It is not customary to drive the stake vertically . . .

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph

I think I may have upset my chum Marilyn this morning pet.  We were strolling about the grounds of her house and she happened to show me several of her newly-planted fruit trees.  As you know dear, it is rather difficult to hold off from airing any new knowledge that one might have acquired, and I pointed out that having tree stakes which are nearly the height of the entire tree is not quite up-to-the-minute in terms of professional know-how.  Marilyn glared at me frostily at this point and launched into a disquisition on the force 10 gales which regularly assail her property.  I held my ground pet and rejoindered that - at Kew - it is rare that a stake height will exceed 60cm!  I further remarked that it is not usually customary to drive the stake vertically through the rootball of a container tree - and there I fear our friendship may have terminated.

The day did not much improve with a visit to the hairdressers.  The young man was rather brutal on the subject of my 'excessive and much-repeated' applications of bleach over the years.  He said that, if I didn't have it all shaved off that very day, he could not answer for the consequences.  Pet!  I fear the configuration of my head may now resemble that of a Buddhist monk.  I barely recognize myself without my French pleat and I don't think anyone else will either.  Whatever will William from Raptor-on-the-Lake think when sees me next?

Well 'Dah svee dah nee yah' dear.  I think that's (almost) right.  I am presently focusing on keeping my language skills - vestigial as they might be - up-to-date, as you never know when I might be called back into the field.  (Funds are in short supply as you know!)
Yours
Aunt Agatha

I squeezed the larynx of said practitioner . . .

'Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph
I think I may have made one or two spelling mistakes in my last missive.  Apologies dear.  During my years as an operative, my memoranda were always of the most exacting standard!
Our Leader has apparently told the Pope and the Popette (the 'unofficial' committee) that they are no longer allowed to make any profits from their Egg Head sessions in the lounge.  Pom-Pom and I have been trying to make sense of this, as any proceeds do go into the general committee funds (run by the 'official' committee).  It does seem that Our Leader is trying to limit the power exercised by the papal duo.  Unfortunately, as neither party has too much of a grip on the general principles of democracy, I can imagine that a certain amount of ill-will might be being vented, behind closed doors, at opposite ends of the building.  This is what happens when one dominant autocratic power challenges another pet!
Meanwhile, I have been reflecting on my recent, very physical, encounter down at the Inner Hamlet NHS dental surgery.  I think I may have told you dear, about the grisly tooth and jaw pain I was racked by several weeks ago?  Well, in all my years as an operative (40), I have never been reduced to manhandling a practitioner of the dental arts - and I haven't felt able to write further about it until today!  It is all very well pet, administering an injection of local anaesthetic, but it does have to succeed in deadening the tooth.  It is absolutely no good persisting with any attempt to drill on an exposed nerve!  So I'm afraid I squeezed the larynx of said dental practitioner between my thumb and forefinger, to prevent him from continuing and to communicate the extremity of my agony.  (I'm not altogether sure that he was expecting a lady decked out in silk and pearls to be acquainted with disabling tactics of this magnitude, as his respirations were still somewhat on the raspy side when I departed!)  And, before I departed, the tension and general atmosphere in the room resembled that to be found on the bridge of a submarine diving into the depths of the sea while being bombed.  My waistline was riven with spasms - due to the arching of my torso during this session - for days afterwards, and I can quite understand how our application of 'special measures' during the Cold War got results!  Now I know I am fortunate that a dead tooth is a silent tooth, but it is still one that I wish had lived and am sad to have lost!
Yours
Aunt Agatha

Secret Service: EPISODE 25

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  Qy4 2PN

My Dear Ralph

I woke up this morning feeling, as usual, somewhat distant from the light.  When Perfect was designing these bedsits, I don't know how they ever imagined people could sleep in windowless cubicles at least 5m distant from the sitting room windows.  Frankly pet, it is like being wheeled into the mortuary drawer every night!  I must say that the elderly here have amazing powers of fortitude to be able to go on living, year after year, in such circumstances.

I do believe I was going to say one or two words about Perfect's response to our 'flat roof' letter, wasn't I dear?  Well this missive arrived and Pom-Pom and I eagerly tore open the envelope.  Inside was a pleasantly-worded piece from a Complex Performance Manager, who assured us that Our Leader had done everything humanly possible to investigate our complaint.  Well Pom-Pom and I exchanged one or two words over that, I can assure you pet!  I must say that the letter writer's reference to the 'mild spring weather' we experience in May and June, caused Pom-Pom and I some hours of hilarity.  'Mild spring weather!'  We don't know what part of the country the Complex Performance Manager is residing in, but it certainly isn't anywhere near here!  You can certainly rely on Perfect never to properly address residents' complaints or exercise any initiative.  Anyone else dear, would have been beavering away investigating the topic of 'the cooling effects of roof gardens on flat roofs' etc.

Some while after this, Pom-Pom and I decided that our next step would be to ask Our Leader to instal wall thermometers on each floor, with the aim of investigating the size of the problem posed by this roof.  It seemed politic not to go ourselves this time, and so we coached our neighbour Gruntle (who also moans loudly every summer about  the temperature) on the subject of this thermometer request.  Luckily, Our Leader was in the presence of the Complex Performance Manager on this occasion and Gruntle secured a result!  Eventually, and I do mean months pet, tiny plastic thermometers did appear on the corridor walls.  Pom-Pom and I surmised that these items were probably procured from Woolworths!  And, one day, when we came in together and were standing by the lift - situated in unfortunate proximity to the lounge - we heard Mrs Brownie's voice emerging from the gloom, enquiring whether or not we'd observed said thermometers.  Well pet, before we had a chance to muster a reply, Our Leader's voice came blasting through the doorway: 'WHAT DO WE NEED THERMOMETERS FOR?  WE KNOW IT'S HOT!'  Dear me pet!  What does one say?  Poor Pom-Pom and I crawled gratefully in through the lift doors as they opened and, fanning ourselves against a wall, ascended to the (relative) safety of our rooms.

Yours

Aunt Agatha   

Lancelot did appear to get the hump at this point . . .

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph

I thought I'd take this moment, while Pom-Pom is otherwise engaged on the pot (haemorrhoids I think pet) to mention that I have not heard from William from Raptor-on-the-Lake.  It is just possible that he has found a lady living in more salubrious circumstances than myself, but it is a pity because such an acquaintance does introduce an element of Hope into life.  While I am on this subject, I don't know if I have ever told you about Lancelot and his recently deceased cat, Percy?  Well, Lancelot was also procured from the internet and turned out to be a peripatetic singing teacher, who had always lived with his mother, also recently deceased.  When we met up he was, of course, eager to demonstrate the workings of his model railway, up in the attic.  Those stiff metal ladders, ascending from his mother's bedroom, were very difficult to climb up dear, especially when one is clad in a tight skirt, heels and Sheer-Touch stockings.  It was also rather chilly up there, with what appeared to be a wintry wind blowing through the slate tiles on the roof.  Anyway, I did try to appear keen as Lancelot handed me one of those control box devices with which to control the engines running in and out of sundry tunnels and so forth.  Lancelot, meanwhile, disappeared through a tunnel himself into an adjacent attic and shouted jovially through the breeze blocks that he also had a control panel on his side.  I don't know pet.  Perhaps I am getting a bit too old for this kind of thing, but I really don't feel all that keen on train sets.
On another day, we set out in his motor for Winchbury-on-the-Hill and Lancelot kindly offered to purchase a sit-down meal of fish and chips for us both.  I don't know whether it was my experience with the train set that did it dear but, when he lined his bottles of blood pressure tablets up alongside his plate, I did find myself feeling a bit cross.  I am not altogether sure it was the most tactful thing I could have said, but I did find myself announcing that surely it was a bit much to consume a plateful of saturated fat and then expect the tablets to hoover all the fat up afterwards!  I am right aren't I pet?  Surely it makes more sense to consume a more balanced repast in conjunction with said tablets?  I really don't understand society's mania for tablet consumption.  Surely one has to do some of this work oneself!  Anyway, Lancelot did appear to get the hump at this point and I could tell from the hue of his complexion that his blood pressure was definitely rising!  In fact, things deteriorated to the point where I felt that he might leave me behind in Winchbury-on-the-Hill to catch the bus back.
However, I think he was a fundamentally kind man dear and he did tell me a rather touching story about his recently deceased cat, Percy.  Percy, apparently, had got mown down in a traffic accident some doors down from where Lancelot resides and Lancelot had to go along to collect the body.  When he got there, it turned out that somehow Percy's tail had stiffened, in rigor mortis, at a 90 degree angle to the rest of him.  Well, of course, poor Lancelot had quite a job to stuff Percy into the cat carrier with his tail at such an acute angle.  And then he had to be buried!  Lancelot did tell me that, at first, he was going to snap - or saw - off Percy's tail but found he couldn't bring himself to inflict such mutilation upon a deceased family member.  So, apparently pet, the poor man spent hours digging an especially large pit in the garden to accommodate the body plus appendage.  Actually dear, it must have been very hard work digging a hole in this particular garden as the turf was only about 2.5cm thick and then one reached bedrock!  (I had cause to notice this during the course of examining Lancelot's garden tools preparatory to planting a summer shrub.  And we had to use a pickaxe in the end!)
Yours
Aunt Agatha

We swelter in frightful conditions dear . . .

The Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph

I don't know whether I have ever mentioned Perfect's quarterly newsletter have I pet?  This publication arrives here in large quantities for our perusal and is, I must say, splendidly glossy and well laid out.  However, it does appear to fall down in the sphere of actual meaningful content, for one is presented with an idyllic picture of residential life which, as Pom-Pom and I have frequently remarked, we sometimes find hard to recognize.  On page after page, we find eulogies about post-retirement life in Perfect establishments, not to mention any number of photos of beaming residents clustered about their birthday cakes at the age of 100.  (I personally would not wish the mayoral chain to be flapping about my face on this day - should I ever reach it - pet.)  There are also one or two instances of rather silly articles and one such recent item has, as its subject, our artificial flower/pot displays, set out - as you may recall - in the alcoves outside our rooms.  Some nitwit from Perfect hs apparently decided that these items may constitute a 'fire risk' and so the Management may well be on their way round to remove them.  I ask you pet!  Whatever next!  They might just as well rip up the carpets, tear down the net curtains, and remove the pictures from the walls.  Doubtless the resulting bare and unprepossessing grey corridors would not be flammable - but neither then would they look like Home!
On the subject of fire, I don't know whether I have told you, dear, about our letter boxes or, for that matter, the roof?  Our letter boxes are protected by TWO metal flaps and this is, presumably, to contain any fire which may break out in a Perfect bedsit.  And this might well be to the good pet, if only said bedsits had windows on more than one wall and weren't situated under a flat roof!  The net effect is to contain the residents inside a virtually sealed box and to bake us like chickens in an oven whenever the outside temperature reaches 25'C and above!  We swelter in frightful conditions, dear, all summer long, and God only knows what this incineration does to the health of those immured behind closed doors with heart and breathing conditions!
A couple of years ago, Pom-Pom and I dared raise this subject with Our Leader who, for some reason best known to himself, reacted like an enraged bull and refused to solicit the opinions of other residents on our floor when asked to do so.  Somewhat scorched by his reaction, Pom-Pom and myself repaired to our rooms to write a letter to Perfect's head office.  This piece of correspondence was, of course, pleasantly worded pet, but left the intended recipients in no doubt whatsoever of the level of our suffering under the roof.  We then had the problem of who was going to deliver a copy of said epistle to Our Leader: Pom-Pom or myself.  Well, after some considerable debate, Yours Truly was finally nominated and off I trotted.  Well, Our Leader practically burst into flames himself when he read it and suddenly shouted - red as the proverbial pillar box ' 'I THINK YOU'LL FIND THAT PERFECT WILL TELL YOU, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU CAN MOVE OUT!'  I don't, myself, think that was the most professional of responses, do you dear?  I think I'lll save my thermometer story to next time pet, as even the recollection of this incident, seems to leave me prostrated!
Yours
Aunt Agatha

I think it was concreted into place . . .

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph

Many thanks for your most interesting letter!  Can't you look after the child dear?  After all, if you can spend whole afternoons slumped in front of the television set, you may well benefit from a more socially responsible pastime.  (What did you say happened about your job with the Government pet?)  I hope you kept on taking your tablets as I suggested to you at the time.)  And, as for Dipper, where do you find these women dear!  Do, please, try to find someone more-or-less functional next time.

Meanwhile, I have spent the morning digging up a perennial clump (don't ask me what of) in my chum Marilyn's garden.  I think it was concreted into place dear, and I must say that 'Gardeners Life' made the whole process look much easier, and more elegant, than it turned out to be in practice.  I have laddered my stockings in several places and may also have spiked the turf with my heels!  I must say that the TV programme should have specified what type of saw to use for cutting the in situ clump into pieces, because the hacksaw I took along with me was hardly adequate for the purpose!  It took a very big saw, with very big teeth, one of which was luckily hanging up on a hook in Marilyn's garage, to slice it into pieces - and, even then, it practically took a winch to heave each piece out of the ground and into the wheelbarrow.  Never again pet, never again!

Poor Pom-Pom was summoned to Our Leader's office yesterday morning to answer the charge of having contacted the Council Refuse Department without permission!  When I came back from some outing away from the premises, the dear old thing was lying on the bed with a giant white hankie spread over his face, weeping.  While he had thought he was constructively applying his intelligence to solve the once-a-week-only collection of refuse problem, Our Leader had construed his activities as positive interference and as a threat to his authority.  He has been along here just now, ostensibly to check the lack of heat emanating from the radiators, but we think word of our authorial efforts may have leaked around the building!

Yours

Aunt Agatha

A huge pile of rumpled clothing on the bed . . .

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  QY4 2PN

Technorati claim code: FE5224QEBX87

My Dear Ralph

Today I met William from Raptor-on-the-Lake!  It was most exciting pet, having to get all dressed up and exit from the building using some ruse about having to attend a church luncheon party.  Pom-Pom did raise an eyebrow as I may, in the past, have uttered one or two less-than-flattering remarks about local parochial events but, nevertheless, I believe I did sound sufficiently convincing in the end.  One snag, dear, was that I ended up with a huge pile of rumpled clothing on the bed, before being able to find anything which I could get into (it's the constant noshing on cake, in order to ameliorate boredom here in Perfect, which does it).  However, I eventually winched myself into my mauve crepe dress and associated footwear and hopped it in the car.
We had arranged to meet at the Pineapple on the edge of Outer Hamlet and so I drew up outside at the appointed hour.  There were a lot of black chickens running about the yard in this rural outpost, dear, as you can imagine.  William was there but - as it later emerged - he was expecting to meet a lady with flame-red hair and I was expecting to meet an indigenous Aborigine!  Obviously, this doesn't say much for the colour quality of photos displayed on the internet pet!
Anyway, after only a slight amount of mutual offence, we sat down to enjoy our repast of Caribbean chicken and sundry intoxicants.  We actually got on quite well after this knockback relating to each other's personal appearance and he was soon telling me about the diet fed to his pet American rattlesnake.  I, personally, do not feel that it is quite sporting to be lowering live mice into the tank, dear, because what possible chance does the poor mouse stand under such circumstances?  And I did say this!  He, on his part, asked me why I used such a large font size in my letters and said that he'd thought I could be blind.  Dear me pet!  He went on to say that he'd reciprocated by enlarging the font size he used in his own letters.  You know, pet, I never noticed!  Obviously, I am not sure I have too much in common with someone who was brought up in Hong Kong and wants to emigrate to Australia, but we will see!
Yours
Aunt Agatha