080210 – 26. The Flavia letter
Dearest you who are about to read,
Its Monday evening, Monday bloody evening, and I’m at my desk listening to the light purring of my laptop to sooth my weary soul and with my T-shirt pulled up over my nose and mouth because I’m pretending to be a bandit. I’ve usually something in mind to write about before I sit down at my desk but this week my head appears to be empty, totally void of anything that even I’d find interesting, probably due to a weekend spent relaxing my mind on the couch in my smoking jacket pretending to be Noël Coward. Not writing at all last week clearly hasn’t helped matters either. I’m going to have to wing it here guys, so here goes.
So there’s this woman that I know. She’s a great old gal, a real sweet thing. We write letters to each other occasionally, she’s a pen pal of sorts, and we occasionally bump into one another at family parties and other random events throughout the year. I’ve long since stopped putting this down to coincidence. In her letters she goes by the name of Flavia which I’m sure is a cover up for some serious espionage, no doubt involving people smuggling rings in Crosby or ancient artefact trafficking from Southport or Wallasey. In fact I’m sure that this is the case, she told me so last time I seen her after she last broke surface yesterday afternoon and came in for debriefing in the cereal aisle at Sainsbury’s. She’s my Nan you see and yesterday was my Nan’s birthday and so today’s little wordy effort is for her.
Letters, I love ‘em. There is literally nothing better (ok so this isn’t strictly true but roll with me here) than sitting down with a piece of paper and writing down some nonsense or other or even just a little hello, font size 2 usually works for this, to family, friends or Simon Pegg. I thought I was the best at it. I even considered after one particular letter to my Nan from Wallace the cat that I had reached the very summit of the letter writing world. I vividly remember saying this to the cover of ‘The Groucho Letters’: “I have now reached the very summit of the letter writing world Groucho, in your fucking face.” I was of course so very wrong and it took just one piece of genius courtesy of Flavia, to convince me of this and beat me savagely back down to earth, belly laughing as I fell. I have also since apologised to ‘The Groucho Letters’. What follows is from the very mind of that very letter writing expert. I still have a lot to learn:
The Red Villa
Casablanca
01/09/09
Dear “Q”
Sorry I have to write anonymously again but I am once again being followed. I spotted the same guy twice recently as I boarded a bus is Crosby, 666 or what? He was dressed as a ticket collector would you believe but the likes of you and I are not fooled easily unlike D.A (David Attenborough). Need I say more.
I was in the Village last week when I saw him coming towards me. As you know I am getting a bit fed up with his attentions. The latest is he wants me to go underwater swimming in Siberia.
Anyway when I saw him approaching I quickly turned my coat inside out, donned a blonde wig and lit a small cheroot (between you and I it was a Capstan Full Strength) and he took me for a lady of the night and scuttled up the alley at the side of Age Concern Charity Shop and Satterthwaites. He’s funny that way.
Time to confess I’m weakening towards the fellow in the Alpen Advert on the telly who winks at me every night from the screen. I expect him to get in touch very shortly. Whilst I am waiting I have turned out a few cupboards and the volunteers at OXFAM eagerly await my visits.
I regret to say that the lottery folk have not yet knocked at C.C. You know of course that we ‘en famile’ would be off to the Bahamas poste haste if that call ever comes.
How is life with your dear self? Going to plan I hope.
I do not have any more to tell you and will be glad if you will dispose of this letter so that they will not get their hands on it. They would break the code in no time. May I suggest eating it. I have found in similar circumstances it goes down rather well with a light touch of Heinz Tasty Sandwich Pickle and a Pink Gin and Cyanide. Don’t overdo the Cyanide as it gives you a touch of indigestion.
Look after yourself ‘Q’. If you don’t hear from me you’ll know they’ve got me.
Much love,
FLAVIA
Flavia of course did evade capture and made it to her Birthday lunch yesterday. Flavia always evades capture.
For the first time this year I’m starting to think that I’ve taken too much on. I’m naturally a very lazy person, I’m built purely for comfort, and I’ve noticed a growing and annoying trend in my filofax. It’s starting to fill up. Take this week for instance, not only am I getting a tattoo done on Saturday I also have to go for coffee on Wednesday and meet up with friends on both Saturday and Sunday. Christ, is it too much to ask for a little me time?
Right, until I have something further to disclose I’ll be off to eat mints and read ‘Shades of Grey’, by Jasper Fforde. I’ll also have to fit work and life in at some point so that next time round hopefully I have a little story or two to tell. Thanks for stopping by again and until next time,
Laugh every day.
Take Care,
Andrew Beattie
P.S. for more information regarding Noël Coward please see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noel_Coward
P.S. for more information regarding Groucho Marx you should probably Google ‘Groucho Marx’ or similar. Not to be confused with Karl.