morning, I set off on my walk practically bristling with wildlife rescue numbers and, in addition, a fully charged telephone.
I have since motored into Inner Hamlet to try to acquire some equipment associated with curtain rails and clothes washing.  I am sure I will get the hang of it in the end dear but, at the moment, I am somewhat flummoxed by the subject of rail gliders, hooks, and tape.  Why is there never anyone else around who knows about such matters?  I have, in addition, purchased an extra large bucket, since I can see that - after treading up and down on the laundry in the bath - I am going to have to transport it somehow to the spin drier!
I can only hope that I will be able to sell my memoirs in order to be able to afford a washing machine in the forseeable future!
Well I am just about to telephone TV licensing again, who seem to have me down as living at both no. 10 and no. 12 Forsythia Grove and paying direct debits at both addresses.  I think this may, originally, have been my fault pet, as I did get my house number wrong when making an on-line application for a television licence.  Since then, however, and despite one telephone call and two emails, I have been unable to succeed in getting them to delete no. 12 Forsythia Grove from their records.  There is no number 12 Forsythia Grove; I am at the end of the row!
Yours, somewhat despondently
Auntie 

Sunday 12 August 2012

Prostration . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT


My Dear Ralph
I must say that I have been sleeping like one deceased this week pet and I fear that this missive may be short!  Recent endeavours associated with moving home are prostrating, especially to a lady of my years who is (almost) past her prime!  I also feel most reluctant to engage in any alternative-style commissions which might require high levels of attention and energy for sleuthing along pavements and loitering, camouflaged, behind trees . . .
However, with Chumley's voice resounding about the eardrums, I did manage to crawl out of bed at around 6am. (I believe this may have something to do with the lack of curtain ware up at the windows and light generally blazing in through the glass.)  I do think a hot water bottle and appropriate draught exclusion measures might be necessary in a stone dwelling of this type during the winter months.  Chumley and I have already had to avail ourselves of the services of our panel heater in order to preserve a vestige of warmth inside these (solid) walls.  I have also had my first go at using the spin drier and, all I can say - subsequent to using my full body weight to pin it down in the hallway - is roll on the day when I can acquire a washing machine!
Meanwhile, I have been for another early walk through the local fields and this time the sheep were all lying down on the grass having a nap.  I have to say though dear, that I really felt so exhausted that I could barely totter to the top of the hill before feeling that the most sensible thing I could do - was to go back home.  And here I am now, admiring a mature Beech tree (luckily situated in someone else's garden) and a Buddleia which is also resplendently in bloom.
I am not altogether sure what to make of the neighbours opposite at the moment.  I think they just may have caught sight of the Banger 0.9L and so may have concluded that I am 'on my uppers' so-to-speak.  And they would most certainly be right!  Never mind though pet.  I am sure I will be able to find one or two nice people who will be willing to speak to me - although I must make sure not to attract the attention of any single gentleman who may also be hanging about the street waiting to pounce on an unwary single lady!
Yours
Aunt Agatha 

Thursday 9 August 2012

My new demesne . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT


My Dear Ralph
I am finally enjoying the pleasures of my new demesne dear!  I can hardly believe my good fortune at having escaped (alive) from the clutches of the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex.  I have Sebastian's kind intervention to thank for this miraculous change of circumstances and I don't like to dwell on it too much because I feel overwhelmed with emotion!
Perhaps this is the moment to express one or two thoughts about 'sheltered' establishments . . .  I am sure there must be places up and down the land where the culture is sound and inmates feel allowed to grow and evolve, even in old age.  However, at Perfect, the opposite situation has seemed to obtain - with an inwards-looking and insecure culture frustrating any attempts in the direction of positive change and creativity.  Our Leader, while himself at least able to call a spade a spade, has seemed to lack both inner security and a wider gaze upon the world.  Any potential suggestions for change have thus, in my opinion, led to reactive aggression and a consequent reluctance, on the part of inmates, to express their thoughts and ideas.  Equally, if not more pernicious, has been the lush character of Our Deputy. This individual has appeared to gush with the kind of false sincerity which she herself equates with goodness. Self deception at its worst.  I am a great believer in one's instincts dear and I believe that sometimes evil is heavily disguised beneath a sugary pink coating.  After all, where would an operative be without this ability to sense the devil at 100m?  Of course, Perfect itself - distantly located - is the most culpable party for it should be a priority to ensure that only staff of the most exemplary calibre are appointed to these roles.  Do your best pet, won't you, to stay out of a place of this nature?   For only personal funds, as far as I can see, will afford protection to the vulnerable.
Dorian, meanwhile, has been down all week and worked like a beaver, upon various DIY-type tasks, to get everything up and running and generally sorted out.  We spent the whole of one afternoon up in the loft laying down bales of rock wool insulation.  This necessitated the wearing of suitable attire since, apparently, this stuff is composed of glass fibres which can have a crippling effect on one's eyes and lungs!  So, kitted out in breathing masks and goggles, we ascended a ladder to give it a go.  It is certainly not easy to either see or breathe when attached to this type of equipment!  But I must say pet, that with most of the rock wool sheathed in some kind of silver space blanket, we only placed ourselves in peril when we had to cut it into lengths to fit the space.  Most of the danger seemed to arise from the clouds of dust and thousands of spiders' webs which littered the arena. 
Chumley is settling in nicely, although the repeated pacing round the sitting room does get on one's wick somewhat.  I will be relieved when he can go out!  In the meantime, I have made up tens of placards with the word 'CAT!' on them and stuck them on all the doors and windows.  It is all too easy to relax one's concentration for a few seconds and throw open a window.  I have one particularly high window which actually requires to be opened using a 3-metre-long pole with a hook on the end of it!  I have visions of whacking a hole in the glass with it dear, and it is certainly quite a pest having it lie full length on the carpet.  I think I must get a set of gun mounts and affix it to the wall!
This morning I have been out for a stroll down to the river.  I took a bag of bread with me, with a view to feeding the swans and ducks, and it was most disconcerting to be accosted by a flock of sheep - all apparently interested in feasting from the bag of bread.  I believe these are elderly animals, with not very good teeth, and this is their last year (before slaughter).  Anyway, I pushed my way down to the water's edge, pursued through the scenery by what appeared to be the whole, loudly baaing, gang.  They gathered about me in much the same way as the swans and one actually had the temerity to paw me with a hoof, in a request for more fodder!  There was one anxious moment when I thought I might actually have to swim across the water in order to get away!
Well that's about it for the moment.  I am about to motor off to a beekeepers' instruction session and, this afternoon, I am trotting down to the Buddhist encampment for a lecture in the Art of Happiness.  I hope you are thriving and look forward to seeing you soon - although, remember pet, I have counted all the tablets in my bottles of medication in the bathroom.  You are not to take any!
Yours
Aunt Agatha


Sunday 5 August 2012

Electric exercise horse . . ..

The Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
Inner Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph
Having bemoaned the absence of interesting happenings to you in my last missive, I now have one or two events to relate!  This morning, Pom-Pom and I discerned the sound of loud sobbing from outside in the hallway.  Reluctantly, and with some trepidation, we decided to investigate.  It was Child, from the premises opposite, clad only partly in a T-shirt and pair of knickers - who was being supported by a rather discomfited-looking male inmate.  (Not that Pom-Pom can talk here, as he was outfitted in a pair of old-fashioned swimming trunks owing to the heat!)  It transpired that the ingress of the electricians to instal a new fuse box - when she is in a chronically frail state of mind - had pushed her over the edge.  (As you will recall, this is the lady who was apparently raped at knife point by a bouncer, and who has been limping about with her arm in a plaster cast.)  Anyway, the supportive male inmate pleaded with me to go off and get Our Leader and I ran off to do so. Our Leader did not look very thrilled when I related these events and said, 'What.  Again!  I think I'm going to need the emergency sedatives!'
It is rather awkward in these cases dear; somehow one wants to be kind and offer up company and assistance but, if one does, it can lead (as I know to my cost) to endless doorbell ringing.  Luckily, Pom-Pom is so generally averse to company of any kind that I wasn't thrown into too much of a dilemma.
Speaking of the dear old fellow, my feelings of anxiety regarding his health and general well-being are growing.  Not only is he sometimes rendered desperate by loneliness - with only a view of trees waving in the breeze from his domain - he is also becoming barely able to walk.  And there is nothing to be done, for he refuses to be sent off on any 'old codgers' luncheon and there is nowhere more generally loving for him to go during the day.  Sometimes he does accompany me down the corridor on my way to the lift.  I limit my stride and he advances, by painful centimeters, hands gripping the bars of his walker.  We always stop by the lift doors, before I go down the stairs, and he says - every time - 'Goodbye darling,' like I count as someone who matters.  Well, he is an upright man in my eyes: compassionate towards animals (and me), interesting, decent and unique.  And I lean towards him, kissing his papery cheek and hugging his bones.
On  a lighter note dear (forgive the outpouring) Docker is thrilled by the arrival of her new electric exercise horse.  I don't know where she is going to put this item, because there
is very little room in these premises, as you know.  I did suggest that she instal some ceiling pulleys and winch it up to the ceiling at bedtime, but she started to look so narked that I decided to desist (one doesn't want to get on the wrong side of Docker)!  Apparently though, this beast emits a powerful electronic 'neigh' and one can do ten kilometers per minute at the gallop!  And I do believe it comes with whip and spur accessories - not to mention a substantial saddle!
Yours
Aunt Agatha  

Friday 3 August 2012

Secret Service: EPISODE 55

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
Inner Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  QY4 2PN


My Dear Ralph
The kitchen fitting schedule is proceeding apace here at Perfect!  Large vans are constantly outside - and the establishment is looking more and more like a building site every day.  I need to buttonhole the electricians about the wonky kitchen light and, over at Pom-Pom's premises, the newly-delivered fridge does not fit into its allotted space and is barely supported on the skirting board.  Pom-Pom himself is looking increasingly frail and frankly on the verge of cancelling any new intrusions into his home, regardless of any tipped-sidewards pieces of kitchen equipment. 
He has always been so strong - mentally - and, although I have rarely said so, impressive as a man of character.  He may well be slightly stooped at the shoulders, and thin, but his head, bereft of much hair, reminds me of Buddha and houses intelligent eyes, like an owl.  Out of doors (when he could still get out of doors) he has preferred a cream linen suit, smart, with a dickie bow tie and a Panama hat.  He has made me think of someone like Kingsley Amis, clad in a loose, almost tropical, suit - albeit always looking down because of numb-feeling legs and the need to see where his feet actually were.  Recently, I have had to persuade him, in a drip-drip kind of way, to purchase a stick, but he hates change and resists with silence and a rebellious glint.  There was to be no change of any kind - with the exception, perhaps, of myself who he took to for some reason, and has almost always let in.  Last week he finally submitted to having his arm chair raised on to blocks.  And now, although he seems to be physically shrinking,  he looks like a man sat on a throne.
So today, what with one thing and another, I thought I would evacuate the establishment for the morning and leave everyone to it.  I had just about reached the town bridge - mounted as usual upon Shank's Pony - when Pom-Pom telephoned to notify me that Our Leader had asked to let the men into my premises in order to turn my neighbour's water supply off.  This made me chuckle a little pet, as the threshold to my own premises, and water fitments, is currently blocked by those kitchen contents which didn't fit into three substantial rent-a-crates!  I don't know.  One can certainly do without this level of upheaval when one is (nearly) past one's prime.  Frankly, I was feeling so discombobulated that I walked straight past the tree under which I was supposed to pick something up this morning.  And, when I did go back, I neglected to remove the yellow ribbon - circumnavigating the tree - in order to confirm that I had indeed carried out my mission successfully! 
Speaking of one's prime dear, I may also have noticed that one or two of the builders (back at Perfect) are also in theirs.  Subsequent to the installation of the new electrical trunk lines in my own domain the other day, I did notice brick dust and electrical wire clippings on my bed - the bed being nowhere near the new fuse box.  I do hope no-one was trying on my nightwear or otherwise snuffling about near my lingerie drawer!  Nevertheless, this possibility did inspire me to go and purchase a new 'baby doll' nightie while I was hanging about town this morning. It is a pale pink shortie decked out with lace, ribbons, and one or two frills!  I do hope the men will like it and perhaps I will be persuaded to model it up and down the hallway later on.  What do you think pet?
I'm sorry this letter is so short Ralph.  Events of an enthralling nature must be happening elsewhere.  The only slightly exciting recent happening is that the alcohol-steeped inmate downstairs apparently had some sort of brainstorm and emerged from his room only to rip all the notices off of the notice board.  When Our Leader was called to remonstrate with him, he apparently called him 'a turd' and retired to his premises, slamming the door behind him.  I believe this resulted in a call from the overall Management the next day and in a second warning notice being sent out!
Yours
Aunt Agatha