Frightful creature. Flora said he wore a corset. Every morning after breakfast he would rise from the table and say, without fail, ‘Let’s see what the King has got for us to do today.’ Mother says he attacked her in the morning room and she told him she would scream for Mama.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he said. ‘Don’t you like men?’
I think uniforms are bad for people.
Darling, we are all terribly sorry. Truly.
I absolutely promise we were not laughing at you, and it was all my fault. Well, it was my fault originally but then Dad started making cheeky remarks and we all got hysterical.
What happened was this: everyone was discussing the merits of bran for constipation. Dad said he knew you hadn’t been, but I wasn’t constipated, was I, so why did I take it?
So I said, ‘Piles.’ Well, you know I get piles sometimes, don’t you? They started with Emma. Haven’t had them for ages but I take bran every day in case. It’s quite fashionable.
So then I told them a dreadful story I have never told anyone before.
Last summer, when you and I were visiting Mother, I was suddenly painfully afflicted, and there was no bran in the house. Uncle Arthur won’t tolerate it. Mother has tried to give him All Bran for breakfast but he just sits there with bits sticking out of his mouth like a bad-tempered bird building a nest. So, anyway, I had read somewhere that a very good remedy was to put a clove of garlic up your bum. So I did. For about a week—well, every night for about a week. The trick is to get rid of it in the morning, but on the day we drove back south I didn’t have time to go to the loo properly and the garlic was still up there, if you see what I mean.
Well, we left very early to catch the first ferry and round about the Lake District with no windows open I’m afraid I was forced to fart and the smell was simply frightful. You were very alarmed and thought there was something wrong with the car. I told you we were passing through farmland and it was probably chemical fertiliser.
Of course, when I was telling this disgusting tale, everyone looked at you and fell about. Do you see? I know you thought we were laughing at you, but really we were laughing at me and I somehow couldn’t get you to hear and Dad was being very wicked and making matters worse.
Please forgive me. I hope you believe we would never talk about you to your face and laugh like that. It’s just so impossible when there are a lot of people at table to persuade everyone to talk one at a time and of course your box picks up all the cutlery noise.
It must be horrible for you. I am so sorry. We’d all hate it if you didn’t come down to meals, darling. Please don’t do that.
Mrs Wilson is fine now, but a bit stiff. Mr Wilson drove to Glastonbury last week and brought her back some Holy Water in a petrol can.
She is keen to stick her wrist in that shrine somewhere near Sidmouth. There’s a sort of hole in a bit of stone and you put the injured limb through it and pray to some saint. Saint Monica or somebody, it could be. Anyway, it’s a woman.
Gran, have you seen a set of keys anywhere?
Not this Tuesday, darling. Next Tuesday. Sorry, sorry, sorry. It was Sunday when I said it and I meant not this Tuesday coming but next Tuesday, i.e. the Tuesday in the week following next Sunday. Oh, curses, it’s one of those misunderstandings like the pronunciation of ‘scone’, and whether a crumpet is a big flat dark thing with holes in it or a wee fat white thing with holes in it, or whether treacle is syrup or the other way round or neither. How long were you sitting with your feet in a bowl?
Mother is in a frantic state. You know the stray cat I told you about? Well, not only did it give Uncle Arthur asthma but it started to get some sort of discharge from its ears so she took it to the vet and he advised her to have it put down. He said it would be kinder to do it at once so she left it with him and came home. Now, of course, Ada tells her that the doctor has lost his tabby and is searching the coast. My dear, she may have murdered the doctor’s cat.
Nothing to report.
Dad used some of your psoriasis cream on that rough patch on his shin and it’s gone. Brilliant.
The minister’s wife came home from a late Thursday bulk shopping trip and dropped a bottle of whisky and six eggs while unloading.
No, nobody was hurt. It’s just that whisky costs £6.98.
Hi, Gran! The doorbell will ring between 2 and 2.30 p.m. Don’t be alarmed, it’s only Mr Venning come to change the lock. If you have your nap in the chair in the kitchen after lunch you will hear the bell and no bother. I’ve told Syd he must wait awhile for you to answer so don’t rush to the door whatever you do. Absolutely no need.
I’ve told Gerry just to leave my order on the window-sill, well wrapped against Boot, but she never uses the letter-box now. Not since that day she got stuck. (I remember one holiday in Skye Mother put a Queen of Puddings on the window ledge and a sheep ate the lot!)
Talking of which, lunch is on the stove. Plus lots of rice pudding with a dod of jam (yours).
I shall be home by 4.30 at the very latest, which gives us ample time to get to the doctor at 5 p.m. Your raincoat is on the hallstand. Looks like we’ll need it. The kids will have tea mashed by the time we get back.
So it was Mr Venning who finished the rock-cakes! You’ll have to make more as I’m hoping against hope that the window-cleaner will come next week.
Nice that Syd had some tea. That was a very good move. Mrs Venning told me about the rock-cakes when I was in to get Brillo Clearaway for the bath. She says Syd has a very sweet tooth. He gave her 50p to go to Alexis for a piece of cheesecake and two Bath buns for his lunch. Well, my dear, she only got a small piece of cheesecake for the money. ‘Where are the buns?’ cried Syd.
‘He lives in the past,’ says Mrs V.
She tells me old Mr Samuel’s grocery is opening shortly as a centre for water beds. I ask you. I expect kids will go in and wreck the place with a packet of pins. Mrs V is highly amused.
Syd says the crack above your door is because all the houses are slipping downhill. And, of course, so is the roof, and the plumbing is original. ‘Never mind,’ said Mrs Venning. ‘You’re sitting on a fortune, Mrs T.’
Escott’s are coming to turn the stair carpet on Wednesday week. That’s a week this coming Wednesday. Dad has nailed down that waggly stairrod for safety and they will do it properly when they come. Mr E says we could never do it ourselves and there are three steps which are dangerously threadbare