Friday 5 April 2013

Postscript . . .

Author's note

Well I am done now I think.  One hundred and five episodes (105) are enough for anybody to write - and read!

You can read my story from the beginning if you go into the blog archive on the right-hand side bar.  It starts in April 2012.  My passion is justice.  My theme has been goodness, and its antonym, evil.

For those of you are interested in such things, some rough viewing statistics (November 2016) are as follows: US - 1724; UK - 1274;  Russia - 683; Germany - 245; France - 266;  Poland  - 261; Mauritius - 201; Netherlands - 160; Ukraine 92;  China - 35, and Slovenia - 26. 

 With the exception of south America and Africa (nil views) I have had views from countries all over the world.  I hope this has been due to placing a translation widget on the side bar!

I haven't used the social media (Facebook, Twitter, Linked In etc) in any way.  Partly this is because I don't know how to(!) but also it is due to feeling that I'd like viewers to be 'real' in some way - and not generated by the need for us all to 'follow' each other. 

I am grateful, however, for the readership I have had; your presence in the ether has supplied a continued motivation to write.

Evangeline

Wednesday 3 April 2013

Secret Service: EPISODE 105

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
My Dear Ralph
I have been sitting here for quite some while.  I think I may have been trying to concentrate the forces required to write this final epistle.  Comedy is, after all, a well-known antidote to what is, often, the deadly arena of life.  I am not going to go into detail here - as I have, indeed, barely mentioned my long career in the Service - but I seem to have spent most of last year with my foot on the neck of evil.  And now, I may, I think, finally have broken the neck of it.  This saddens me dear, for one does not ever wish to set out upon the path of Nemesis.  I used to think, like Christ perhaps, that one should 'turn the other cheek' and react compassionately to manifestations of darkness.  But, if there is one thing I have learned over the decades, it is that evil does not respond well to any demonstrations of goodness, kindness and love.  Evil is playing by different rules and can, I believe, only be stopped by some expression of force.  So, I have gone (reluctantly) beyond my own self and opposed the dark force, driven it before me, and struck possibly a mortal blow.  I cry dear, for the loss of a goodness that never was.  I place my full stops.  I place them carefully.  I am elliptical, doubtless, but aren't we all occupying hidden worlds?  Aren't we all swept by currents whose meaning we can barely comprehend?  Only follow the light pet is all that I can say.  Follow it as best you can.
Meanwhile, this year - last year - I have made some friends of decent character.  Dear Guthrie attended yesterday and we engaged in a peregrination round the local countryside and munched on pie in a fine eatery.  In a day or so, I will be meeting up with the equally decent Entwhistle for a tour of 'winter' city gardens.  And then there is Tom, who is a water sports enthusiast from Bright Litton.  Life force perhaps, or intellect.
I lay my sword to earth.  And the hilt, I see it quiver.
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Tuesday 2 April 2013

A good man . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT
My Dear Ralph
Today I received a telephone call from Marian, Pom-Pom's sister.  The dear old fellow apparently died at 4.00am this morning.  Frankly dear, I am relieved that his long struggle is finally over.  Indeed a whole era is over.  He was that rare thing in our society: a good man, and I will miss him.
Marian did ask me if I would like to attend his funeral, but I said I felt that the redoubtable Xanthe would not welcome my presence at this event - and that Pom-Pom and I had said all that we needed to say to one another while he was alive.  Of course, that still leaves Meribel, Pom-Pom's cat, whose care I took over when he was no longer able to safely stoop down to the cat litter.  Meribel is getting old now, and I don't know how much longer she herself will last; however, she is here with me at Forsythia Grove and we will get on as best we can.
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Monday 1 April 2013

Ideas for games . . .

10 Forsythia Grove
Outer Hamlet
CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

Speaking, dear, about my erstwhile colleague has brought to mind an activity apparently carried out by one of her parents during the Second World War.  Apparently, said parent used to arrange for the dropping of pigeons - in wicker baskets equipped with mini-parachutes - into occupied French territory.  Capsules containing notes were then attached to the birds, which flew back home to the parental demesne.  I myself have always wondered whether the wicker baskets were designed to have apertures through which the birds could escape, should they be inadvertently dropped into a river.  Do you know the answer to that one pet?  Anyway, one of these birds - one Dumpling by name - actually won the Winn Dixie (a.k.a. the Dickin medal) for animal bravery during armed conflict!
Returning, however, to last time's story, I hoved into view at Honeysuckle House one afternoon last week and was trotted along the corridors by one Candy, the home's Elderly Activities Organizer.  I was of course first frisked and finger-printed at the gate by the rather efficient Beryl, who uttered one or two menacing remarks on the topic of criminal records checking and the necessity of my not appearing on any Register of Offenders.  Oh dear pet.  I hope the register of those 'Licenced to Kill' does not count?
At last, however, I did actually reach the lounge and had my first sightings of the denizens of this dwelling.  They were scattered to all four corners of the room (thankfully no blaring television set) and mostly, as far as I could see, they did not take their chins from off the front of their frocks on my appearance.  This was slightly dispiriting I must say, but an operative is trained to cope with any situation - however apparently adverse - as you know.  I gazed about me and my first enquiry was naturally this: 'HOW MANY OF YOU CAN HEAR ME??'  (It did not seem politic, as you will understand pet, to ask how many could not hear me, for how could anyone have replied?)  Two old ladies raised their hands and that left eight who did not . . . There was one, rather impolite, individual in the corner who - upon hearing that she was about to be regaled with a talk on MI6 operations - pulled a rather unpleasant face!  Candy did her best to rouse some interest in my presence and off I set.  Really dear, it is by no means simple to give a talk in a setting where the nether doors keep on opening to admit a hoist and associated carer sent to extract individuals to attend the toilet!  Naturally, though, I took all this in my stride and decided to relate short excerpts . . .  And, at the end of these, I embarked upon an attempt to ascertain residents' names and some general facts of interest about them.  Certainly, people did perk up somewhat once they realized that they were going to be required to participate.  And Candy's banging on the metaphorical cymbals also contributed to an atmosphere of occasional wakefulness.  I don't know dear.  One could realistically arrive at the conclusion that - if it is really natural for the elderly to while away days on end napping in their chairs - who are we to keep on waking them up with ideas for games, talks, Whist, nail care and so forth.
Yours
Aunt Agatha