Beach FairyNonna, Nonna, Nonna!
For Heaven’s Sake woman will you stop writing these letters ? its fair to say that I have not heard from you for more than twenty years and then suddenly three from you turn up all in the space of one month. What on earth is going on?
I know we share houses, and you have to admit its going very well with the house share filtered carefully by Google Calendar. But having Mr Google agree access to our houses, does rather mean that I don’t have to communicate with you. A bonus for both of us, don’t you agree?
Its not “bad feelings”, you understand. More when we start to communicate you make my head whirl and the one problem you seem to be complaining of, suddenly multiplies and becomes ten. Take this current one. You say I owe you money (and maybe I do) but he was a shared Pet, wasn’t he? Going slightly off piste I did enjoy you doing the dance of the seven veils with your feather boa and Salim (the falcon) dancing around your head. Very Arabian nights. The thought of it still makes me chuckle.
Anyway you seem upset but you won’t be as annoyed as I am when I tell you what has happened to “Badgers Creek”. I turned up there last week with Miranda (No, you don’t know her. She’s from Panama) and you would not believe what we found. At first, I thought that we had got the dates wrong and you were still entertaining some East European Lover but when I checked the Joint Calendar, we were correct in turning up when we did.
Now I do not know if you are aware of this and simply playing dumb (which my dear is not something you are very good at) or it was a complete surprise but when I turned the corner to unlock the gates, I found them wide open and one of them pulled off their hinges. I have to say I felt slightly trepidacious because Badgers Creek holds many lovely memories for me/you/us and drove forward at a slow rate wondering what would befall me around the bend.
Now I know you will think I am exaggerating this but turning up and finding the main gates ripped off their hinges and then the front lawn (of which you used to be so proud) ripped up by some rather expensive looking and somewhat common Camper Vans just about caused me to have a case of the vapours. Well, I think the Americans may call them RVs for some reason but in my mind, they are shiny gas guzzling gypsy caravans and I was indeed proved correct because I was met by a lady from said RV with a very voluptuous bosom and a child perched on each hip.
Not far behind her was a man of swarthy complexion of an indeterminate age, wearing not one, two or even three earrings but it would appear the whole Earring Counter of H Samuels and a mouth with no more than 3 teeth in total. Nonna, what on earth is going on?
I have to say their welcome was most warm and they invited me into “my home” for supper. Upon entering the main hall, I was immediately seduced by wonderful smells of garlic and coriander and then promptly knocked off my feet by another woman riding up and down the hallway on a unicycle. Before I could shout or moan in agony, she turned to me; smiled; blew me a kiss and cycled off in the direction of the dining room. If I have to sit next to her for dinner, then conversation may be somewhat stilted. Not because I was annoyed with her. Well, I was for a second, but because I fear I have fallen for the most beautiful wood nymph who has enchanted me and cast me under her magic spell. In short, I am bewitched. And that’s a pain with Miranda in tow.
I carried on because that seemed the only thing to do and listening to the great cacophony of noise I thought I had been transported to Budapest again when we were trying to track down the Sheik. However, I duly ploughed forward nodding and smiling to a dozen people who meant absolutely nothing to me but seemed to know who I was. HOW IS THAT?
Miranda by now had followed me inside and seemed to have been rather taken with a guy whose attributes were holding three carving knives in his mouth – and that was whilst eating dinner as well. I had never seen her simper quite so much. Not even when I bought her the pink diamond! Dinner was as you can imagine, a rumbustious affair. I was squashed between a knife swallower who told me it was all about secret cavities and spring-loaded blades and the bearded lady. Okay maybe she was not the bearded lady in the circus ring (because Nonnie I soon caught on that they were part of a travelling circus) but she certainly had a beard which would put my efforts to shame. How does that happen to some women and never to some men? I’m digressing.
And it’s no surprise here because we had turned up expecting a week or two hiking across to Mevagissey after a morning meditation and yoga; it very soon became apparent that if I got a wink of sleep between sundown and sunrise, I would be damned lucky.
Dinner was most pleasant – food wise anyway and when I said I would go outside for my after-dinner cigar they told me it was fine to smoke in the dining room. I nearly imploded. Smoking in the house has always been a cardinal sin in our family and now I am being told that I can smoke a Havana sitting at my rather expensive dining room table where the bottoms of Diana Dors and Larry Grayson have perched. Once again, I was gobsmacked
I still was waiting to be shown to my bedroom because I had a sneaky feeling that the one we usually occupy would already be in use. Added to that when they were clearing the table (apparently it’s a co- operative and we all have to cook – wash up and clear away) the larger knives were put to one side and when I questioned this I was told by a rather snotty nosed four year old that they used them for practising the knife throwing and with that he took my hand with his damp and sticky one and pulled me into the garden and there our very own and special maple tree had been almost hacked in half by a series of knives ranging from the mother of pearl handled butter knife to the one we brought back from India and which we thought Pa had used to kill the Colonel.
I could have cried right there on the spot, but was saved from doing so by the appearance of the Woodnymph who took my other hand and, with another of her beguiling smiles, led me up the stairs. Sadly, it was not to be as I had hoped. There was no sharing a room with her and I was left, rather unceremoniously in the small storage room by the Airing Cupboard where a small camp bed was situated. This obviously meant that I was sleeping alone because Miranda would not be able to share a 2.6ft bed with me and in any case the last I saw of her was when she was tiptoeing rather unsteadily to the upper floor with the Woodnymph hot on her heels. I know by that time I had consumed rather a lot of Port, but I could have sworn the pair of them were cradling a python. Oh Heavens, I wonder what they put in the pudding?
Nonnie, “The Bloomsbury Group” have nothing on this lot.
Can you see where I am going with this?
Please revert to me soonest as I would like to see these people gone –interesting and kind they may be. I also worry that they have pawned the silver as I see no sign of the Punch Bowl or Tabitha’s Christening set. Finally, for I am running out of energy and patience, did I tell you that the stables are now full of Lipizzaner ponies who defecate all over the vegetable patch whilst practising their courbettes.
I never thought I would say this, “but come with all haste. I need your help!”
Yours desperately
Hadji
PS – If you want to continue writing letters, then why not join the Pen Pal Club. At least you can bore the pants off people, other than myself.
Beach Fairy
