Wednesday 28 November 2012

Bone paste . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
 
My Dear Ralph
I am so glad you are out pet; I feel released back into the freedom of more 'ordinary' confidences! 
Here in rural Corsettshire, we are about (thank God) to exit the season of leaf sweeping and enter that of shrub pruning.   I must say that leaning on, and pulling against, that rake seems to have been responsible for my latest bout of spinal extremis.  Not that this summer's experience of weeding has been all that much better.  I have practically worn my knee joints into bone paste extracting Hairy Bittercress from the borders over at Sir Murgatroyd Hoppe's.  Have I mentioned this personage to you before dear?  I think he may have entered my life when you were off the scene, so to speak.
Some months ago, when I was perusing a local website, I just happened to notice that the Hoppe Valley Hotel was seeking additional aid in the form of summer weeders in their landscaped gardens.  So, of course, I immediately decided to motor over and apply for said position (concealing the Banger 0.9L behind a handily-located Cedar of Lebanon).  And I was on time pet!  However, there was absolutely no sign of Sir Hoppe at his residence just inside the gate pillars.  You'd think said individual would have the decency to turn up promptly wouldn't you dear?  Well I hovered about inside the vestibule - even at one point thumping loudly (several times) on a giant brass knocker I could see stationed on the exterior of the front door.  Silence.  Eventually, I resorted to phoning him up on the telephone installed on his own reception desk!  The result this produced was that a rather puce-faced Sir Murgatroyd Hoppe whipped open the door and demanded why I hadn't actually used the door bell!  Well, I don't know dear.  I hadn't actually seen it, concealed as it was behind several thousand Wisteria sinensis stems to the left of the paintwork.  And then, just to add insult to injury, he called to his wife from the hall, 'Do you know Annabel, we've actually got someone here who doesn't know how to use a door bell!'
Hmmph.  I was fuming pet as you might well imagine.  I screeched to a halt on their polished parquet floor and said,
'I naturally thought you would be good enough to be within earshot of your very own door knocker at the time of our appointment.  And, furthermore, at least I had the initiative to dial you up from the exterior of the premises.'  I did rather think dear, that this might be the end of our interview as our mutual feathers were certainly ruffled at this point!  However, I should imagine that he gathered - just from looking at me clad in my best James Bond attire - that I would be just the lady to wield a giant pair of petrol-powered hedge cutters and shear some kilometers of Yew hedge!  'Hrrrmph' he said, 'Let me take your coat for you dear lady.'  So off we toddled into his dining room, where we commenced our discourse and where it ultimately turned out that he really is very fond of his garden.  Quite despite myself, I found myself declaring that he was actually a very sweet human being (and I never thought I'd ever be uttering such words during our debacle in the hall).  He must have liked me somewhat pet because I have been let off hedge cutting and allowed to confine my attentions to weeding and edging!
I hope you are recovering from your bout of incarceration and in-cell intimidation nephew?  It must be much warmer in your own demesne where you will now be able to keep your dalek-design duvet wrapped upon you on the bed!  
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Saturday 24 November 2012

Licenced to Kill . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
I think the confidential information I expressed to you in my last missive may have been breached, favourite nephew.  I received a visitation from the Outer Hamlet 'special branch' in the early hours of yesterday morning, and was asked to attend the Central Opolis police station.  Naturally (dear) it took some while to exchange my night-time attire - a long beaver fur jacket with multiple zippers - for the suave outfit recognized as 'pukka' by those individuals in authority more limited in imagination.  Down at the Cop Shop, and interrogated by one Beagle and his side-kick Piles, I was asked whether my Glock hand gun and my high velocity rifle were actually registered?  The nerve of some people pet!  Deploying my most basilisk-like stare, I quoted the 25-digit-long reference numbers listed on the registration certificates -  and suggested checking with the UK Gun Registration authority.   It was then intimated that I was actually planning an illicit killing (your cell mate I presume . . . ).  I leaned forwards pet, pressing my lips together into their firmest line, and replied: 'It may not be well known to my nephew, or to anyone else, but when engaged upon "special missions" I do still retain my Licence to Kill.'   Honestly dear.  It took quite some hours, and a level of emailing to SIS, before my name was cleared and I could leave!
To change the subject utterly, I then motored over to visit poor Pom-Pom who is still 'incarcerated' in No Return District General Hospital.  He looked worse (half-sitting in bed, very pale, eyes closed) and I was in receipt of a couple of accounts from him about having to try to eat lunch while lying flat in bed.  As far as I could tell, no-one had tried to stand him up - or sit him out in a chair - on this ward either.  His eyes were gunked up with a conjunctivitis-like discharge and I had a go at soaking off some of the crusts sealing his eyes shut.  A friendly nurse, clad in a navy blue dress, did appear at this point with the drugs trolley and she gave me his two bottles of eye drops (left eye and right eye) to dispense.  This did at least make me feel included.  I asked her about sitting in the chair and she told me that Pom-Pom's bottom was too sore for him to be able to do that.  Well he has just spent some weeks lying in bed!
Later on, while waiting for two health care assistants to turn him in bed, I noticed the magnetic white board outside in the hall.  Pom-Pom has the green 'ready for discharge' button up on the row applying to him.  I asked a passing nurse about discharge to community hospitals.  She was very helpful and told me that, if you live in Corsettshire, you are likely to end up one of two destinations.  And, if you live in Littonshire, you are likely to wind up in one of three destinations . . .  These counties are very big pet and one can end up driving miles and miles to visit a relative or friend.  (Heavens knows what happens for people who don't have a car.)  I looked at the nurse and she said, 'I know. It's the system.'  And what a horrifying system it is.  Pom-Pom simply sighed and said, 'I don't know where it's all going to end.'  
How does national care of the elderly regress into such a state as this?  Each small town quite patently needs its own small community hospital/ward so that the elderly person not in need of acute medical treatment has somewhere to go near to the people who care about him or her.  As things stand, hundreds of people spend weeks log-jammed inside No Return District General Hospital - moved endlessly from ward to ward - with absolutely nowhere to go that would be good for them!  I think I need another calming down tablet pet as, coming hard upon the heels of my trip to the Cop Shop, I am feeling a little frayed. 
On a lighter note, I have equipped myself with all the items I need to make some Christmas cards.  These include: the cards(!), glue, oil pastels, charcoal and feathers.  My idea at the moment is to feature robins, owls, and buzzards all in the act of ripping apart some prey!  I am quite patting myself on the back over this notion - despite the slight lack of artistic ability which may hamper my endeavours.  Certainly I need to rip apart something (legally) as I am feeling as cross as it is possible to be!
Take care dear.
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Wednesday 21 November 2012

High-velocity rifle . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
My Dear Ralph
I am trying to keep my eye on the sights so-to-speak, owing to having been stricken with agonizing stiffness of the lower back.  Never attempt to carry a wheelbarrow laden with shorn branches up a long flight of stone steps is my advice to you - assuming you ever exit your present premises that is!
Aren't there any actual staff over at Small Cell gaol pet?  It doesn't seem de rigeuer (if that is the appropriate phrase) for your cell mate to requisition all your blankets for his own use!  You really should have taken me up on my offer to give you martial arts lessons (free) for, if you had, you would not be feeling so helpless now.  If things deteriorate any further, you had better equip me with his description, so that I can pick him off in the exercise yard with my high-velocity rifle!  (I do hope no-one else is reading my missives dear; do let me know if the envelope seal appears to be tampered with). 
Meanwhile, I went off on a long walk to Shoe Magna with my chum Zelda the other day. She has recently taken early retirement from the 'Explosives Sniffer' section of the police force with her bloodhound, Zipper.  And the reason for this retirement is because she has started to suffer from problems with her balance and co-ordination.  I did not actually realize how bad this problem was until we got back from this outing with myself being the only uninjured person!  First of all we were tramping down some muddy slope or other and I heard a thump (and a scream) immediately to my rear.  It was Zelda, who had slipped and bounced on to her nose on the turf.  Well it would have been funny pet, had it not been for the fact that she was prone on the ground and in an obvious state of distress.  'This keeps on happening,' she wept as I patted her back and adjured her to stay put until she felt composed.  Why is it always at these precise moments that a crowd of hillwalkers come round the corner and commence gaping at the scene?  Standing by Zelda's side - and chirping that we did not require to be evacuated by helicopter - I waved them past.  And, once the blood and dirt had been mopped off Zelda's nose, we were ready to continue.  However, she had lost confidence and, for quite some time, we had to proceed choo-choo style (her behind me and with one hand on my shoulder) until she could carry on, unaided.
And then, about half-an hour later, Zipper disappeared under the gate to a farmhouse and, almost immediately, the most piteous screams (his) ensued, from a position just out of sight.  Naturally pet, I just craned my head over the fence from a safe distance, as Zelda does not know about my past and is not aware that I always have a Glock hand gun stashed about my person.  Most fortuitously, it turned out that a cat (going by the name of  'Slasher') was more than capable of carrying out a vigorous defence of his territory.  In fact, it was greatly amusing to see said Slasher advance, slashing the air before him, with an extended front paw!  Having an animal such as this in one's pack would have been a great asset during any parachute drop into enemy territory I must say.  However, I covered up my musings as best I could, grabbed Zipper by the collar upon his emergence - also bleeding from the nose - while Zelda extended her apologies to the farmer's wife.  This lady was actually most helpful and, remarking that Slasher had seen off any number of dogs over the years, she hastened in to get the bottle of Hibisol she keeps for dog First Aid!   'What a wonderful cat,' I couldn't help from remarking.  'I don't suppose he is for sale?  I think the SIS could put him to very good use out in the field!'  Both the lady and Zelda herself gave me a very odd look at this point as, in my enthusiasm, I had almost given myself away!
Well dear.  That's about all for now.  I have parcelled up a skipping rope for you, so that you may keep warm in your cell overnight without a host of goose bumps breaking out!
Yours
Aunt Agatha



Saturday 17 November 2012

A powerful jet . . .

10 Forysthia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
My Dear Ralph
I thought I'd try to cheer you up, dear, with a description of my evening down at the Ultra Arts Venue.  Thank you for your telephone message by the way.  You must try not to get too anxious about the cell mate with the unbending stare.  Surely, after all, they would not pair you up with someone who repeatedly extinguishes their 'room' partner?  My advice is to desist from shaving, in case his proclivities tend more towards the amorous!
Now, where was I?  Ah yes.  As you know, I sometimes volunteer down at the above-named arts venue and they usually ask me to operate the door-opening buttons and hand out event programmes.  However, yesterday they asked me to be the Fire Warden!  Well I immediately busied myself about the building counting fire hoses, smoke detectors and fire extinguishers because, as you know dear, in life one must be prepared for every eventuality!  My seat in the auditorium was by the rear fire exit and also most opportunely positioned near a large red fire hose.
The musical ensemble gathered before us on the stage hailed, I believe, from some region in the Balkans and comprised seven musicians all playing a different musical instrument.  I myself am not terribly familiar with the identity of such apparati but I think I may have recognized a mandolin, a violin, an accordion, drums, a double bass, clarinet and an electrical guitar. Does that add up to seven pet?  I must say that the girl playing the clarinet had quite exceptional abilities and there were moments when I could almost feel my brow knit with the compassion and joy which her playing invoked.  This may sound rather silly to you dear, but it is not everyone whose playing can touch the human heart - and I made a point of thanking her, in the interval, for the ravishing beauty of her performance.  I did also manage to quaff one or two units of wine at the bar during the hiatus, which I hope nobody noticed!
It was during the second half that I happened to notice one or two curls of smoke wafting out of the amplifier used by the electrical guitar player.  And then flames!  Well, of course pet, I immediately became alert to my duties as Fire Warden and bounded out of my seat in the direction of the fire hose.  This implement was quite delightfully easy to unreel I must say, and I dashed down the steps of the auditorium with almost all of it engorging like a proverbial python behind me.  Of course, one does have to turn the distal spigot on and this I did the moment I was in striking distance of the conflagration.  A powerful jet of water emerged from the metal nozzle and, as it zapped into the casing of the amplifier, there was a most blinding flash and the entire thing exploded!!  Oh dear me pet!  It later transpired that I should have been using the appropriate form of fire extinguisher as voltage from an electrical device is apparently most hugely conducted in a solid jet of water!  I myself was most fortunate only to have my French pleat slightly frizzed and this turned out to be due to the wearing of rubber-soled shoes.  (Usually, as you know dear, I like to deport myself in stilettos but the dress code at the Ultra Arts Venue is really quite severe.)  However, I have learned a thing or two this evening - knowledge kindly dispensed by the Outer Hamlet fire crew - and one of them is to use a hose on a 'sprinkle' setting if one absolutely has to use water when fighting an electrical fire.  (You are probably aware of this pet, but an interrupted stream of water is less electrically conductive than a full-on jet!)  Anyway, I may have been on the receiving end of one or two black looks from Anton and Giles, who are the joint front-of-house managers at Ultra.  Well, I do feel that their briefing should have been more explicit and I myself have been more than a little inconvenienced!  I spent the remainder of this evening peeling scorched - wet - clothing off of my own person at home and will have to visit French Pleats at their earliest convenience in the morning!
Yours
Aunt Agatha
P.S.  Chin up pet.  You will be out soon!

Friday 16 November 2012

Secret Service: EPISODE 85

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
 
My Dear Ralph
How are you getting on pet?  I am thinking of you you know, in your cell at Small Cell gaol, and am sorry to hear that 'lights out' are enforced at 2100 hours and that someone has misappropriated your television set.  I am also trying to be a model auntie here and not engage in correspondence of a too enthralling nature given the possibility of there being 'snoops' at point of receipt!
It was during some discussion of bandages, recently, that I started to recollect the days of the London 'Routemaster' buses.  These were the red ones, you might recall, with curved contours and big round headlights.  Their most exciting, and defining, characteristic was the rear platform one could jump upon while swinging from the white 'bandaged' pole also at this end.  I believe there were any number of cases of people missing the platform and sliding beneath the wheels.  And the whole dash for the bus had an element of thrill about it, which is now entirely missing from the sedate entry on to and exit from today's buses with boring sealed doors. These buses were manned (or 'personned' in today's vernacular) by a driver and a conductor equipped with a ticket machine.  Those were the days dear and it is sad that you have missed them!
I also recall that weekend, some twenty years ago, when my chum Joyce and I set out for the Isle of Wight (from Fulham in south west London) on our bicycles.  It may sound ridiculous now - given the fact that we were in our early forties at the time - but I believe we were decked out in 'hot pants' and 'platform soles' for this marathon trip.  What on earth we were thinking, I can't imagine.  Perhaps we were still hoping to attract the attentions of some suitable male en route?  Anyway, my outfit was definitely violet in hue and I was mounted upon a type of bicycle called a Moulton Mini.  I don't know whether you have ever seen one of these conveyances have you pet?  It has very small white tyres and only three gears and is not the sort of bicycle one should ever attempt to travel further than the corner shop on.  Joyce, of, ever with the eye to advantage, was in possession of a much more normal item which was equipped with five gears.  This trip, from my point of view, turned into the complete horror story.  As we toiled up the steep incline leading to the 'Devil's Punch Bowl,' I became more and more aware of a nasty, chafing, rash on the inside of both my thighs.  And, at an increasing distance, ahead, was the annoying sight of Joyce's muscular calves pounding up to the summit.  I was so cross actually dear, that I determined at this point to take the first possible opportunity to catch a train the rest of the way!  In fact, the only highlight (that still fills my heart with glee) occurred when Joyce was sailing effortlessly downhill with a grassy bank to one side.  Deliciously, her water bottle fell off the bicycle's diagonal strut and rolled for some hundreds of metres down said bank.  In fact it was quite out of sight and even the redoubtable Joyce was quite puce in the face after some tens of minutes looking for it!  
More recently dear, my chum Entwhistle and I motored over to one of the Relais & Chateaux chain of hotels to treat ourselves to a deluxe repast.  And deluxe it certainly was!  I don't know if they are familiar with the sort of customer who arrives in the Ford Escort style of motor but, if they weren't, they certainly hid it well.  The whole environment was so overwhelmingly first class that, for one or two moments, I felt slightly unnerved.  It is so many years since I have had the funds, or fortune, to access and spend in such an establishment.  Entwhistle, too, looked slightly uncomfortable as he spread a table cloth size of white linen napkin across his lap.  I did wince slightly when the sommelier arrived and Entwhistle asked for a 'grape juice' but I, too, was floundering and wondering what to ask for.  Anyway, the food was exquisitely prepared, and presented, and we were seated in surroundings unmatchable in opulence and elegance.  The service, too, was estimable in its grace and courtesy and I can, unhesitatingly, say that it was, without doubt, the best dining experience I have had for quite some decades.  I have Entwhistle to thank for it all, too, as it was  his suggestion and, owing to a recent windfall, he was kind enough to pay for most of it!  I won't bore you, pet, with a description of the hors d'oevres, the starters, the main course, the dessert, or the petit fours  because, for all I know, over in Small Cell gaol, you are subsisting on a diet of porridge and cream crackers, all washed down with a glass of tap water!  When is your release date again?
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Wednesday 7 November 2012

Kok kok kok . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
 
My Dear Ralph
I'm sorry to hear pet, that you are about to be imprisoned for fomenting civil discord on the streets of Bright Litton.  Is that really illegal?  It is not as if you were committing treason!  It may also be rather annoying should the content of our epistles come to the attention of the Small Cell prison guards!  I will be sure to secrete some extra package or other into your large box of birthday chocolates next month - after you have settled in.
As for myself, I have been engaged in one or two activities over at Colonel Mustang's.  Yesterday, armed with a stout pair of loppers and red leather gauntlets, I decided to 'thin' one or two very tall roses.  These plants were resplendently 'blooming' with scarlet rose hips and a most beautiful sight indeed - especially when pruned to a more architectural shape.  Pet, they towered over the surrounds of wet leaves and long grasses and quite astounded the eye.  
However, during the course of manipulating the ladder, I detected an ample form, clad in a green camouflage outfit, melting towards me through the trees.  I stared, suspiciously, for my training as an operative has not quite abandoned me.  This Percival person, from the farm down the road, announced that he, and a bunch of comrades, were about to descend upon the premises in order to do some pheasant shooting.  So I thanked him for the information and declared that I would retreat to a more visible location - not wanting to end the day full of lead shot and departing, myself, for No Return District General Hospital.  And shortly after this a whole cohort of Percivals arrived on the scene in their 4x4's and landrovers.  By this time dear, I had had second thoughts about the need to remain inconspicuous.  Why not, after all, use this opportunity to practise my native Indian tracker skills?  I could definitely espy an individual bringing up the rear, periodically brandishing a yellow flag.  He seemed the
perfect target for my attentions.  So, gathering up an armful of snipped boughs,  I crept off after him (upwind of the dogs, not being the complete nitwit at large!) and made quite some ground.  And eventually, at a location proximate to the bonfire, I chirruped in his ear, 'Now dear, I am not a bird you know.'  It would have been funny, and I was all set for a burst of mirth, had not - at that very moment - a pheasant broken from cover, emitting the 'kok kok kok' sound for which they are renowned, together with that 'explosive wing clapping' you read about in books!  (I do hope you didn't mistake the title of my missive for anything else did you pet??  And that it didn't lead you to read thus far, with a more than usual degree of enthusiasm?)  Anyway, the pheasant was winging it directly towards me and I was impelled to throw self plus rose branches into the bonfire.  What I looked like given the fact that said branches were adorned in thousands of what looked like drops of blood, I will leave to imagine!
I decided that my most sensible course of action, at this point, was to retire from the fray and head for my desk in the chipmunk hut.  Colonel Mustang had, after all, asked me to consider the subject of discounts when the gardens open, for the first time, to the public next year.  I have had a few ideas now and I would like you to consider them.  My first innovation is going to be the introduction of a 'green' concessionary rate.  This will be given to anyone who possesses the initiative to either cycle, or walk, up the drive - leaving any motor vehicle on the road.  Secondly, I think we will offer a concession to ex-offenders/sufferers from severe mental health conditions - with a preference for anyone recently released from Broadmoor or Rampton.  And, finally, we could offer a discount to anyone able to identify the (obscure) horticultural specimen I present, in a jam jar, on the cash desk!  For who, I wonder, will be able to identify a shoot from the Katsura tree (otherwise well known to us all by the name of Cercidyphyllum japonicum)!  I don't know what we are going to do about access to toilet facilities.  Perhaps the ladies can be shown to the shrubby laurel to the left of the gate and the gentlemen will be able to use the facilities up against the Bird Cherry tree.  I must say dear that, by these methods, I might quite enjoy my sojourn down at the pay desk!
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Sunday 4 November 2012

A dented front . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
Rain
My Dear Ralph
Rain - and indeed snow - has been engulfing Outer Hamlet all morning and I have just swished along to the local coffee outlet clad in green wellies and my Nepalese hat (complete with plaits).  There is something very beguiling about entering warmth and having the ears engaged by a voice singing of its beauty from the overhead speakers.  And a triple chocolate brownie has just now added to the melting effect I am now experiencing!
Today I have paid riveted attention to a long news monograph on the subject of road tyres.  It transpires pet - and I did not know this - that the stopping distance of one's motor vehicle - is up to ten times (TEN times!) longer when outfitted in 'budget' tyres than it is when outfitted in the 'premium' version.  This is absolutely shocking don't you think?  It does make me cross that one attends these tyre emporiums without anyone making the slightest effort to inform the customer of these facts!  I think back, with a shudder, to the number of times that I have skiied (inside the Banger 0.9L) along the lanes in winter and almost come to grief!  And matters are not all that much better in summer when, the view obscured by tall hedges, one rounds a corner - perhaps at a slightly excessive speed hrrrmph - and comes nose to nose with a combine harvester!  A decent set of tyres seem to be an absolute necessity under this set of conditions and I am most cross that we are setting out with four BUDGET tyres affixed to the wheels! 
One would-be highlight (occurring since yesterday) is that my new washing machine arrived, stacked inside a lorry.  It was just my luck pet, that it turned out to have a large dent in the front and I had to refuse it!  And that wasn't the only problem.  After I opened my front door - just prior to delivery - I discovered that it wasn't possible to shut it again due to the swollen wooden flashing (rain) beneath it.  Well I galloped off to find a hammer and chisel, and then spent quite some minutes shaving wood strips off, in order to lever the door over the obstruction.  And then - when the men turned up - I discovered that I couldn't then re-open the door!  I had to shout out of the first floor window dear, that they would have to batter it down from the outside if they wanted to get in with said washing machine!  I felt quite flushed and panicky over it all, at first thinking that I would have to go to bed with the front door open and then thinking that I was going to be trapped inside the house for the rest of the weekend! 
I hope you are having a better time of it all pet?  Luckily, you are not yourself in possession of a motor vehicle and doubtless your Doc Martin boots have a quite significant grip upon the pavement - whatever the weather conditions which assail us!
Yours
Aunt Agatha 


Saturday 3 November 2012

Whiskers and jowliness . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
 
My Dear Ralph
I am feeling rather forlorn here all alone pet - for what feels like my millionth evening!  I can certainly understand why people experience difficulty locating a companion when their years advance and there is an increased tendency to corpulence, general whiskers and jowliness abounding upon the facial features.  Not you dear.  Me.  You are still brim full of youth's Spring sap!  I have just resorted to a trip to Economy Fare in order to get a sighting of one or two members of the human race (not to mention a box of fresh cream chocolate eclairs)!  I was, at least, hailed by Pamela, my friend from the cultural society, who was entering just as I was leaving.  I naturally enquired how her recent romantic liaison was proceeding - although I did conjecture that things were still going rather well from my sighting of an abundance of shiny nail varnish, magenta in hue, adorning all ten of her fingernails.  She also had a slight limp.  Of course, blisters do result from unaccustomed totterings about in high heels but, there again, it could be due to activities of a rather more exciting nature!  Anyway, I feel most disgruntled about everything and could even welcome an outing with Dorian  (now returned from his sojourn in Japan) for a bout of nipple nuzzling.  I know I have been rather scathing about this in the past dear, but at least it is a sign of some slight interest in my own person!
I have also braced myself to make another visit to Pom-Pom in No Return District General Hospital.  As you will recall pet - if you have been paying attention - poor Pom-Pom was skiing down the proverbial 'slippery slope' when I last attended this establishment.  However, on this occasion, he was thankfully more alive than dead.  His voice was louder, stronger, and clearer and, on this occasion, he did acknowledge that he'd rather live than die.  Sometimes the frail and depressed elderly person just needs help to eat and - in particular - drink!  I realize that these situations are complex and that nobody lives forever.  And I know that, sometimes, the human costs of 'treatment' can outweigh the benefits, but some old people are so mentally tough that they can rally with a bit of help.  Anyway, he was able to drink unaided and didn't require a beaker, equipped with straw, to complete this manoeuvre.  He also showed some interest in choosing food from the next day's menu.  Things are looking up! 
Well dear.  I am planning to take the Banger 0.9L for an outing to charge the battery tomorrow.  And am also off for a  Scotch Egg evening in one of the local public houses.  I have persuaded my friend Candice to attend this with me as one can feel like somewhat conspicuous showing up alone!
Yours
Aunt Agatha