The prototype . . .

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

My Dear Ralph

I have just achieved some considerable success in adjusting my new phone, delivered up to me - for professional use only - by 'Q' section last week.  Wonderful though it is to have access to advanced technology (way beyond the reach of the average citizen at large) I have been rather galled that electronic mail from my latest correspondent - one 'Wings Afloat' - has been blocked by the purists back at 'Q.'  And I have been deliberating upon how to outwit them . . .  Eventually, and with some long application of patience, I accessed the 'incoming server settings' and tweaked the required controls.  So, now, unless the 'Q' surfers are on to me, Wings Afloat and I are able to relay one or two messages.  This individual dear, you may be interested to learn, is a retired champion skier from Macedonia!  It is certainly a miracle that he took up ski jumping as his own speciality, for I am not sure that this particular region of Greece is renowned for its quantity of snowfall!  Also, dear, he is 45 years old . . .  I know I am only 62, but there are moments (if only occasional) when I fear he may be too young for me?

I am also pleased to relate that Pom-Pom has finally exited (alive) from No Return District General Hospital and is ensconced in one of the Care of the Elderly wards in Inner Hamlet hospital.  I motored over there yesterday and was relieved to see that he did actually look clean, and fairly comfortable, in a four-bedded unit with an overhead TV facility.  I do sometimes wonder, however, if they should employ some kind of "welcomer" person (responsible for radiating "warmth of heart") who could humanize what is, after all, a stark and impersonal environment.  Even a former operative can quail somewhat and feel dogged by feelings of insecurity and insignificance when entering a clinical setting of this type. 
I did also notice that there was a note, addressed to me, sitting on Pom-Pom's bedside locker.  It turned out to be from a social worker, going by the name of Letitia Nettcup, and seemed to be a request for me to get in touch.  I did phone up this person upon return from my visit and it transpires that dear Pom-Pom has fallen out with his daughter, the redoubtable Xanthe!  And, from the tone extant in Letitia's voice, it did rather appear that relations with the social work department are also somewhat on the strained side.  I was cheered to learn, however, that Pom-Pom has nominated me as the next best person to discuss his situation, and future, with (although I can well imagine that Xanthe will be grinding her molars at her own demesne should she get to hear of it).  Letitia is, apparently, trying to get Pom-Pom moved into the WOPA home just down the road and - on the face of it - this is good news.  My next plan pet, is to arrange a visit to WOPA in order to assess the character of the manager and associated facilities.  I do hope I will not have to pretend to be an actual blood relative in order to achieve this!

Yours

Aunt Agatha

Secret Service: EPISODE 95

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

 

My Dear Ralph

I have been having one or two hours of sober reflection pet, quite possibly due to my having been 'on the wagon' for at least 24 hours now.  In fact, I do seem to be more than usually connected to my own self - a change manifested in a rather more elegant selection of attire.  Would anyone really recognize me (have I wanted to be recognized?) in this cream linen costume, complemented only by the most subtle of ornaments, and Lily of the Valley perfume?  Or without lashings of mascara and layers of face powder?  My dear.  I would stand revealed; the grey of my eyes would be clearly seen. 

For so many decades, I moved at the centre of intra- governmental powers, exercising my own formidable powers - sending the people who are agents deep into 'the field,' making decisions which, after all, resulted in life or death, and sifting intelligence with all the forensic logic afforded to my own brain.  And all this was underpinned by the attempt to apply the integrity and values that any human being - and especially one empowered - should (in my view) be developing their whole lives long.

Now dear, upon retirement (albeit semi),  it has been hard to create an identity which has the same integrity and identified purpose.  I have become an almost ghost, both part-revealed and part-concealed.  What will I become?  Where will I end?

Yours

'C' 

A sort of silvery light . . .

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

 

My Dear Ralph

I don't know whether I am being unduly suspicious pet,  but you recall your recent suggestion that I call round and see my old school chum Jocelyn?  I believe we have all met up, once or twice, on the cross channel ferry?  I can't quite recall whether we were travelling together, or separately, but perhaps it was the latter as I have a faint recollection of your hiring a white Transit van and perambulating around deck with a sack trolley.  Whatever the case dear, I fear I may have been led in Jocelyn's direction with the proverbial ring through the nose.

Since my last visit to Jocelyn's town premises, in Carpool, he has made one or two changes to the back garden - viewed through a rather splendid set of double-glazed patio doors.  The most notable feature, of which you may be aware, is his new 'fish pond' (3m x 3m x 1.8m).  The 1.8m dimension refers to the breeze block wall which raises the water above ground level.  Well dear.  I certainly spent quite some minutes admiring the tumbling water feature, water lily, and tens of goldfish swimming round in the depths.  Jocelyn even went into some rhapsodies about thermal insulation blocks, the sunken pump, and a recently-installed filtration unit.  Furthermore, a most delightful rippling shadow effect was cast upon the water by the presence of a Paper Bark Maple and a Sweet Bay tree.

However, these most natural of effects were dissipated somewhat when Jocelyn enquired whether I'd like to observe an additional subterranean feature.  He went inside for a moment, pressed a button, and - hey presto - the whole pond suddenly levitated some centimeters and, grinding somewhat, slid sideways across the grey Yorkshire stone paving slabs.  My dear!  I was hard pressed to keep both of my jaws vestigially attached to each other.  Now I am not especially knowledgeable about such subjects but, it did seem to me - as I craned my neck into an electrically lit 'basement' - that ensconced within was a printing press of quite impressive girth.  And it did seem to be operating at that very moment.  It was ejecting what appeared to be rectangular, mauve, pieces of paper which reflected a sort of silvery light and had the features of that well-known personage, HM Queen Elizabeth II, on them!  Honestly pet!  I suddenly saw the purpose of the tumbling overhead water feature through a whole new set of lenses.  'So,' said Jocelyn, beaming beneficently at me, 'We wondered if you'd like to 'come in' with us?'  We?  I suppose that means you, favourite nephew?  And before I had time to take breath and utter my thoughts on the subject, he launched into a description of my proposed role as national carrier in this venture.  I am not a pack horse you know.  Quite apart from my significant moral objections to this venture, I am no longer able to carry heavy loads around the country in my rucksack!  Naturally, I puffed out my bosom to its fullest extent, and declared to Jocelyn that he'd have to look for a more disreputable lady than myself.  After all, I am a lady of breeding - albeit one who likes to present their equipage from within a scoop neck Lycra top!

What would my 'cut' have been, by the way dear?

Yours

Aunt Agatha

Testament of love . . .

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

 My Dear Ralph

 Well here I am dear, outfitted in my new stripey mini dress and ankle-length suede boots, supping upon a Hot Chocolate in the WiFi cafe.  Thankfully the toilet door locks seem to be working this week and I have not got locked in.  Also, I believe I have detected one or two admiring glances from gentlemen on adjacent tables.  I have not reached antiquity - and retirement - from the (mixed) pleasures of romance  quite yet!

I received a telephone call from dear Pom-Pom last night.  He relayed the news that he was about to be moved to (yet another) ward and said, "I am afraid we are going to lose touch with each other."  And so we may if the redoubtable Xanthe has anything to do with it!  Is it really alright, do you think pet, to be trundling patients about the hospital in the middle of the night?  I appreciate that this may well be the quietest time in which to accomplish this, but one has visions - rather sinister ones - of hundreds of elderly people being shunted through semi-lit corridors in a manner which is distinctly behind the scenes.

He also told me a most distressing tale of how he had been got out of bed in his latest ward, only to collapse to the point where an ECG technician had to be urgently summoned.  This is the kind of thing that happens when patients aren't on a ward long enough for the nurses to become familiar with their recent history and level of capacity.  He has been lying in bed for so many weeks now that his body must have adapted to functioning in a semi-prone position!  If I was on the relevant committee pet, I would endeavour to establish a minimum period of time that a patient was required to spend on each ward.   This would give the patient some hope of equilibrating with the conditions and - as importantly - give the staff time enough to equip themselves with a deeper understanding of the needs of those in their care.

And then, this morning, I received another call from him in his new situation.  He sounded bewildered.  He said, "I wish that I could swallow my tongue and die" - and that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink, for 24 hours, because this seemed to be the only way to achieve death.  This all sounds terrible.  Would any of us like to be so old and possibly dying under these circumstances?   And all I can do dear, is listen, and pen my memoirs so that his suffering - and the suffering of those like him, does not go unnoticed and unrecorded.

Yours

Aunt Agatha   

Out cold . . .

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

I am not sure that I am feeling altogether lucid dear and I may not be up to the reporting of yet another incident.  I ran out of milk yesterday, and even individuals afflicted with swollen salivary glands have to make the occasional cup of tea/ingest a morning bowl of cereal.  So, well swathed in my stripey python neck scarf, I set forth along Outer Hamlet's alleys to Economy Fare.  En route, I was utterly riven with abdominal spasms - to the point where I actually had to stop to let them wear off.  Foolishly however (as is my wont) I decided to repair to the Beetroot Inn for a nip of something fortifying.  This was a big mistake for, just as I was stretching out my hand for the requested tot of rum, my vision started to fade and I realized that I was about to lose consciousness.  It is altogether ghastly dear when one keels over - in public - and ends up prostrated on the floor surrounded by a crew of onlookers.  I managed to veto someone's suggestion to call an ambulance (denying any suggestion that I was afflicted with either epilepsy or diabetes) but it was a full ten minutes before I could attempt to stand.  And, when I did, I didn't last long before I had to repair to my position on the floor again.  Also, I had the very nasty feeling that, if I didn't reach a convenience, that I would soon be experiencing the humiliation of a full-scale attack of dysentery in front of a whole ensemble of strangers!  The 'ladies' was, of course, upstairs - and the staircase to it minus a set of bannisters.  I didn't dare attempt to ascend to said facility in the state I was in.  Fortuitously, however, I was able to prevail on a couple of gentlemen to carry me to the 'gents' located on the ground floor.  This premises did at least have a cubicle with no-one in it, but was entirely lacking in toilet paper.  Not even a cardboard roll was present!  I had to shout, 'Yoo hoo dearies!  Could someone pass a roll of paper under the door for me?'  Dear me.  One spends much of life trying to avoid making a gigantic spectacle of oneself and, on this occasion, I was a spectacular failure!  I have spent the past couple of days wondering what could have been behind this misfortune.  And I think that the gift of an anonymous box of chocolate liqueurs - thrust through the letter box while I was out - might be responsible.  It is just possible that I may have acquired an enemy of two as a result of my activities 'out in the field' and that someone has tracked me down!  Crab meat toxin is almost invariably fatal and I feel that it was only immediate liquid efflux, whilst ensconced on the pot at the Beetroot Inn, that saved me.

I'm not sure I can write much more pet.  I am feeling a little peaky and not even the (undoubted) joys of sticking snowflakes on my sitting room windows, and wrapping maroon and green ribbons round my wall candelabras, can replenish my sapped reserves. 

Yours

Auntie 

Blow it up after dark . . .

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

 My Dear Ralph

I am somewhat in the doldrums today pet.  Somehow, God knows how, I seem to have acquired a case of the mumps.  And, now that I reflect upon the matter, it was probably when I was riding around in the Banger 0.9L with Pamela's two nieces.  I don't know dear.  I feel rather long in the tooth for said affliction - but at least it is not Dengue fever or some similarly fatal condition.  My face has swollen to the size of a pumpkin and it is very difficult to separate one jaw from another.  I think I may have to resort to sucking today's repasts through a straw!

I have been trying to think of ways to cheer myself up and so have attired myself in that lovely lacy burgundy negligee you so admired recently.  I am also having one or two nips from an amber-coloured bottle containing 70cl of Southern Comfort (through the straw).  This is such a comforting beverage pet, with a most flavoursome aroma and a taste which tangs perfectly upon the tongue.  There is really something quite sensuous about the curvature of the neck of said container and, on any number of occasions, I have taken one to bed with me instead of my floppy rabbit, Horace.  It is rather looking as if I will be reaching the bottom of this bottle before noon, and so perhaps we may retire together to the bedchamber for a little nap.  

In the mean-time, I think perhaps I will clean my revolver - that rather weighty Smith and Wesson I think I mentioned to you in a previous epistle?  This, again, has the most appealing of convexities.  Maybe it would like to come to bed with me too?  Do you know anything about gun cleaning dear?  It really is most straightforward.  All one has to do is remove any bullets from the chambers and unscrew the centre.  This then swings out and one can sweep up and down the barrel using a bronze wire brush.  The denouement of said sequence of activities comes when one dampens a lint-free cloth with gun oil and polishes the metal until it glints.  I am not altogether sure I should be telling you all this however.  I know how alert you are to any possibility of acquiring additional equipment for your own brand of undercover activities.   And I don't think it would really do for you to be seen brandishing a Smith and Wesson at any government animal experimentation centre!   Confine yourself to simply letting the poor creatures out dear.

Well, time is motoring on and I do believe I have glimpsed my next subject for study from the sitting room window.  I don't know if I have ever mentioned it before, but I have a rather large Sycamore tree stump cluttering up the back garden.  It is really most annoying to keep catching my petrol-powered mower on its buttress roots!  I wonder if you could possibly research the topic of explosives for me on the internet?  What this item needs, as far as I can see, is one or two sticks of gelignite (also known in the trade as 'gelly').  It may be somewhat of a hindrance that I am residing in the Outer Hamlet Conservation Area - but we will have to be enterprising and blow it up after dark!

Yours

Aunt Agatha

Secret Service: EPISODE 90

10 Forsythia Grove

Outer Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  ZY6 4GT

 

My Dear Ralph

I have just spent quite some minutes trapped inside the toilet at the local WiFi outlet.  It is unlike me to panic, as you know dear, but the lock simply wouldn't - despite several hefty tugs - slide back into the 'open' position!  Naturally, I stood in the stall, cogitating, and it seemed to me that I was either going to have to shout (loudly) for help or actually climb up over the sides, throwing my bags before me!  In the end, I stood on the closed toilet lid and aimed a Tae Kwondo-style kick at the lock's knob slider.  It opened, thank heavens, and I am once more supping upon a Hot Chocolate in my seat in the sun.  Hopefully, the rest of the day will not be quite so stimulating!

Over at the Hoppe Valley Hotel yesterday morning, the temperatures at 8am resembled those found in a Deep Freeze style of environment.  And I was greeted by the news - delivered up by the head gardener Twinkle - that Sir Hoppe has acquired a Python Tower Ladder so that we might embark upon the annual pruning of the Jasminum nudiflorum (currently obscuring nearly all of the hotel's second floor windows).   This ladder has four extensible legs and my own opinion, dear, is that said mechanism is not at all safe - particularly in the absence of some kind of secure basket at the apex!  Twinkle and I had quite a conversation about who was going to get up there first and we, both of us, had quite significant personal objections.  He is currently on medication for his tennis elbow and this apparently makes him liable to dropping objects held in the hand.  And I seem to be having bouts of dizzy spells quite possibly related to a life of quite prostrating loneliness.  Certainly I do not wish to spend my remaining years, in splinters, over at No Return District General Hospital - especially with no-one coming to see me! 

I did, however, eventually agree to climb up a more normal type of extensible ladder and - with one hand clinging on to the rungs - deployed my secateurs in the removal of several thousand shoots of the afore-mentioned climbing plant.  The advice given never to look down is certainly sound, believe you me, especially when one is eyeball to eyeball with the roof guttering and one or two pigeons' nests.  In fact, it was at this particular moment that Sir Hoppe rounded the corner of the building and - his eyes alighting on the (assembled) Python Tower Ladder - he immediately frisked to the top.  I gazed down at him from my perch, while he swayed in the crows' nest of his own piece of equipment, and then I made some remark or other to the effect that the male of the species was obviously designed to swing about at height!   Well pet, he beamed up at me and announced that, 'In fact, dear lady, this is because us males tend to be rather dim and can't actually imagine outselves splattered all over the forecourt.'  I did rather snigger at this as, of course, he is most certainly correct!

Yours, both feet planted firmly on terra firma

Aunt Agatha