10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE ZY6 4GT
My Dear Ralph
Terrible tidings pet! The Banger 0.9L is practically deceased! I received the news subsequent to its departure for that rather annoying annual inspection: the MOT. Items called the 'rear radius arms' have expired and apparently one cannot continue motoring without their replacement - replacement, I might add, which will cost practically all my remaining funds. I have naturally examined all my options and they include: walking to Colonel Mustang's, bicycling to Colonel Mustang's, and replacing the Banger 0.9L with a similarly suspect vehicle, costing virtually zero to purchase. Winter will soon be upon us pet and I think bicycling will, at the very least, involve acquiring a waterproof outfit, a helmet, and a fluorescent waistcoat. Also, how would one be able to carry necessary equipment? I have in mind such items as steel-capped boots, shears, loppers and a long-handled brush cutter! At present, my best bet seems to be consideration of a role as 'Lady of the Night' - but would anyone want me - bearing in mind (hard to mention as it is) my age, French pleat and plum nail extensions? The only slight glimmer of hope featured while I was purchasing provisions at Economy Fare just now, when I happened to bump into Kismet and her son Samuel. And she has offered to loan me her bicycle! I am not altogether sure how much assistance this item will prove to be as Samuel was most insistent on the subject of lack of brakes and an absence of gears. However, it is only a few kilometers to Colonel Mustang's and the bicycle does have a basket! Surely I can do this dear? After all, the road does appear to be mostly on the flat - especially when one considers the vista from behind the windscreen of the Banger 0.9L.
If I seem slightly incoherent this evening pet, it is because I have been consuming an alcoholic repast subsequent to my deliberations. With stress levels rising to a red and critical point, I sallied forth to purchase a bottle of the cheapest possible bottle of plonk at Economy Fare. However, I discovered, upon my return to Forsythia Grove, that the type of cork used to seal the bottle would not then re-fit into said bottle once removed. I think it may be made of plastic dear. In fact, rather than use cling film to cover the open end, I first resorted to shaving the edges off it with my Stanley knife - and then to quaffing the lot!
The subject of bottles does, actually, remind me of my time spent trying to contact our agents in Moscow (back in the decade of 'Flower Power' in our own country). Our KGB-trained double agents had an astonishing penchant for the usage of esoteric signals - strategically placed on window sills and door lintels. One would endeavour to plan a rendezvous, only to discover one was following a trail of ginger beer bottle tops and rusty nails and such-like! And, of course, one could not deploy the use of even the most remote of dead letter boxes because we were on the very training territory of the KGB agents themselves. And what they didn't know about suitable such sites could be written on a mini microdot! I remember one perfectly frightful day. We were due to meet up with some intending defector or other and sauntered past the meeting place - as planned - both of us munching on a Mars bar. Our contact was there, loitering on the arranged stretch of pavement but, unfortunately, the KGB had sprinkled the soles of his shoes with radio-active dust that same morning! Well, of course, all we could hear as we, and they, passed in opposite directions - at practically the same moment - was the most extreme sound of crackling from their Geiger counter!
Yours
Aunt Agatha
The subject of bottles does, actually, remind me of my time spent trying to contact our agents in Moscow (back in the decade of 'Flower Power' in our own country). Our KGB-trained double agents had an astonishing penchant for the usage of esoteric signals - strategically placed on window sills and door lintels. One would endeavour to plan a rendezvous, only to discover one was following a trail of ginger beer bottle tops and rusty nails and such-like! And, of course, one could not deploy the use of even the most remote of dead letter boxes because we were on the very training territory of the KGB agents themselves. And what they didn't know about suitable such sites could be written on a mini microdot! I remember one perfectly frightful day. We were due to meet up with some intending defector or other and sauntered past the meeting place - as planned - both of us munching on a Mars bar. Our contact was there, loitering on the arranged stretch of pavement but, unfortunately, the KGB had sprinkled the soles of his shoes with radio-active dust that same morning! Well, of course, all we could hear as we, and they, passed in opposite directions - at practically the same moment - was the most extreme sound of crackling from their Geiger counter!
Yours
Aunt Agatha
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