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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 11, 2004 5:47:25 GMT 1
Alice in Cuckoo Land Part 20
OBSERVATIONS MADE AT A CUCKOOLAND ALCOHOL AND DRUGS SEMINAR
By Seamus Patrick Feckin' O'Farty
(Based upon the recently discovered manuscripts of Patrick 'o the Feckin' Crac 'Abit lurking in the dust under a bed.)
It baffles me to find out how much non-addicted people know about the addictions that they are trying to help. There again, who can expect them to understand something they may not have themselves? The thing is, are they prepared to listen and extract the cotton wool from the ears and jam it in the mouth or shall they plough on regardless playing Mother Mary Virgin Lady Madonna?
In my opinion, all they succeed in doing is enabling the addictive personality. Crutching them while there is always the possibility they may be endangering themselves. Such was the case revealed at the seminar.
In the chair we had three wise monkeys. Hear no evil, see no evil and speak no evil. Unfortunately, they were very misguided and their heads were firmly up their arses. I know they mean well but that is the great enabler for the addictive personality as they can con, twist, manipulate, lie, thieve, ego trip, play 'poor me' (as in poor me another). The contempt that the user has for the do-gooder is beyond words or explanation. In short, they take the piss on a grand scale and, unbeknown to the three wise monkeys, they are killing the user, the alcoholic and the narcotic.
One speaker spoke of who was using what as if it made a goddamn difference. We know they will use what they can get their hands on, and being a progressive illness, the only cure is death. I am told there are no addictions in heaven.
On show was my past in the form of speed (LSD), cocaine (through the nose and smoked), heroin (smoked) and all other forms or barbiturates but I did not see morphine. Being cross-addicted, my biggest addiction is more.
While recovering I was hospitalised and, both before my operation and after, my body thought it was back in heaven. They were pumping me with all my old habits - morphine, a handful of reds, a handful of blues, a mouthful of whites, and I was tripping and hallucinating. The doctors had to monitor my blood twice a day but thank God for the big book and the fellowship of friends, as they came to visit me. It was exactly the same as when I used except more progressive, and the craving returned at double the dose, but I turned things over and let go.
I was to hear during the course of the afternoon that one of these poor unfortunate, misguided ladies was to walk around the town with a bag over her shoulder or in the back of a car exchanging needles and in one of the worst hit areas. I couldn’t help but smile at their naivety. Their ignorance of this illness - but not at the danger they were placing themselves into.
Unbeknown to herself, that lady is setting herself up as a target.As time marches on users will know exactly who they are, where they are, what they had for breakfast and it is probable they will be attacked, the unused needles lifted for sale to buy their next fix and the used needles lifted for exchange in chemists giving clean needles. They could find themselves threatened by dirty needles as opposed to pistols and one stick would really make their eyes water and do a bloody good job as everybody knows HIV takes a long time to work. A pistol would be better. Again, in my opinion, they should not go out amongst these people, especially the women, unless in groups of five to ten, and that in any man’s language is ridiculous. I would suggest severely that they do not approach these people at all but let the user come to them for help only and to the official building as they could be taking their life in their hands and could find themselves in a body bag, raped or severely bashed and in a wheelchair.
This problem is bound to escalate. The drug user/addict, as we all know, does not have the narcotics as readily available as the alcoholic does. When a junkie is desperate he is worse than the alcoholic because narcotics are not legal but alcohol is, so he is in a more desperate state. I am both and the only thing I did not use is the needle and that is a YET for me. Alcohol is my drug of choice but I would have taken anything to take me away from reality and responsibility. I am also a gambler, not in the conventional way, but played for the highest stakes of all, peoples lives, my children's lives and my own life and you can't get much higher than that.
These people, in order to be effective, must work with RECOVERING alcoholics and drug users. They are the ONLY people that know how to deal with the suffering alcoholic and user/addict. If you haven't got this illness, you don’t know 'f' all about it. Nothing will keep these people in ignorance more than contempt prior to investigation. So therefore, I would suggest severely that they go for help to the recovering alcoholic and narcotic. They need help. They have the facilities, but the bottom line is for the addict to seek help from others who are in recovery. You can't con conmen, and people in recovery know exactly where the drinking alcoholic or user is at, where they've come from and what they are capable of also where they can return to if they don't put down their habit. The bottom line here is they will die and there are several ways of dying.
1) Put in prison for life for something they cannot remember having done. (I.e. My wife.)
2) Kept in a rubber room, fed through a straw, and residing in the laughing academy. 3) Or they can be spared finally and buried.
There is no nice way to describe this filthy illness. It will kill in one way or another. It is known as the great remover. It removes stains, it removes carpets, it removes furniture, it removes your family, it removes your house, your car and your job and it will finally remove you.
Insanity is this illness and insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting the result to be different and it is - it gets worse. Severely worse with each passing day and each passing hour. There is no cure, just a daily reprieve - and I must get into action. Positive action, as I can become positively negative. I am powerless over my first thought but not the second. If it is a negative thought and I hang onto it the stinking thinking will lead to the stinking actions that leads to the stinking drinking, as one is too much and a thousand are not enough. I must remember that I am eighteen inches away from the gutter. An elbows length away as that's all it takes to lift any substance to my mouth or to inject which is one of my YETS but not for many of my friends whom I was with and some of them are dead or in recovery. This filthy illness knows no boundaries of creed or colour. It is a gift, either you have it or you have not. You cannot be turned into one.
These ladies, God bless their pumping hearts, were more interested in statistics, which are unreliable at the best of times, as I was never caught but there again, my wife was and is now serving life for murder and committed in blackout. Her drug of choice was a narcotic. With both of us having this filthy illness, hers rubbed off on me and mine on her and the children copped the bloody lot.
I waited until the end of the meeting and I shared a small part of my story with the three ladies. Only one was prepared to talk, the others appeared frightened, as they didn't say anything. It's very possible that the three of them went home and quietly had a nervous breakdown, as in their present state and form dealing with this problem they are ‘f’ all use to man nor beast and only help to escalate the problem. They do mean well, and for that they must be admired but it is an illness of denial and ignorance.
One of the ladies did know about the DNA and it’s been suggested that it comes from inbreeding and social illnesses (e.g. syphilis) over the centuries. When I declared that, in my severe opinion it came from the womb and is hereditary, two of them froze and one walked away, kept her back to me, and never said anything. The key being fear and powerlessness over the addiction and that it could be in them or a member of their family.
I look for the personality as I can see it in my son and many others as I have learnt I suffered this syndrome from the time of conception. Head attacks followed by mouth attacks followed by resentments, anger/fear, were the order of the day until I found alcohol. The fear left temporarily only to return in a great dose. Nameless and faceless, early blackouts and I was to find that I was a defect looking for a character and that all my defects had characters. I was to learn that the program I was to take up was a program for people who believed in God and for people who didn’t believe in God but it wasn't a program for people who thought they were God and this is the problem here. (Above). I was also to learn that there was a Creator, it wasn't me and I was told to get off the 'f-ing’ cross because they needed the wood. EGO = Edging God Out and the more you complain the longer you will be kept alive.
I heard a lot about controlled drinking and controlled drug taking. The only control in this illness is that once it's inside you it controls you.
Having said some of this to these ladies, you can imagine the impact. What I was actually saying was that they were wasting their time but, being the diplomat that I am, this went down like a Barmitzva at an Arab's wedding but they will learn this for themselves and let's hope not the hard way but if that's what it takes, that’s what it will take. I wished them luck and left but they knew that I didn't give them a dog's chance in hell.
A lot more that could be said on this but it’s that simple one can miss it. The white bits are the paper and the black bits are the print. There are no hidden meanings.
(To be continued in Part 21.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 14, 2004 20:32:50 GMT 1
Alice in Cuckoo Land - Part 21.
My dear, devoted, Mrs. Fuddle,
Where would I be without you? So kind of you to send round the hot dinners whist I have been prostrate with grief. Amelia sent me some of her special, homemade tonic wine and Lavinia sent a fudge cake... That was always Ivor's favourite...
I still cannot believe he's gone. No, not even now that his funeral has taken place and dear Barnaby's words at the graveside... well, they brought tears to my eyes. Unbeknown to many in this parish, many of Ivor's charitable works and deeds went by unnoticed. Yes, they saw has many performances on stage in the amateur dramatics' society events and concerts but... Oh, I am so lost without him and dear little kitty-cat Kylie also misses him so very much too.
Mrs. Fuddle, there is a confession I must make. It concerns the parish magazine and I just do not know where to begin? You see, for years it has been Ivor that always prepared that on his computer. He never told a soul I'd nothing to do with it... Oh, he tried over and over again to teach me how to use the wretched thing but I was always too busy or else incapable of taking it all in. A few issues ago Ivor refused to do more than scan in the pages and put them into a file as they arrived. He said that, for my own sake, he had to get tough with me, else I'd never learn. Of course, I didn't take him seriously. I mean, I could always talk him around in the end and into typing my editor's letter whilst I dictated that but... Well, it seems that... Oh, I just don't know how to tell you this... He has left his computer to that wretched lad, Nicholas Phillips in his will! You know, the boy that was thrown out of school a couple of years ago! Frightful boy! Comes from one of the most dysfunctional families in the neighbourhood!
How could he do this to me? To us? To the parish, even? Ivor, of all people?
Oh, Mrs. Fuddle I don't know what we will do. The boy is due here shortly to collect the computer and all the bits and pieces that go with it. There's nothing I can do but drown my sorrows with Amelia's wonderful wine and comfort myself by cuddling dear little Kylie cat.
Yours,
Julian
P.S. Please don't call around tonight, I shall probably be too drunk to answer the door.
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The Rectory, Cuckooland Dear Amelia,
Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but I really don't think it wise to keep giving dear Julian bottles of your delicious homemade wine at present. I very much fear that, in his grief, he may become dependant upon it. He sounds very depressed, bless him.
I know that you like to go to bed very early, so will just pop this not through your door on my way to deliver the next stack of parish magazine submissions to Julian.
Amy
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The Rectory, Cuckooland
My dear, dear, Julian,
I am so sorry that I didn't notice your note lying in the hall earlier, or that I failed to hear you popping it through the letterbox. Had I done so, then I'd most certainly have invited you in for a cup of tea and a slice of cake.
Please, please, don't be disheartened over Ivor having bequeathed his computer to that boy. I am sure that if you appeal to his better nature, he will agree to help you with the parish magazine and even help you to master one of those newfangled machines? If so, then I feel sure that Barnaby will endorse a collection and an appeal amongst the parishioners and to see that our editorial committee can acquire a computer suited to our needs.
Perhaps we could start charging for the newsletter instead of giving it away to all-comers free of charge? That would be well worth considering at our next meeting.
Love as always,
Amy Fuddle.
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More contributions for the parish magazine:
Appeal for new Church Window.
The appeal for the new church window is progresiing well, said the Verger of St. Monica's.
Mrs Petchley's cake sale raised £4.37
Mrs Cookson sold her Mother's china for £152.80
Those amounts were added to the total reached thus far and the total now stands at £1319.50.
During the next two weeks the church hall will be holding bring and buy sales and all are welcome, except Smellie Smithins who disgraced himself (yet again) at Evensong on Sunday.
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One black and white black rabbit. Has destroyed my allotment and devoured most of my vegetables. Compensation required. If this rabbit is yours please contact me - Mrs O'nion (01243) 767473
Stolen
Could the person who has stolen the school mascot Colin the Cuckoo please return him to the headmaster ASAP. School morale has dipped since poor Colin's disappearance and our sports teams aren't doing very well either.
Council and Odder Matters
The local council would like to announce the setting up of the Cuckooland Twitchers Club. Anyone interested in birdwatching please come along to the first meeting at the Town Hall. For more details please contact Mrs Maggie Pie at PieM@cuckooland.gov.uk
In Reply to Mr. O'Farty's article in the last issue.
Dear Mr Seamus Patrick Feckin' O'Farty I am very disappointed that I missed the Cuckooland Alcohol and Drugs Seminar, I must agree with your statement that people cannot be expected to understand something they have not experienced themselves, in fact I don’t even know whether the people who have experienced it understand? Addiction is seen as a deviance in society the same as any illness and of course an illness that has no easily seen physical cause is worse they want to see the problem and fix it, although I do believe this is slowly being changed and maybe in the future society maybe able to help prevent the ‘problem’ before it occurs.
You talk about heredity, if in fact addiction as it is being suggested is due to ‘nature’ rather than nurture then how to you feel it should be approached? By screening embryos? Genetic screening? I feel this would open a whole new can of worms, what if every child could be told at a very young age they have an addictive personality, would this child receive the support it needed to prevent addiction (as we know a lot of heredited behaviour is quite easy to change if we know how) or would this child be labelled, be given the role of an addict in society and so follow expectations?
I also agree that it is recovering addicts who can be helped, the support needs to be in place if someone requires it, not be pushed upon people who do not, I can also see your disappointment in the ladies who are interested in statistics, but I do feel that some form of monitoring is necessary if we want to change society in the future, it sounds cold hearted but the only way people without addiction can even begin to understand and gain knowledge is to look for patterns the cause of addiction, why would one person turn to addiction and another (who may have the same genetic disposition) not?
It sounds as though you have a lot of valuable experience in this area; it is people like you who can change the way things are done, only by people shouting about their experience’s can things be changed, I hope I haven't upset anyone I really do like to tend to talk about things I have no knowlege of, maybe it is in my genes?
Yours Mrs B.Body ******************************************** To be continued in Part 22.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 14, 2004 21:17:31 GMT 1
(Part 22)
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Dearest Julian,
Just a quickie to enclose a notice for inclusion in the magazine.
Seeing it, made me wonder if perhaps what you really need now is a nice little dog to keep you and Kylie cat company?
Your devoted, Amy Fuddle.
**************************************************************************** Cuckooland Rescue Dog Agility Team Now Recruiting!!
Do you own a rescue dog? Looking for some good fun and excercise? Then why not join the Cuckooland Rescue Dog Agility Team!!!
Agility is a fantastic sport for all dogs regardless of their size - our members dogs range in size from a Chihuahua to a Great Dane!! Talk about little and large!! Agility is a great way to have fun with your dog and it provides excercise and mental stimulation at the same time and helps to form a strong bond between handler and dog.
All the dogs on the Cuckooland team are rescues and they come from a variety of different backgrounds. Ollie our resident Border Collie / Springer cross is the longest standing team member and here is his story as explained by his owner Jules............
'Ollie is a 5 year old Springer / Border Collie cross and he is also a rescue dog. He originally came into rescue in Ireland after the death of his owner where he faced a very uncertain future. Thankfully and due to the co-operation of Irish and UK rescue centres he was taken to a foster home in Ireland to see out his quarantine period before being transported to Cuckooland Rescue Centre for re-homing.
Ollie is doing fantastically well and has really come on in leaps and bounds. He LOVES his toys and will play with absolutely anything and everything – he loves his frisbee and pulling to pieces all the cuddly toys I can supply!
We have been taking him to training classes once a week and he has made amazing progress, he really has been the ‘star’ of our training class and in fact we have just moved up to the more advanced class which is a great achievement!! He’s such a fast learner and he just seems to take everything in his stride!! We’ve taken him to some local fun dog shows recently and not only have we had great fun but he’s also won rosettes at the Cuckooland Annual Fun Dog Show in the ‘Best Crossbreed’ categories which was lovely to see.
We couldn’t have asked for a more fantastic dog than Ollie and he really does repay all the love and effort we’ve put into him a hundred fold. It just goes to show you how a dog who had previously been through a bit of a rough time can come on in leaps and bounds with love, patience and stability in his life'.
So what are you waiting for? Bring your own rescue dog along to the Cuckooland Rescue Dog Agility Club and get jumping!
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From: Nick (Flipper) Phillips To: Alice Widdel Sent: Friday, November 12, 2004 6:53 PM Subject: A letter between the eyes! LOL
Hi Alice,
Not sure if you remember me or that, if you do, you will want to know me? You may also be wondering how I come to have your email address? At least I can answer that one.
As I was cycling to work at the Cuckooland Garden Centre this morning, and just as the school bus passed me near the traffic lights, someone threw something out of the window. It literally hit me right between the eyes! I was pretty mad about it at the time. I mean, if I'd not been almost stationary something like that could have caused a nasty accident, besides adding more litter to the local gutter. Being so mad about it, I shoved the missile into my pocket. I meant to look at it last night and hoped it had some clue to the owner or whichever litter lout chucked it off the bus.
Anyway, once I'd managed to read it (not easy when you are as dyslexic as me) I realised who it was from and, as your running away from home was fuelling the tongues of all the local gossips and speculators not that long ago, I wasn't sure if you'd want your whereabouts falling into the wrong hands. Don't worry, Alice, I know what it's like to be in your position; please put your mind at rest. My lips are sealed.
Hope whatever drove you from Cuckooland to Cuach is no longer causing you any problems but, if you ever need a pal, email me. I've only just got my own PC, so don't have any internet pals yet. In fact, you are the first person I've emailed since getting this PC and setting it up. I inherited it from Ivor Biggun and, it seems, also responsibility for helping that poor old soak, Julian to prepare the parish mag! Just payment to the community for past sins, perhaps? LOL
BTW, did you know that there is a new editor at the Cuckooland Gazetter now? His name is Francis Xavier Torque. I overheard poor old Julian talking about it on the phone when I collected the computer. It sounds like the new bod's only just arrived in the UK and is from some place called Poona, where he used to be night editor of the Poona Junction Press, or something like that. A bit hard to tell as Julian was well on the way to finishing a bottle of plonk and had another lined up to open when he could find the corkscrew. It's no wonder Ivor added that condition about only having the computer if I agreed to help his old mate.
Flipper
(To be continued in Part 23.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 14, 2004 23:13:38 GMT 1
Part 23
From: Alice Widdel To: Nick (Flipper) Phillips Sent: Friday, November 12, 2004 8:56 PM Subject: Re:A letter between the eyes! LOL
Flipper! How positively brilliant to hear from you!
After they expelled you from school I looked for you everywhere. It was so unfair and I wanted so much to tell you how I felt. I wasn't at all surprised when you finally flipped and went berserk after all the pressure and bullying off teachers. It makes me so mad when people who should know better fail to recognise what is staring them in the face.
Yes, I know you are dyslexic, Flipper, but also that you have an above average IQ and more common sense than 90% of the staff and pupils at the comprehensive put together!
Bullying and making fun of something a person can't help is so pathetic and says a lot more about them than it ever does about the person they are directing their crap at!
Saying that, reading your email, it looks as if you have conquered your dyslexia, which is fantastic! Computers can be a real godsend, can't they? I know my spelling and grammar are so bad that I'd be lost without one to put it right... And now you are even going to be working on the parish mag! What an opportunity to get some revenge on those people who made fun of you!
I do hope that you'll email me a copy of that mag when it comes out, too? Perhaps I could even email you the odd submission? I'd love to respond to Mr. O'Farty. I know a lot of people dismiss him as a bit of a twit, but that's their problem. He talks a whole heap more sense than most of the others in the mag - but they are so funny! I wonder if some of them realise what their submissions say about them if read between the lines?
Anyway, I am really sorry that Polly threw my letter out of the school bus and it hit you, but at the same time, also so glad that it did, as it has put us back in touch.
Do please tell me all about what you've been doing since leaving school and about your job at the garden centre. I can't think why I never bumped into you there, as my mum haunts the place for plants and things for the garden.
Thanks for the information about the new Gazette editor. I have an idea about that... It's about time I had a bit of fun and can't help wondering what he'd make of a little something I could put his way? LOL Will see what I can do about that over the weekend!
Hope to hear from you soon,
Alice
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Isle of Cuach 14th Nov. 2004 The Editor - Mr. Francis Xavier Torque The Cuckooland Gazette.
Dear Sir,
Congratulations on you recent appointment as editor of The Cuckooland Gazette.
Enclosed is a copy of a bizarre letter that I received a few days ago from the Chief Editor of the Cuckooland Parish Magazine and that might perhaps illustrate one of the many concerns that I have about the local community.
I am sure that you will draw your own conclusions from its content and act accordingly.
Yours faithfully,
Alice Widdel.
Encl: Copy letter to me from the Editorial Committee of the Cuckooland Parish Magazine.
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Alice,
I don't really know why I'm bothering to write to you after the nasty contents of your last letter. Was quite excited when I bumped into the postie on the way to school and he handed it to me. Decided to read it on the bus and afterwards in a flare of anger scrunched it up and threw it out the window. It's probably lying in the gutter somewhere or better still at the rubbish dump with the rest of Cuckooland's crap.
Hark look at you talking that I look though rose tinted glasses. You are the one with an obsession with this Seamus Patrick Feckin O'Farty person. Don't bother denying it his name has cropped up several time in your past letters. Personally I think he's a boring old fart and his observations are just a pile of drivel. By the way from now on get your mother to send you the parish mag, as I can't be bothered to waste my money on the postage.
Also I would like to mention that I wasn't talking about that excuse of a river that runs by your house, we all know that's a total dive. I was talking about the one at Haven Meadows, which is far nicer. You have a go at Dan and you've never even spoken to him. You seem to totally forget that a few months ago you were quite happy to giggle about the boys with the rest of us girls. We're teenagers and that's the sort of thing we do.
Don't you go all Green Peace on me!! I'm not the one who has spent their school life confused and needed help with their homework. I'm totally aware of environmental issues that are affecting this planet. What I'm really curious about is how your dad got a job like that when he doesn't appear to have any qualifications or experience.
If you are so depressed by civilization maybe you should cut your links completely and become a hermit. Right must go; some of us have to revise for winter exams. I don't expect a reply.
Polly
P.S. Running away never solves anything. It will catch up with you eventually.
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(Continued in Part 24)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 15, 2004 1:57:45 GMT 1
Part 24
The Rectory Cuckooland.
Dearest Julian,
I appear to have found another two submissions for the parish magazine. They appeared on the Rectory doormat whilst I was out looking for Tiddles in the garden. I do believe he has a lady friend, unless it was your dear little Kylie I heard bewailing her grief through the church yard! The local pussies do seem to consider that their personal courting territory and the noise is enough to wake the dead!
Your devoted friend, Amy Fuddle.
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Submission in response to Seamus Patrick Feckin' O'Farty's article in the last issue:
Seamus - In response to your observations made at the seminar, indeed, I could write reams.
Likewise, I am baffled by the ignorance and naivety of so many non-addicts working with addicts and alcoholics; but then again how far have some of these people travelled outside their own environment? How far have they explored within the depths of their own psyche? Which, I wonder, causes them most fear?
In my opinion, and based on experiences like yours, these people know not what they do. I have working for me lads who would once have likely killed for as little as a cigarette. Two have done time for GBH (both in blackout) and the one of those all but killed his own supplier. Rational? God, no. Not even now. Those guys will in time tell their own stories but neither can read nor write sensibly and my secretary is snowed under at present and with visitors frequenting this place like it was the The Millenium Stadium on International day, I prefer to keep the lads occupied elsewhere and out of the limelight most of the time. I ought to piss the one off - in which case he'd probably blow his brains out. (He's standing right beside me now grinning from ear to ear.) He knows what I've just written and I read out your share to him. He loves the language, savours it and rolls it off his tongue. As long as that's all he steals, eh? He thanks you.
God knows what they packed into me in hospital but, like yourself, I was tripping out and trying to climb the building a block away while strapped to the goddamn bed. I grew extra arms and legs in that bloody bed to fend off the nurses but the bitches kept coming with multiple heads and it's 33 years since I used anything on the street; 15 since I drank. Thank God for that recovery program but recent experiences have taken some dealing with. I don't feel free of the prescribed junk even now. I’ve been handed things over the past few weeks that I’ve dealt with badly and suffered for because it is a progressive illness and the junk seemed to snatch control again. I’d rather the physical pain, at least feeling that is reality. If they hadn’t strapped me to that bed I could easily have killed someone with my bare fists. I hadn't a clue where I was or what I was doing there. Imagine one of those ladies of yours coming into contact with one such as myself? And mine was medication - and it didn’t take much.
It will only take one half crazed narcotic for the s**te to hit their fan and given time, it will. This illness is like a plague spreading through Cuckooland where they are. Maybe they should be sent on an educational trip to the States? I believe there's nothing quite the same as learning by experience, even if that means they mess their knickers a few times in the process. Some on both sides of the fence have to die or get iced so the others can look at the corpses and yes, some of the corpses still breath and rave but that's about all. It is a filthy, stinking illness. An equaliser on all fronts.
Ever wondered about the forbidden apple? I hadn’t found the recovery program when I quit using. My last trip in '71 took me up an apple tree in someone’s garden where I apparently ate mistletoe and guess I had a spiritual experience. This ghostly apparition (a medicine woman) seemed to be charming me down from a great height (about ten feet in reality) and lured me into cave, which became in my mind a spaceship. I came down to find myself in her flat. First time in my life I'd felt at home but I managed to eff that one up too. Insanity? Yes. Bloody crazy.
I can’t afford to get involved on a one to one with those ladies of yours but feel sharing our experiences would help them and others. I need full use of my legs back following an accident and my wits (and I may have sacrificed one of the former in an attempt to retain what little of the latter is left to me) before I consider putting myself on the line or in the line again, if ever. At present I don’t wish to. You will know why. That too is insanity, as is following a cold trail and fanning it back to flames after many years and driven by the lust for vengeance. I wonder if whoever took the knife from my ‘corpse’ has any idea what I intended to do with it just a few hours prior to my 'death' - I didn't use it, by the way, and neither do I feel cheated because the man responsible for my brother’s death blew half his own face away - and yet is still breathing. That was his choice. Maybe he wishes he'd have waited for me or left the crack alone before he pulled the trigger on himself? He now believes I'm dead and died on my way to him and yet I was there and saw him taken away. Dead or alive, I expect I’ll haunt him without even trying. It is finished - for me. Turned over, and the God of my understanding acted on my behalf. Now it is for me to learn to behave.
I have my children to consider and to get to know and some kind of life to build for myself. Guilt also to deal with and my wife to lay to rest in my head. We had our good times but, with hindsight, I now believe the horse riding fall she had some months ago likely accounted for many of the problems she suffered more recently. A lesson to all that ride horses to renew their headgear regularly - she was wearing a racing skullcap but it was years old and she haemorrhaged a few months after being concussed badly. She didn't make it. I failed to recognise the possibility or made the connection when she complained of migraines and acted out of character and I should have. That medication knocked out much rational thought and recognition for me and I allowed the past to cloud my vision and have done for too long. That is insanity. Again I must turn it over - and leave it there. Those ladies have no idea and touch only the surface. May God walk beside them.
This addictive personality. How can I not agree with you? I too am addicted to my defects of character and they do indeed have characters and I can play those characters to become as a chameleon. And I can be like that in drink or out of it, too. My whole family is affected by this illness in themselves and in others and they don't all need to pick up the bottle to be so. My first wife, was as a walking corpse, preserved from the inside out and died from cirrhosis of the liver. My daughter pissed her mother off out of her life at the age of seventeen and, at. thirty-two, now has her own life in order and the past firmly where it belongs. The last time I saw my first wife she kept me sober.
My daughter has nothing to do with her step father either or her half brother and sister in another part of the country. It's a wonder she has anything to do with me. She used to be wild as a kite as a teen but got her act together, a stable home and family. My youngest son spent last week with them and now wants me to get him a cat - the dogs would love it.
This is not what I would want it to be. I confess I am struggling at present. Backlash of an emotional rock bottom and the effects of the medication, I guess. God willing it will pass. I must leave it here for now.
S.M.A.
**************************************************************
(Continued in Part 25.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 15, 2004 2:15:18 GMT 1
Alice in Cuckoo Land - Part 25.
Another Submission in response to Seamus Patrick Feckin' O'Farty's article in the last issue:
THE LADIES OF MERCY.
I would tell you a tale about a little lady of mercy, a Florence Nightingale of my acquaintance, one time. This was long ago and before they locked me up for GBH and I spent many years lying on my bunk at night trying to remember what I had done to land myself there. I knew it wasn't a set up. There were more witnesses than would have fitted in the courtroom.
At that time I was a user and had a sweet little Cuckooland staff nurse in tow who supplied all the needles I needed and a lot more besides. She was addicted to black leathers, sex and a 1,000c.c. bike throbbing between her legs. I used to pick her up from the hospital where she worked and she'd climax before we reached the hospital gates, her body pressed into mine and her hands wrapped around me rubbing my gun. Brother, was she HOT and she would supply just about anything in return for sex with a biker - and the rougher they were the better - and she was married to a policemen of all people!
You would have thought I'd have had more sense than to muck around with a cop's wife, wouldn’t you? Bloody crazy I was in those days - and still am - but I don't use or drink anymore. The point is when I did use, there weren't many risks I wouldn't take to get what I wanted and I wasn't fussy who got hurt if they got in my way.
I used to tell that nurse that if her old man hassled her I would waste him and I meant it. She got pregnant in the end. Whose kid I don't know but she quit her job and I don't know what happened to her after that. As for me, I was married too and I got drunk one evening and can't recall beyond the first pint, wrecked the pub, stabbed a couple of folk and wound up inside for a stretch. When I finally came out I went looking for a friend - to make one, as I had none left, nor a wife or family - and that in the first pub I came to with a bike outside. Then it was my turn to land in hospital as I got drunk again and tried to nick that guy’s bike and he didn't like it none too much and he beat seven shades out of me and I'd reckoned I kept in shape inside! The sick head had just got worse but the weird thing was, that guy who fought me turned out to be in recovery and after landing me in hospital he came to visit me and told me his own story. I ain't had a drink since then and ain't used either for years. I ain’t been in trouble with the law since either and it's all just one day at a time. I try to keep things simple too because I can't do anything else as my head is shot to hell - but at least I know it now.
Brothers, those ladies don't know where they are at. If anyone was nice to me in the old days I would sure take them for a ride and not just on my bike. I was a pleasure seeker and my pleasure didn’t have to be their pleasure, especially if I was spaced out on anything. Whenever I had sex it was never far from rape and how I never got that one pinned on me I don't know. Neither do I know how I never quite managed murder but came damn close. I can’t remember great chunks of my life between my late teens to my late thirties and in those times I could have done anything, even murder for all I know. If those ladies want to risk their lives though it is up to them. Some of them will have to wind up martyred so others can learn by their mistakes; but will they learn or will they keep reckoning it won't happen to them until it does? Strikes me that if they reckon that they could have an addiction to denial! That can kill, in my opinion, just as surely as my denial was killing me and I didn't even realise it.
Snakeman.
***********************************************
For: Council & Odder Matters:
Has nobody observed the council notices posted on lamposts around the area of Haven Meadows or have vandals once again aided and abetted our corrupt council and planning department in their evil works?
According to the notices, Haven Meadows - perhaps the most beautiful place in the parish; a favourite haunt of local lovers and environmentalists due to its wildlife - is destined to become a large private housing estate and out of town shopping development.
I have little doubt that this is the work of corrupt district councillors and planning committee officials and that they are in league with the corporate giants and already planning their retirements in the sun of the Costa del Crim.
Could this be yet another example of something suppressed by the recently resigned editor of The Cuckooland Gazette?
I, for one, sincerely hope that the new editor, when he arrives will prove instrumental in exposing the wholesale corruption that appears endemic within this parish and before all the decent people residing here cut and run for the sake of sanity and a peaceful life.
A meeting of the Friends of Haven Meadows will take place on site next Saturday, please bring placards with slogans 'SAVE OUR MEADOWS' and wear wellingtons, as rain is forecast and we all know the area floods regularly, which is yet another reason why it is insane to contemplate building anything on a flood plain!
Bill Heckler.
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(Continued in Part 26.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 16, 2004 2:41:30 GMT 1
(Part 26) From: Nick (Flipper) Phillips To: Alice Widdel Sent: Monday, November 15, 2004 9:27 PM Subject: Advance on submissions to the Parish Magazine
Hi Alice,
Great to hear from you and sorry not to reply sooner. I hope the attached files will interest you and make up for the delay?
I spent most of the weekend scanning them into the PC and sorting them into order. I don't know how many will end up in the Parish Magazine if or when it finally comes out. That Julian hasn't a clue! He's been out of his tree most of the weekend. Drunk on something or other, crying and wailing his grief and with the vicar's wife, that batty Lavinia woman and the creepy one dancing around him chanting something or other! It reminded me of the scene at the beginning of that Scottish play.
They were on about organising a memorial concert for Ivor but I doubt if they could organise anything beyond who pours the next round of drinks. They tried offering me one but I just grabbed the submission files and fled! A shame, because a concert in Ivor's memory would be good. I may see if any of the contacts he has on the PC could help with that. I wouldn't know where to start but feel I owe Ivor so much I'd be willing to try. I miss him an awful lot, Alice. Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not gay, but when I was in so much trouble a couple of years ago it was Ivor who was there for me. Perhaps because he's been the subject of so much prejudice over his sexuality, he seemed to know exactly how I felt and because of my dyslexia? I didn't see it at first and was embarrassed and rude towards him. How he put up with the crap I came out with then I don't know, but he did. He found me in the alley behind the theatre one night after he'd been performing in a charity concert. I was in a mess. Drunk, stoned and slashing myself with a broken bottle. I hated myself so much. It was Ivor who called the ambulance and went with me to the hospital. He even visited me in the psychiatric unit they sent me to after I was stitched up. Does that shock you, Alice? I hope not, but I'd rather tell you myself now and before anyone else does. That especially if we are going to carry on emailing each other. I'd really like that. If you do, then I'll tell you more about how Ivor helped me. You never know, there may be something that he said to me that will help you deal with things that are bothering you? Ivor always said to me that he's been given a gift but to keep it, he had to pass it on to anyone that needed it.
He did a lot more for me that just helping me get the job at the garden centre. The reason you probably didn't see me there was because I work in the private areas at the back and doing things like taking and potting cuttings, preparing hanging baskets and planters and also making things in the woodwork shop. The bird tables, nest boxes, those rustic seats and troughs on display there are all my work and I love doing it. The garden centre's owners are good people and once they have told me what they need me to do, they let me alone to get on with it. No pressure, no stress, appreciation and a decent wage plus bonuses. They weren't very keen on having me there to begin with though, not with my reputation. It was Ivor that swung that for me, and a lot more besides, but I'll save that for another time.
Do tell me about Cuach and how you are doing up there? I'd love to learn about the place.
Flipper
************************************************* Isle of Cuach.
Polly,
In this arse-about-face world I think I'll answer your letter back to front.
Of course running away doesn't solve anything - but a little physical distance can help one to look at things more objectively. That must surely be better than trying to bury one's head in the sand or live in a perpetual state of naive denial, don't you agree?
So you don't expect a reply, eh? Tough. You are getting one. It might have arrived sooner had you not thrown away my email address and where just about any nutcase could have got hold of it. But more of that later.
Become a hermit? Chance would be a fine thing, but that's hardly a realistic option.
So you are curious about my dad, are you? Were I to tell you how he supports his family and in their chosen lifestyle, I daresay you'd be quite surprised. Were I to list his qualifications, you'd likely be speechless, and that really wouldn't do at all. Why, you'll need your voice so that Dribbler can hear you above the protesters and Friends of the Earth campaigners when you walk along through Haven Meadows together, and as you will soon discover. Make the most of it, Polly.
On the subject of needing help with my homework - when a teacher is stupid enough to set impossible tasks such as: 'Write about a person who DID change the future of the world,' then anyone with a modicum of brain capacity would be left scratching their heads! There might be many people whose discoveries or inventions 'influenced the direction of the world's future' but no one can change the future of the world without prior knowledge of something that has yet to happen! 'Did', being past tense, must surely mean that whatever they did, and whatever influence it had in history, has been carried forward into the present, so may well influence the future, but it still cannot change that!
Yes, I giggled about the boys, but perhaps not for the reasons you thought. Just seeing them attempting to put on the macho act for us girls, and whilst displaying their scrawny, immature physiques on the pitch and trying to impress us all with their posing, had me in stitches! Why, most of them only do it to be the same as their mates but inside... Well, I bet they are mostly worried sick that they aren't as big as the others or don't have any hair under their arms, on their chests or elsewhere yet!
Dismiss Mr. O'Farty by all means. We are all entitled to our own opinions and to remain in ignorance if that's what we choose. Personally I don't. We may be teenagers but that doesn't mean we know it all. I certainly don't, but do think that people who have experienced the harder side of life have a lot of personal knowledge and wisdom to pass on to those open-minded enough, willing, and possessed of the capacity to learn. I therefore suggest that you look up the definition of 'obsessed' before you go throwing that one in my direction, Polly. Remember, whenever one points a finger at someone, three point back at oneself.
Yes, I already know that you scrunched up my letter and threw it out of the school bus window like a common litter lout. I also know who it hit between the eyes as he was cycling along next to the bus and could have easily caused him to have a serious accident. He wasn't too pleased, I can tell you, and after reading the letter he knows who threw it, as well as my email address. In fact, he has already emailed me, and I must thank fate for that. He will most certainly be kind enough to send me the Parish rag, so don't worry, I shall be very well informed of all that goes on back in Cuckooland.
It strikes me that the worst trash in Cuckooland isn't what gets taken to the rubbish dumb but what lies in the gutter, full of contempt and looking down in the world while the stray dogs pee on them.
Well, I hope things may change for the better around there soon. I suppose you have heard that there is a new editor appointed at The Cuckooland Gazette? A Mr. Francis Xavier Torque, apparently recently arrived from Poona. (That's in India, in case you don't know, Polly.) I thrust that he doesn't succumb to the pressures of the 'get-rich-quick-at-any-cost-to-the-community brigade' and like the last editor did. People in Cuckooland seem to think they inherited the place from their parents, when in reality they hold it in trust for their children and their children's children. A fine lot of trustees they are!
Good luck at Haven Meadows, Polly - and I do mean that.
Alice.
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(Continued in Part 27.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 16, 2004 2:46:21 GMT 1
Part 27
My Dear Edith,
I received your letter in the post this morning, and I must say I am more than a little disappointed at the tone you have adopted. When I wrote to express my concerns for your welfare, I did so as a loving and caring sister. Furthermore, I am certain that my friends had the very best of intentions when making me aware of your activities. They are certainly not the type of people to loiter on street corners like fishwives, spreading malicious rumours. Indeed they are, without exception, extremely busy people, and have much more important matters to occupy their time.
I would be only too happy to visit you, and partake of afternoon tea, how would Saturday week suit you? I can be at your home for 3.30pm if that is acceptable. Maybe then we can sit down and talk over your plans in a calm and civilised manner. Would you like me to provide a few scones and one of my ever popular victoria sponge sandwich cakes, or have you by now mastered the art of home baking? It would be no trouble for me, indeed I have made so many over the years that I am sure I could almost do it now with my eyes closed. Having said that, I do only make them now for committee meetings, vicarage tea parties and the like. Since my dear Lawrence passed away I haven’t much appetite for them myself.
I am extremely alarmed to read that you would even consider removing yourself to some remote barren island, to join what appears to be some sort of hippy commune, and teach children who are the products of a somewhat dubious and unorthodox relationship. They are probably little better than savages, who spend their days getting into all manner of mischief. Never matter; we can discuss this airy, fairy idea of yours when I visit.
It is reassuring to learn that you have sent that ne’r-do-well fireman on his way, I must be thankful for small mercies, and rejoice that you seem to have retained a modicum of sense where men are concerned at least. As I stated in my previous correspondence to you, I should have expected your previous excursions into liaisons with the opposite sex to have been sufficient to deter you from that path again. However, as you have obviously now realised the error of your ways, we shall say no more on the matter.
I must hurry and make myself ready for this afternoon’s Women’s Institute meeting, so I will pop this into the box on my way past the post office. We have a guest speaker addressing us on the plight of greyhounds, and their prospects once they are retired from racing. Not my cup of tea at all, but then we do seem to have attracted some very odd types of late, and one of our newer members has been most insistent that we should broaden our horizons. I honestly cannot see why she should think we would be in the least interested, but our Chairwoman, Mrs. Wilson-Smythe, thought it best to humour her.
I will draw this letter to a close now Edith, and shall await your reply regarding our little tête-à-tête. Please let me know soonest if my suggestion is convenient to you.
Your loving sister,
Edna.
(Continued in Part 28.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 18, 2004 2:17:31 GMT 1
(Part 28)
Alice,
I am growing extremely annoyed with you. I paid a lot of money for that special new mobile phone I sent you and so that I could talk to you, not for you to leave a load of your garbled nonsense messages on my answerphone! I am sure that you are being deliberately provoking by phoning me at such times that you know I am always out or else too busy and engrossed in my work to answer the phone. You know perfectly well how busy I am preparing for the exhibition. I have tried phoning you but only to find that your phone is switched off and you do not answer my messages except with more of that wretched nonsense that awaits me each time I check the answerphone for messages!
Really, this on top of upsetting your grandfather so much that he will neither answer his phone nor agree to speak with me if I visit, is all too much. You are the most ungrateful, selfish and self-centred child that any mother could have.
I command you to write a letter of apology to your grandfather and fear he must be ill because of what you have done. You are as bad as your father! This is all your fault, Alice! You are to blame! You never have been an easy child to raise. Always wanting to know why this, why that and why the other instead of being like a normal, nice little girl like your friend Polly. I really do not know why she puts up with you!
I have still heard nothing more from your Miss Wigglesly, either, although I heard plenty about her in the hairdresser's earlier today. A most frightful, bossy and la-de-dah woman with a plumy voice was in there at the same time as me. I am sure she must be your Miss Wigglesly's sister, the way she spoke. She was telling her stylist that the rumour about the rabbit sanctuary is all nonsense but that he sister is now about to fritter her inheritance away by removing to a remote island to teach a bunch of uneducated savages. Perhaps that explains why I have not heard from her? Whatever, I am warning you, Alice, I will NOT have that rabbit back here, and feel sure if Miss Wigglesly tries to take it with her, the savages will eat it.
My exhibition is due to open very soon and, I am told, will be on something called the world wide web. Goodness knows what that means, but it sounds impressive as long as they are not going to hang my lovely paintings amongst spider’s webs or anything so grotesque. My dear father, your grandfather, always said there was a market for quality nudes and, even if I say so myself, my nudes are definitely quality! They certainly seem to think so at the gallery, and are delighted that I have chosen to rent a studio there where I can work undisturbed and in good light every day.
Someone in the hairdressers said the world wide web had something to do with computers, but I have not had time to pursue that computer course, so have no idea. I did try to put your computer on but when I pressed the buttons on the front all it did was open a little draw like a CD player. Then, when I pressed another other button, the TV bit said it was shutting it down again - but then started it straight back up! It is a ridiculous thing and I wondered if perhaps one of your school friends, if you have any, could call around and show me how to switch it off? I know it is still on, even though the TV screen has gone black now, and because I can hear it breathing and there are little green lights on the front. One keeps winking at me if I go into your room. That is very unnerving.
Do not forget to write to you grandfather. That is an order! In addition, you are to telephone me when it is convenient to me, do you understand, Alice?
Your mother.
**************************************************************************
Alice
I don't know what the matter is with you, and I sometimes regret even getting back into contact with you. You've got a chip on your shoulder so big you're in danger of falling over. I would joke about it not being a smart thing to do on a remote island with no hospital nearby but you would probably only go and bite my head off.
You seemed quite thrilled at first to be able to find out what was happening in your old home town but now you seem to despise it and use your letters to have a go at the townspeople and myself. What did I do to so terribly upset you?
Look, I have exams coming up now and I can't spend my time worrying if you don't tell me what's really at the depth of your anger. You can't just verbally attack people just because you feel like it.
Polly
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(Continued in Part 29.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 18, 2004 2:25:12 GMT 1
(Part 29)
From: Alice Widdel To: Nick (Flipper) Phillips Sent: Tuesday, November 16, 2004 7:20 PM Subject: Re: Advance on submissions to the Parish Magazine
Hi Flipper,
Wow! Got your file, thanks. It had me cracking up laughing and I wonder how much of that stuff you have actually read?
Surely the committee aren't going to put it all in the parish Magazine? I thought the last one was bad and a few bits in it left certain residents open to blackmail or might land the committee in court and getting themselves sued but this lot of submissions are even worse!
I managed to discover the email address for the new Gazette editor and sent him copies of some pieces, including the one about the council's proposals for Haven Meadows. However, the reply came back from a solicitor! I am a little confused over that and think that perhaps things must be being redirected. Is this solicitor representing Mr. Torque or handling his affairs for some reason? See what you think of the bit below, please, and let me know...
'Mr Torque tells me that he will need a week or so to settle in, get to know his new neighbours and neighbourhood, catch a few Ersatz Blues and wander the moors in search of Kist burials, and the marsh in search of bog bodies.
I can tell you that Mr Torque is quite adamantly opposed to supermarkets and residential reefs that harbour all sorts of coffee-drinking SUV drivers. He would view the proposed development through jaundiced eyes if it should threaten to harm one hair on a single frog.
Sincerely,
Diodorus Kipp,
Bolster, Kipp, Scratcher and Scratcher, Solicitors.'
If nothing else, it sounds as if the Friends of Haven Meadows will have an extra supporter and one that may be able to stir a few of the apathetic of the parish off their backsides and into action.
I never knew Ivor Biggun, although had obviously seen him around town and at a couple of charity concerts. From what you tell me he sounds to have been very kind, considerate, and understanding person. One of those unsung heroes that people never realise exists until they are dead. I'd love to hear more about how he helped you.
As for me, if you really want to help, perhaps you could call on my mother and show her how to switch off my old PC? LOL
I'll send you a scanned copy of her latest letter to me, so you can see what I am up against there and, as for my grandfather... Well, he is quite another story, but I have an idea about how to word any letter to him! I might be sorry that he's choosing to hide rather than face Mum, but that's about all. I promised someone that I'd keep a secret from my mum, Nick. Now I really wish I'd never done that, although if I were to break my promise Mum probably wouldn't believe me anyway. I just can't win and yes, it is making me feel angry. That and the ignorance and apathy that most people seem to rely on to keep their safe, secure, and delusional worlds intact. I don't know about the parish of Cuckooland, but I think most of the residents there seem to live in cuckoo land!
I do hope the bit in Mum's letter referring to the woman in the hairdresser's it is only another rumour being spread by the gossips about old Miss Wigglesly going to live on an island with savages. I can't really see her as the missionary type, can you? But if it should be true, please could you offer to look after my old pet rabbit, Humper? I know you love animals and can remember how you saved the injured stray dog that was lying in the school playground a few years ago, and managed to arrange for a rescue centre to care for him and get him the help he needed and a wonderful new home.
Cuach is a fabulous place, although most of the residents seem to be elderly people, rather absorbed or eccentric scientists working on various projects, or else not really residents at all but holiday home owners and only here during the summer months.
I've made a couple of friends here - an old fisherman called Donnchadh Garbh (apparently it means 'Harsh Donald' in Gaelic) and Morag McCraw, or Morag Gorag, meaning 'Morag the Wild'! Strictly speaking that should be Morag a'Gorag, but as that translates to 'Morag the whore' and isn't applicable, the locals never used that! She is quite amazing. At least sixty years old and tiny. The first time I saw her I mistook her for a little girl galloping along the machair on a pony. I was all for trying to follow her, hoping to make friends and perhaps beg a ride on her pony, but Mr. Garbh explained that she was no child and that it would be best to wait until Miss McCraw chose to introduce herself to me.
The following Sunday lunchtime she did! She just walked into our cottage as my stepmother, Raspberry was dishing up the meal, and announced that she'd brought us a gift of peat for the fire. She had two ponies loaded up with it outside the door. Dad and I went to help unload that and then invited her for a meal with us. Halfway through that Miss McCraw stretched a hand out, placed it on my stepmother’s stomach, and told her that she was carrying twin boys that would be delivered next February! She also said that when the time came she would attend to the birth!
When she left, she insisted I go outside with her and walk a little way in her company. Once out of sight of the cottage she gave me a halter she'd made.
"Hold it and close your eyes," she said. "Now be telling me what ye see?"
When I said I couldn't see anything with my eyes closed, she poked me right between the eyes and just above them.
"With your seeing eye, a' mhaighdean! Can you not be seeing your pony? She'll be away up along an' awaiting ye, I'll be bound, or my name's not Morag Gorag... Now, will ye be telling me her colour?"
I hadn't a clue what she was on about, Nick, but did my best to try to visualise my dream pony - a beautiful grey with a flying mane and that can jump like a stag! It wouldn't come! Instead, the only thing I could see was a sort of grey mist and a vague shadow moving through it, neither coming closer nor further away. Just seeming to circle around me. I found myself turning around to follow it. Not quickly enough to make myself giddy, but suddenly I felt really strange and opened my eyes when I felt Miss McCraw's hand steadying me because I'd almost lost my balance and fallen. When I'd recovered under her rather searching gaze, she told me to be away home and not to fret on it. That I'd find my pony when I was meant to! I called after her to ask how I'd know if it was mine but all she shouted back was that I would know when it happened! Weird or what?
Talking of weird, are there any more submissions for the parish rag, yet? I could do with a laugh! I had another letter from Polly, the girl who threw my last reply out of the bus window. I don't know whether I'll bother writing back to her or not yet. I might just send her an e-card to wish her well in her exams. She's right, of course, about me having a chip on my shoulder, but I can't possibly share it with her because she'd never understand anyway. I just hope noting bad ever happens to her personally though. At least, not until she's grown up enough to cope, else she'll fall to bits. Mr. O'Farty is right about people not understanding things they have never experienced, but I do think that negative things don't have to be the same events happening to people for the emotional stuff to be similar enough that they can empathise, if you know what I mean? None of the teachers in school or even parents seem to explain how to deal with things like that. Instead, they just tell you to pull yourself together or to stop talking rubbish, so you are just left hanging and trying to work out ways of coping. (Like lashing out verbally at innocent people like poor Polly.) Actually ridding oneself of the hurt one feels inside, and that just keeps coming back, seems like an impossible task. Any tips?
Alice
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Dear Mum,
Thank you for your letter.
Please rest assured that I will be writing to grandfather to tell him I am sorry he has chosen to take out his feelings on you, as he appears to be doing, and to hide away from the world because of reading my letter. At least I was right about one thing; he did give you the deeds to the house and has stopped hassling you over your painting. If that makes me an ungrateful, selfish, and self-centred child, then this world certainly is in trouble.
If you can spare the time to let me know when is a convenient time in your busy schedule for me to telephone you, I will endeavour to do so. I only turn the phone off during the hours I'm in bed or else doing the schoolwork set by the online tutors and from the mainland by live video and computer link. We do that in a little room that has been set aside in the community centre here on Cuach and the teacher would not be pleased if lessons are interrupted by personal phone calls, be those from parents or anyone else.
I have emailed an old school friend who left the school a couple of years ago. I hope that he will call on you one evening after work and sort the computer out for you. He will also be able to show you the World Wide Web, should you wish to ask him. His name is Nicholas. Please don't embarrass me by asking him to pose for you as an artist's model.
Love Alice.
***************************************************** Dear Polly, Do please tell me what the chip on my shoulder is, as you are so wise and omniscient. I could do with identifying it. Perhaps then, I could deal with it without upsetting anyone? Good luck in your exams and watch out for those split infinitives; you know how some of the teachers like to go on and on about things like that. (E.g. What did I do to so terribly upset you?) Alice ******************************
(Continued in Part 30.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 18, 2004 19:38:47 GMT 1
Part 30
Dear Grandfather, I am most sincerely sorry that you are choosing to refuse to speak to Mum, but rather to have holed yourself up in your house than to face the possible consequences of your actions and the elaborate web of lies that you constructed due to what happened several years ago. Mum doesn't know anything about that and I don't feel it is my place to tell her. I only found out myself by accident, and I didn't believe the person that told me a little about it, at the time. There is always so much gossip flying around Cuckooland and it is as if people have nothing better to do that make trouble for others. However, because it was bothering me, I needed to find out if there was any truth behind what little I was told. That's why I went to see the two ladies who run the animal rescue centre out near Starling Woods. I didn't introduce myself properly at first, just gave my first name, and asked if I could help to look after the animals and walk the dogs at weekends and in the school holidays. The two ladies were glad of all the help they could get but explained they couldn't afford to pay me - as if that mattered to me! When they rescued a pony and he recovered his health and condition after almost starving to death, they taught me to ride him, even allowing me to enter a local show with him. It was then and only then, when I came third in a class and the announcer gave my full name over the loudspeaker system that they found out who I was. That's when they confirmed everything and more, begging me to promise not to say anything to Mum but to leave sleeping dogs lie. I might have done that where you are concerned too, but for you constantly trying to ensure Mum remained dependant upon you for her financial security and her believing the lie that she was. It's also no wonder you don't like Mum painting or getting involved with the local art community. Eventually she'd be sure to learn just how you make your millions. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! It was you that told Mum how there was always a market for a good nude. I may only have been four or five years old when I chased your housekeeper's cat into that bedroom in your house where you hang and store all those paintings that you deal in. How angry you were with me then and how quickly you grabbed and swung me out through the door before slamming it shut. Kids don't forget things like that, although I mightn't have even noticed the paintings had you not been so angry. All I was interested in then was playing with the cat. You scared me then and for years afterwards, but now I'm older. Now I understand what you have done, despite it probably being from the misguided motive of protecting Mum and me as far as you were concerned. I am not afraid of you anymore. Your behaviour makes a mockery of all the old-fashioned moral values you profess to hold and believe yourself to set as an example. As for the way you tried to drive a wedge between Mum and Dad; how much of that was really due to your own embarrassment when, on learning that Dad had gained his doctorate, you assumed him to be a fully qualified medical doctor and pulled strings to have him offered a position at the local hospital? I can well imagine you thought it easier to drive Dad away and see their marriage destroyed by your poison before the truth emerged and you got egg on your face. Yes, I am sorry that your behaviour is as it is, but I am not sorry for leaving you and Mum to sort yourselves and your heads out and, with luck, to get honest with one another. Until you both do that, I don't want to get involved. Your granddaughter, Alice.
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(Continued in Part 31.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 18, 2004 19:43:28 GMT 1
Part 31
Dear Ms. Widdel,
I must apologise for the delay in replying to your letter. I seem to have so much on my plate at the moment, more than just the usual marking and end of term reports to think about. You remember you told me about the rumours being spread about me setting up a rabbit sanctuary? I also heard about them from my sister, who does not even live in Cuckooland, as she wrote to tell me about them. Whoever started the rumours has caused me so much trouble.
The school headmaster has been asking me whether I am committed to my job at the school, and some wisecrack has left a box full of baby rabbits on my doorstep (10 of them). I wonder if it was the lady you overheard at the bus stop? I really do not know what to do, and worrying about them is taking up so much time. For now I have them hopping around my box room, but I am so worried they will chew something they shouldn't. I do not know if there is a local sanctuary that would be able to take them off my hands. It is something I have never really thought about before. Helping you out with Humper really has brought about some difficult changes in my life I can tell you.
Thank you for letting me know what a bad sort that Whitey King is. (Of course, I would never have come across him if it had not been for Humper and Alice being stuck in his old hutch.) I have sent him packing I am glad to say. I hope he does not darken my doorstep again, although I do worry about where he will turn up next. Possibly on the doorstep of some unsuspecting lady who does not have the benefit of acquaintances who can alert her to the truth about him. He is a very good actor and had quite taken me in, I fear. I wonder if I should write an article to the Parish Magazine alerting single ladies to the potential dangers of men like Whitey? Having said that what would I write? In any case, my time is so taken up at the moment I doubt I could manage it.
I would be very pleased if you would send my regards to Alice when you next write to her or ring her (does she have a phone on the island?) I would be most interested to hear how the system of online education is working for her and the other children on the island, if it has been set up yet. I was vaguely wondering if it was something I might be able to help with, although I am not familiar with the Scottish education system and I think it is somewhat different to ours in England. I am not at all sure how the funding for such projects is set up in Scotland.
I notice you make mention of my personal affairs in your letter. I am sure there is nothing in my past that is secret as such, but on the other hand, I do so despair of people who have nothing better to do than tittle-tattle and make mischief. I know you do not fall into this category Ms. Widdel, but I would appreciate it if you did not mention my personal life to other people. After the rabbit sanctuary fiasco, I am very nervous about where anything these days might lead. I do wonder about the sort of people that seem to be attracted to this area and moving in. Sadly, I feel I do not know the village in the same way that I used to, with such an influx of newcomers, and I hear there may be plans afoot to develop a shopping precinct and a new housing estate. I must look into that, as I fear it may have a detrimental effect on what was once a cosy little village. I wonder if the Parish Magazine will be able to provide the details?
I really must get on now,
I trust you are still enjoying your newfound freedom and I look forward to hearing more about your art. I wonder if you will be exhibiting in the library at all? Perhaps I will see it for myself then.
Very best wishes,
Ms. Wigglesly
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Dear Ms. Wigglesly,
There is no need to apologise for the delay, I know exactly what it is like to be busy and snowed under with work and other worries. As for wretched rumours running riot around the area, if would seem that if the gossips are not talking about you, they are twittering on about me. It does not take much to get tongues wagging and, I confess, that dreadful Whitey King may bear us both a grudge for seeing through his capers, and yes, like all conmen, he can certainly act. I was foolish enough to agree to him posing for one of my paintings and ever since I have had a string of the most appalling characters turning up at my door offering their services as artists’ models! Why even that peculiar little man who is into naturism and whose article appears like clockwork, time after time, in the parish magazine was here the other day - and with not a stitch on under his coat, too!
However, I do think I should warn you over what I could not help but overhear in the hairdresser's the other day. As I told Alice in my last letter to her, the most frightful, bossy and la-de-dah woman with a plumy voice was in there at the same time as me. She was talking loudly to her stylist and saying that the rumour about the rabbit sanctuary is all nonsense but that her sister is now about to fritter her inheritance away by removing to a remote island to teach a bunch of uneducated savages.
Now I really don't know to whom she is related, but in view of the rabbit sanctuary rumour and now what you have revealed to me in your letter, it does appear too much of a coincidence for that pretentious creature to be referring to anyone other than yourself? If she is truly your sister, then you have my most sincere sympathies.
With regard to those baby rabbits, there I can help with the whereabouts of an animal sanctuary. Indeed, I am surprised that Alice never mentioned it to you. She spent every spare minute possible there at weekends and during school holidays. But then again, Alice can be an extremely difficult, secretive little madam at times. The place is situated about five miles from here and off the road to Maggots Ford. Look for the 'Cock and Bull' public house on the right and almost immediately past that, there is a lane on the left leading to Starling Woods. The animal sanctuary is down there about half a mile on the left. They have everything there and two elderly women run the place, I believe. I have only met the one once, that when Alice's bicycle had a puncture and the woman drove her and the bicycle home in an extremely scruffy pick-up truck. I would have invited her in but for the state of her. Something to do with an escaped billy goat, she said, but the stench was horrendous and her dungarees filthy from cleaning out the pot-bellied pigs or something. Whatever, I am sure they would take the baby rabbits off your hands. Alice often said how well cared for the animals there were. Even that the two women go without themselves rather than see an animal suffer. She was always asking me for old clothes, blankets, and things to take there.
That head teacher of yours in a strange man. I swear I saw him leering over the main post office counter at that pouty young assistant they have working there now. The pregnant one who wears her skirts so short that she leaves nothing to the imagination. Alice sent me something she calls an 'E-mail' address, and told me letters sent that way arrived much faster than ordinary mail and did not need stamps. Well, I put that address 'aliceincuckooland@cuach.net' on the envelope and took it into the post office to have it sent. There was a huge queue for the counter and by the time my turn arrived, I was already running late for a meeting at the gallery and not in the best of humours. I got that dreadful assistant that looks like something out of a horror film. All black leather, white faced, and thick dark purple nail varnish, which I am sure she only uses to avoid cleaning the dirt from under her fingernails. That was when I saw the head teacher, standing next to me and leering over the counter at that tarty creature.
'Oh, you can't send this from here', said the thing who thinks she is a vampire or whatever. 'Try the library.'
I tell you, Ms. Wigglesly, I am sure I heard the pair of them sniggering as I left. 'Try the library', indeed! Needless to say, I did not bother but just crossed out the address, replaced it with the normal one and used a stamp. The library is about as likely to run a postal service, as they are to exhibit my paintings, although I am told those are to be exhibited on the world wide web, whatever that is. Perhaps you can tell me?
Yes, I heard something the other day about a new shopping precinct somewhere or other. Someone did say there had been council notices on lampposts about it, but that as fast as those were posted, vandals ripped them down. I tell you, this whole area appears to be rapidly going to the dogs. Talking of dogs, would you believe it, there were at least half a dozen of those, and of all shapes and sizes, attempting to copulate with a Labrador bitch in the Garden of Remembrance when I called there to lay flowers for my mother recently. It was the anniversary of her passing, you know. I remarked on it to a rather peculiar, elderly gentleman who was sitting on one of the benches and clearly grieving, judging by the tears he had pouring down his face. I think he may have been a little drunk, but then the vicar's wife appeared and was all set to take him to the rectory for some tea. I told her what I thought of the dogs behaving badly but all she said was that the cats made more noise getting up to it and from dusk to dawn! Also, that if it was not cats or dogs doing it, then it was rabbits or the local teenagers!
As you say, the village is not what it used to be!
I will try to remember to ask Alice what she knows of the Scottish Educational system and to let you know, although you might be best to contact her yourself and ask. Most of the time I can make no sense out of the rubbish she talks.
Kind regards,
Cecelia Widdel.
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(Continued in Part 32.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 24, 2004 20:06:11 GMT 1
Part 32.
The Rectory, Cuckooland.
My dear Julian,
Barnaby and I were most concerned to find you in the cemetery yet again, and in such a state. Amelia should be ashamed of herself bringing you bottle after bottle of her homemade wine. I know she means well, but I do fear that it is causing you to feel far more depressed than you might otherwise be. Surely this cannot be what dear Ivor would have wanted? Not after he has clearly taken such pains in his Will to ensure that you are taken care of as your needs dictate and for the rest of your life.
That boy, Nicholas, called here again this evening to collect the latest submissions for the parish magazine and assures me that he has everything up to date and will only need you to select whatever pieces are to be accepted and prepare your editor's page.
Nicholas has also discovered the whereabouts of some of Ivor's old friends that he thinks might be willing to help with the memorial concert that was discussed at our last meeting.
It is Barnaby's birthday soon and we are planning to go out for an evening meal then. I'm told they serve very nice dinners at the Cock and Bull Inn, near Maggotsford. We wondered if you would care to join us then? There will be plenty of room in the taxi and you are most welcome to invite a friend.
Enclosed are copies of the latest submissions for your perusal.
Your devoted friend,
Amy Fuddle. ***************************************************
For: What's On in Cuckooland.
Just a small reminder that the Pointy Dog Rescue's monthly walk will soon be upon us once again. It's going to take place at Bracken Hill just outside of the town. Lots of lovely scenery for walkers and lots of lovely smells for the dogs. We will be meeting in the car park at 2 p.m. on 5th December. Look forward to seeing the regulars and hopefully some new faces. If you would directions to Bracken Hill or more details about our walks then contact Pointy Dog Rescue at pointydogs@cuckooland.com.
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Could all members of the Cuckooland Brass Band please note that the first rehearsal for Ivor Biggun's memorial service will be held on Monday 29th November at 7.30 p.m. in the Scout Hall. Please bring your instruments and music stands with you. Tea and biscuits will be provided.
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Starling Woods Animal Sanctuary - Annual Barn Dance with The Hoedown Hoppers & The Barley Mow Band comedy interlude by Ivan Acre and Pat Cowes to be held 18th December, 2004 commencing 7.30 p.m. Admission by ticket only - £5.00p (All proceeds to aid the animals and the sanctuary.)
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(Continued in Part 33.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 24, 2004 20:07:20 GMT 1
Part 33.
From: Nick (Flipper) Phillips To: Alice Widdel Sent: Wednesday, November 24, 2004 9:03 PM Subject: The Mad, the Bad and the Ugly!
Hi Alice,
Sorry it's been over a week since I've been in touch. Lots has been happening, good and bad, followed by more good and some pretty mad stuff too. Don't know where to start!
I managed to pass my driving test for a start. Ivor had been coaching me and had written a letter to explain my dyslexia and how I could only write/spell aided by a computer, so that helped me to get through the theoretical part. I'd been going to take my test in his car but, due to obvious reasons, had to arrange to do that with a driving school and cram in a few extra lessons with them at the last minute. My boss now says I can use one of the nursery vans to get back and forth to work as cycling in the winter when it's pouring with rain isn't ideal.
The first evening I took the van home with my bike in the back, someone in front of me hit a stray dog and just drove off and left it in the gutter. That was horrible, but I managed to get it to the vet's and it is recovering now. The vet wasn't going to treat it because they were worried nobody would pay for the treatment as it was a stray. It's a lovely little mongrel too but nobody has reported it missing to the police or dog warden. Anyway, I said I'd pay. I'd money saved to buy myself a car but that can wait. When I went to the vet's to do that they said the dog could go home but they don't allow pets in the flat I rent and I got caught taking the dog in there with me. I said it was only overnight and until I could hand it in to a rescue but the landlady wouldn't listen or bend. Not even when I said the dog could sleep in the van. She gave me a week's notice!
I made the dog a nice bed up in the back of the van but he wouldn't stop barking! In the end all I could do was sleep in the van with it and take it to work with me the following day. My boss wanted to know what was going on and I thought I'd be in trouble again, but luckily they were great about it. Even put a collection box by the till and chipped in themselves to help cover the vet's costs, which were nearly £400!
After work I was going to drive out to the animal sanctuary at Starling Woods with the dog but called in on your mother on the way, as I'd forgotten all about switching your computer off until then. That's when things started to go really mad! It seems your mother was expecting someone from a modelling agency and she thought it was me! I didn't realise it at first and wasn't surprised when she took me upstairs into a bedroom, handed me a dressing gown and told me to strip off and then join her in the lounge downstairs! She was a bit embarrassed when I hastily explained I was there about the computer, but we both had a laugh over it then.
While I was showing her how to shut the PC down and also showed her some arty websites and how to access those, also email, the dog was barking his head off in the van out on the drive. Suddenly the noise stopped and next thing we knew, the dog must have managed to open the van door, and your mum's back door and came hobbling into your old bedroom. I thought your mum would go ballistic, but quite the opposite! She did remark on him being an ugly little fellow and a bad boy but was otherwise besotted within minutes, and especially over his facial expressions (he grins when he's told off) and appealing eyes! She wanted to know all about him and, after I'd explained, I thought she was about to offer him a home. Instead she took him off to the kitchen, saying she'd give him something to eat and make coffee. When she returned, she had plates of sandwiches as well as the coffee and took me completely by surprise when she announced that both the dog and I could move in and live with her until I could find somewhere that would allow me to keep the dog.
Alice, if my jaw dropped at that, it then hit the floor when she said she didn't want any rent, just for me to teach her how to use the computer instead and perhaps help her with a few odd jobs! It was like I didn't have a say in the matter and she sent me to my flat then to collect my belongings straight away! By the time I returned she'd almost finished a painting of the dog, whom she's named Tyke, and declared him to be a far more reliable model than whoever the agency was supposed to have sent and hadn't turned up.
Apart from being rather technically challenged, which I think may be common with artistic people until they get the hang of things, I can't imagine why you and your mum have problems getting along. She's been amazing and really kind and generous towards me. Doing so much to make me feel at home and even providing me with super packed lunches to take to work every day. We've been getting on like a house on fire and I've even agreed to pose for her - as long as I get to keep my clothes on! LOL
There aren't many more submissions yet for the parish magazine. That might be because Julian has been behaving very oddly of late. He's been found several times in the church yard drunk, too. The vicar's wife is trying to look after him and told me this evening that she may get somewhere now that Amelia Hedgehunter has been arrested. Apparently at midnight last night the police found her dancing naked and chanting something over on the Haven Meadows. Someone visiting the nursery today said they thought she was casting spells and curses on the developers that want to build there. Others just think she's going senile or had been swallowing some of her own herbal remedies. Whatever, she has been remanded in custody for psychiatric reports but a variety of charges may result. When the police searched her home they found cannabis growing in her loft and a variety of other substances that have been taken for analysis. It seems she also has sixteen cats and that strange Lavinia woman is now looking after those and telling people she's changing her name to Brigitte Bardot. The last time I spoke to her was when I took a short cut through the church yard and she was hiding in the bushes with her coat collar turned up and when I asked if she was okay, she said she was Mata Hari and on a secret mission!
Compared to those two, your friend the fisherman and Morag McCraw sound positively sensible. Have you found your pony yet?
If you want to email your mum now, I've sent up an account for her on your old computer, just put 'Cecelia' in front of you old email address. I'll show her what to do to reply. I told her I was going to email you and she said to tell you that she is still waiting for a phone call, not an answerphone message. Also to say that your grandfather is still refusing to speak to her. She is busy painting right now and, with the exhibition so close now, I said I'd help her to make more frames and deliver all the finished work to the gallery over the next few days. She is also insisting that I attend her opening night with her too and, I am embarrassed to say, has insisted on buying me a suit to wear for that. I've never owned one before in my life before but am thankful she doesn't want me to get a hair cut to go with it! I do hope that this isn't going to result in the local tongues wagging. Also that you don't mind me and Tyke having moved into your old home, Alice?
I'll enclose copies of the latest magazine submissions for you, although those are just a few adverts, but include one for the Barn Dance at the animal sanctuary. Ivor and Julian took me to that last year and it was a good night, even though I ended up selling raffle tickets and running a bottle stall nearly the whole time. At least that gave me an excuse not to make a pratt of myself trying to dance. LOL
Flipper
(Continued in Part 34.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 29, 2004 2:07:51 GMT 1
Part 34
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Alice
If I knew what the chip was I would tell you.
Something is obviously deeply troubling you. We used to be so close and tell each other all our secrets and that's why I'm just concerned that something really bad must have happened and that it is so traumatic you cant speak of it.
You have become so distant and I don't just mean in miles. I just hope that that you will be able to work through it.
Polly
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Dear Alice,
I received your letter today and shall ignore your comments. I do not feel the need to justify myself to you. Who on earth do you think you are and what on earth are you thinking of?
I find the fact that you sent your original letter to me through your mother highly irresponsible, considering its content, and would appreciate any further correspondence be sent directly to myself. Imagine the shock your mother would have had, if she had opened and read the letter? Totally irresponsible!
You will find enclosed with this letter a post office bank book, in your name. The money in it is for your use. I'd advise you to keep your mouth shut Alice or you will be sorry! This must never become public knowledge. I mean it!
Your Grandfather,
Edward.P.Montague Esq.
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The Rectory, Cuckooland.
Dear Nicholas,
I am afraid to say that dear Julian is most unwell at present, so I am sending the latest submissions directly to you.
Barnaby and I were most surprised to learn that you had moved from your cosy little flat above the fish and chip shop and to go into lodgings with, of all people, a female divorcee, twice you age and an artist, too. Is that wise, in the circumstances? Not that it is any of my business, you understand, but you know how people will gossip around here.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Fuddle.
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For: Coming Events.
Ghosties, and ghoulies, and long-legged beasties, and things that go bump in the night
Would you
- Be prepared to spend a night in a haunted building?
- Like to help raise much needed funds for a local animal rescue?
Well now is your chance to do both.
We are offering the opportunity to share the experience of an overnight stay in one of the most haunted buildings in the country. This place is famous for it’s ghosties, so if you have a fondness for spirits (and I do not mean the sort that comes in a bottle) why not join us.
There is a charge of £35.00 per person, and we would suggest that you could raise additional funds by obtaining sponsorship from family and friends. All monies raised will go to The Pointy Dog Rescue to be used for the care and treatment of the many hounds that pass through their doors.
If you are interested in this opportunity please contact - Andrew Mann, Fundraising Co-coordinator, Pointy Dog Rescue at pointydogs@cuckooland.com
(Continued in Part 35.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 29, 2004 22:10:24 GMT 1
Part 35
Dear Polly,
Look, if I owe you an apology, which I'm sure I do, then I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off and I know you mean well.
You are right, there are things troubling me and I'd like nothing better than to share them all, but these aren't the sort of secrets we used to have. I only wish they were. There's a huge difference between the time when you accidentally discovered that your dad had planned a romantic weekend surprise for your mum's birthday and it nearly drove you crazy trying to keep the secret when your dad seemed to ignore all the hints your mum came out with about her birthday. She was convinced he'd forget the date. I really wish it was like that, because then I would be able to tell you.
Oh, and it isn't about my mum having got herself a toy-boy lodger, which I feel sure you'll already have heard about if the Cuckooland grapevine is on form. Actually, I find that quite funny, although do feel a bit annoyed with Flipper. Not for moving in with Mum, because doing so meant he could keep the little dog that he rescued after a road accident, but for seeming to take her side. Perhaps I'm just jealous?
Perhaps that's also why I got mad at you? You come from such a nice, normal sort of family; have a mum and dad that don't slag each other off, normal grandparents and your biggest worries are school exams and perhaps what might happen to Haven Meadows. Seriously, I'd swap any day of the week.
I've tried talking to Dad, but all he says is 'Well, you know your mother.' He's so absorbed in guano and fish guts now that, as long as there's a meal on the table and Raspberry and the kids are happy when he comes in, which they are, nothing else matters. In fact, sometimes I wonder if he hears what I say at all, let alone listens!
Let's change the subject.
I got lost the other day, and when a heavy sea mist rolled in while I was out looking for the pony Morag McCraw told me about, but nobody even missed me! That was a really weird experience, Polly, and quite scary, too. I'd seen a little herd of ponies grazing in the distance and was heading towards them, so hadn't noticed the mist. It wasn't late, but it gets dark very early here now and I glanced back over my shoulder to see how far I'd come and there it was. A great rolling cloud approaching and almost upon me. Like a wall of swirling smoke, obliterating all in its path except for a yard or two.
I just froze as it engulfed and disoriented me. Within moments I'd lost all sense of direction and could only guess to be about halfway between the harbour and the place I'd seen the ponies. I had a few mints and half a bar of chocolate in my coat pockets along with the halter Morag had given me and, standing still, became very aware of how cold it was and how quickly darkness was falling. I was on the verge of panicking when I thought I heard someone coming towards me.
Calling out, there was no reply and, thinking it a trick of the wind or something, I closed my eyes and really tried to concentrate on where the sounds were coming from and what they were. That's when something touched me and I almost jumped out of my skin! It was a pony! Certainly not the beautiful, graceful grey that I've always dreamed of owning, but a mud coloured, stocky dun mare of barely 14 hands. Somehow I managed to slip the halter onto her head before she vanished and, not knowing if she'd ever been ridden or not, I was nervous about jumping onto her back, but at least thought, if nothing else, my seat would be warm from that if she didn't throw me straight off again. Luckily she was fine and, although I'd no idea which direction we were going, didn't feel too worried when she began walking along in a very purposeful direction. Clearly she knew her way around, but I was amazed when her unshod hooves had clearly found the track that serves as a road. She didn't stop there, but continued right down to the harbour and to the cottage when I live. I tied her up to a post and went in to fetch her some bread and a carrot but when I returned with them and the children, who all wanted to see her, she'd gone, leaving the halter dangling and still tied to the post. If it hadn't have been for the grease and a few hairs that stuck to the seat and legs on my jeans I swear no one would have believed she even existed! I do hope that I can find her again, as I barely know what she looks like, but I'm calling her Fay.
How are things going with you and Dribbler? (That's not meant as an insult to Dan, but what I know his mates all call him and to do with the way he dribbles a football.)
Alice.
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Grandfather,
I did indeed find the savings account book enclosed with your note. It seems there's quite a hefty price for my silence. Although not aware of having threatened your peace of mind over the matter, your reaction tells its own story. I'll not thank you for the blood money, but can think of a use to put your cash to. Perhaps, in doing so, it will help me to live with the sick secret that your actions and fate have dumped on me and until such time that it all comes out anyway, which I feel sure it will, sooner or later.
No, you don't have to justify yourself to me. I don't think I'm anyone other than your granddaughter. As for what on earth I'm thinking of, I am surprised you need ask. Perhaps I hoped that Mum might have opened and read my original letter to you? At least then she's know the truth and I'd be free of living in this state of pretence; or do you consider Mum in the same vein as a mushroom - to be kept in the dark and fed on s**te?
Bank book or no bank book, that's how you have treated me as well as Mum. The only difference being that I found out the truth and it makes no difference to me, apart from feeling contempt and anger towards you for your part in things. The lies, deceit and hypocrisy sickens me, as does the utter contempt that you clearly have for Mum and for me.
How can I respect you for what you have done and still continue to want to keep from Mum? I'd have more respect for you if you found the courage to tell her the truth. Until that time, I can't help but think of you as a gutless, spineless, manipulative and sick old hypocrite.
Alice
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(Continued in Part 36.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Nov 30, 2004 19:33:36 GMT 1
Part 36.
From: Alice Widdel To: Nick (Flipper) Phillips Sent: Tuesday, November 30, 2004 6:26 PM Subject: Re: The Mad, the Bad and the Ugly!
Hi Nick,
It sounds as if you have been busy, and congratulations on passing your driving test.
I've also been busy. Between loads of school work, doing a lot of typing for Dad, chores and trying to help the kids with their schoolwork, there's been little time for much, although I did manage to get lost. (Will attach a little write up I did for Polly about that experience.
How is Tyke now? Fully recovered from the accident, I hope? I don't blame you for taking up Mum's offer to lodge with her in the circumstances, but bet the tongues will wag for all that. LOL
Perhaps it's a female thing why Mum and I don't seem to get on very well? Whatever, I'm fed up of trying to phone her and only getting the answerphone, then getting a row for not phoning at a convenient time for her but without her even telling me what a convenient time might be! Perhaps you could suggest she emails me with that information?
I sent some of the parish magazine submissions to the new editor of the Gazette, but it now seems he's succumbed to the British climate and has been taken ill, so is unable to take up his new post at the time planned.
It is most frustrating when fate intervenes and sometimes feels as if that is on the side of people like the corrupt councillors and developers, allowing them to get away with things like what they plan for Haven Meadows. So few seem to really care what happens on their own doorsteps and I wonder if they already feel defeated by all the negative stuff and that, whatever they do, have lost faith in their ability to effect a change? Why, even the government seem to think they can do as they like, spin (lie) to the electorate and, if found out, wriggle out of their responsibilities or justify unpopular decisions, time and time again, and then blame the electorate for their apathy and failure to turn out at the polls! Minority voices of reason, and even informed experts, are so often brushed aside as of no consequence, and at all government levels, so no wonder things like stress levels and depression are so high.
When I look at the submissions for the Parish Magazine, it is as if that contains glimpses of what really matters to local residents of Cuckooland and even the libellous bits that I feel sure Julian Stomas would never really include in it, unless he's totally lost the plot, show more about the root causes of people's problems and concerns that even the regular press reveal.
Anyway, I wondered if you could help me with a surprise Christmas present I want to arrange for Mum and a few friends? I know they do really good Christmas evening dinners at the Cock and Bull, so have been in touch with them and can book a table there. All I need to do is get over to the mainland, draw some money out of the Post Office and send that to them to confirm things, then send off the invitations. Most I have the addresses for, but a couple will need to be hand delivered, including a couple to people whose addresses I'm not sure of, but feel sure you'll be able to discover? I can't promise you the most entertaining evening, but I'll be inviting Polly and her parents, Miss Wigglesly and some friends from the Starlingwood Animal Sanctuary, plus a few others, and will be getting a cheque off Dad that I'd like you to please present for the animals and on my behalf. I'll also send you some money towards the vet's bill for Tyke.
Look forward to hearing from you soon.
Alice
(Continued in Part 37.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Dec 5, 2004 12:52:47 GMT 1
Part 37
From: Nick (Flipper) Phillips To: Alice Widdel
Sent: Thursday, December 2, 2004 5:49 PM Subject: Cock & Bull Bash
Hi Alice,
Yes, of course I'll help with your surprise Christmas dinner and cheque presentation for the animal sanctuary, although I do think your mum would be the best person to present the cheque off your dad. Since her exhibition opened she's become quite a local celebrity and has done a TV and radio interview, too.
In between those your mum's managed to paint a couple more pictures of Tyke, who is much better now but playing on his injuries to get her attention. Although she's forever referring to him as my dog, he obviously sees your mum as his human! So much for the idea of me taking him to work with me because he's her constant companion and, if I suggest taking him to work, your mum has a whole battery of reasons or excuses why I should leave him with her. He was even on TV with her and went along to the opening of the exhibition and appeared in some of the publicity shots in the press! According to one newspaper report, it was your mother that rescued him after the accident, but I don't mind that as she did chip in a lot towards that vet bill and I've managed to buy myself a little car after all. In fact, your mum helped with the insurance for that on the understanding that I drive her to some of the functions she's been invited to attend. Those include things like the Rotary Club and the W.I. Christmas parties, and several other charity bashes. Between all those and visiting a couple of retirement homes, she is leading a very busy social life. It's no wonder you can't get her on the phone. I'll attach a list of the dates that I know she has booked before Christmas so that your planned surprise won't clash with those.
My plans for a memorial concert for Ivor seem to have degenerated into chaos. So many of the people I contacted about that, and whom Ivor helped when he was alive, either can't make the suggested dates or else can't stand someone else that I've mentioned may be attending. They won't even entertain appearing on the same stage as each other; not even in Ivor's memory. I can't believe that people would be so petty and self-centred in the circumstances. At least the Rev. Fuddle is able to go ahead with a memorial service or him in St. Monica's Church. The Cuckooland Gospel Choir have volunteered to sing at that, amongst others. If nothing else, they will liven the proceedings up with their medley of Queen songs. Ivor would have loved that, being a big fan of Freddie Murcury.
Mrs. Fuddle has sent me a few notes lately, each one questioning me over the wisdom of lodging with your mother. It's obvious tongues are wagging into overtime, but when I mentioned this to your mum she laughed her head off, and suggested that we give them something to gossip about, that way they'd not be gossiping about some other poor innocent. Her idea of doing that was to take me shopping for, of all things, a suit! I've never possessed one in my life, but Cecelia insisted, saying that if I was to be driving her around, I had to look presentable. At least she didn't insist on me having a chauffeur's cap!
You will never guess who I met at work the other day? Seamus O'Farty! He was visiting the garden centre and wanted to buy an activity centre for his pet cat but didn't like the ones on display. My boss sent him into my workshop to see if I could make what he was describing. At least, that is the official story. More like the boss wanted him out of ear-shot of the other customers! It turns out that, although retired now, he still plays the guitar and if you wanted him to do a turn during your Christmas dinner event for your mother, I am sure than could be arranged. She told me the other day how much she loves guitar music.
Let me know about whatever arrangements you need my help with.
Flipper
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Dear Mrs. Fuddle,
I am sorry to learn that Mr. Stomas is so unwell and hope he will feel better soon. Enclosed are some leaflets that a customer of the garden centre gave me to pass on to him. Mr. Stomas's problem seems to be common knowledge and the person that gave me the leaflets is a concerned member of Alcoholics Anonymous and would be pleased to help him, if he wishes to accept help.
In circumstances that you are unaware of, I had no choice over leaving my flat. Although a single bedsitting room and a shared kitchen and bathroom can hardly be compared with the very comfortable lodgings that I am currently enjoying with Mrs. Widdel. Regardless of what any local gossips might assume, ours is a strictly businesslike and mutually convenient arrangement.
Can you please advise me about the content for the next Parish Magazine? Although I have all of the submissions prepared, very few appear suitable for inclusion and many of those that are now appear to be out of date, so it would be pointless to include them.
Yours sincerely, Nick Phillips
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(Continued in Part 38.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Dec 6, 2004 2:21:29 GMT 1
Part 38.
From: Alice Widdel To: Nick (Flipper) Phillips Sent: Sunday, December 5, 2004 4:50 PM Subject: Re: Cock & Bull Bash.
Hi Flipper,
That's brilliant! Thanks.
I went to the mainland with Dad yesterday and sent off a load of stuff to you, including several envelopes containing invitations to people whose addresses I don't know but feel sure you'll be able to deliver; others stamped with ordinary UK stamps, not Scottish ones. I need you to post from Cuckooland please, as I don't want the people guessing that I have anything to do with organising the bash. There are also some for presentation at the bash to different animal charities and those are clearly marked.
I've included an invitation to Mr. O'Farty to play his guitar on the night, and suggested that he may care to take other musicians along too, which the landlord of the Cock and Bull says would be excellent. There's a cheque in with your invitation that you'll be able to cash to cover the various expenses, such as paying the musicians. I got Dad to write out so many cheques that he ran out, but think everything is covered.
Incidentally, Dad seems to recall that Haven Meadows used to belong to some ancient trust and to be held in perpetuity for the people of the Parish of Cuckooland, that it never has actually belonged to the local council and, in the circumstances, he wonders how they have managed to get their hands on it, let alone be in a position to deal with developers let alone give planning consent? You might want to pass that info along to the Friends of Haven Meadows group.
I'm really sorry that people are being so petty and apathetic over poor Ivor's memorial concert. So many people seem to be wrapped up in their own lives that they've no thought for the dead.
Dad and I had a long discussion during our day trip to the mainland and are planning to set up a little internet based business venture. Well, we all need something to keep us occupied during the long, dark winter nights. Raspberry and Rosemary are all for it and have already set about designing the first of what they hope will be many patchwork wall hangings and pictures depicting Cuach scenes and wildlife. These we plan to create and sell in kit form and using fabrics bought on the mainland. We also plan some felting kits to make things like hats and slippers, rugs and anything else that can be made from the wool from the local sheep. I have a strong suspicion that once Mum learns what we are doing, she'll not be long in learning how to market her paintings on the internet too. In fact, if she were to gain the impression that Dad was in a position to make a sizeable donation to the Starling Wood Animal Sanctuary, I wouldn't mind betting she'd also want to help them, too? There are lots of ways someone with her skills with a brush could do that, especially if someone with internet skills was helping. Why, you might even find it a far more rewarding venture than struggling to get the parish magazine into shape for printing and until such time as Mr. Stomas is well enough to do his bit properly.
Which reminds me, if you haven't deleted anything off Ivor's off the hard drive, it might be an idea to check that for any details of how he made his living. He was obviously quite wealthy and that surely can't all have been from giving his stage performances, as most of those were for charity. Also, Dad happened to mention that he's almost certain that Ivor Biggun was really only his stage name, even though everyone always called him by it. Perhaps Mr. Stomas will be able to tell you Ivor's real name?
Speak soon,
Alice
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Dear Alice
Friendships are all about give and take so I should be able to put up with you being grizzly some times. I'm sorry that you are in such a predicament and that I cannot unfortunately help you in any way. I do hope within time the weight that you bear may be lightened.
I have not heard the rumour of your mum having a toy-boy. I haven't really been doing much apart from boring revision so have escaped the ranting of the local gossip mongers. I haven't seen Flipper since he left or was he expelled from school. To be honest I didn't realise that he was still living in Cuckooland. Good on him for rescuing that little dog. I don't understand why you are jealous of him, you could come home at any point surely? Will you be making a visit at Christmas time?
My family does seem nice and normal but believe me we do have our moments and I have experienced a good few screaming matching. Family reunions are something I cringe at. But it is true about my parents though married for twenty years and still so in love. It's been a while since my dads big surprise and I do feel I have grown up since then and become less excitable about secrets. I know when things need to be kept onfidential.
Alice that tale about the pony could be taken from a book. It's so fabulously mysterious. Morag Gorag sounds an interesting woman, is she a psychic? If you do see Fay again please try and get a photo. I know she wasn't the pony in your dreams but she still sounds fantastic. You really are meeting some interesting people up on that island. I know Cuckooland has its oddballs, but that's it they are odd rather than interesting.
I'm afraid not much news to report here. Mr. Flukelweicivic has been suspended but the reason for it is being kept very hush hush. Oh and you were right about Dan. He may be nice looking but he's rather dull to talk to. All he's interested in are cars and sports so he has disappeared into the shadows rather quickly. Who needs them anyway!
I'm sorry if I have been stroppy with you too and that we can be friends again.
Last exam on Wednesday hurray!
Love, Polly
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(Continued in Part 39.)
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Dec 9, 2004 1:15:55 GMT 1
Part 39
The Rectory, Cuckooland.
Dear Nicholas,
I daresay that your relationship with Mrs. Widdel might be a 'businesslike and mutually convenient arrangement' but that does not alter the fact that it is improper and subject to speculation in the neighbourhood. Whatever do your parents say? You are, after all, not yet of age.
Rev. Fuddle and I both think that it would be in your best interests to find alternate accommodation or to return to live with your parents in preference to risking your reputation further by remaining where you are.
That aside, I enclose further submission for the parish magazine. Although Mr. Stomas is still unwell, I feel sure that the enclosed are suitable for inclusion in the magazine.
As for the leaflets you sent, I hardly think these appropriate, and feel sure that Mr. Stomas is simply grieving and will recover shortly. I would thank you not to discuss Mr. Stomas and his situation with anyone, least of all local self-confessed drunks.
Mrs. Fuddle.
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Christmas Puppy
I sat dazed and confused all alone in the dark No-one answered my whining, no-one answered my bark. Then suddenly I was grabbed from the box and thrust into the light, they squealed with great joy but it gave me a fright.
I was a Christmas present you see Yes a 7 week old puppy, little ol' me. Bought spur of the moment, a big surprise! The wife smiled at the children but there was doubt in her eyes.
The adults went into the hall and talked in hushed voices She claimed he made all the decisions and all of the choices. If anything went wrong he would be to blame I was only a little puppy I didn't mean to be a pain.
The children kept feeding me their chocolate* and cake, I didn't know how much of this rich food my tummy would take. I waddled and wavered and felt quite unwell, This Christmas time madness sure is puppyhood hell.
Their party was rowdy with lots of people around, I tried to find a safe spot but none could be found. I was bemused and frightened so ran for the door, Then a party-popper went off and I peed on the floor.
I started to whimper, even amongst all these people I felt so alone. Please return me to my mum I want to go home.
(*Please note: Chocolate contains a xanthine compound, theobromine, that is toxic to dogs. Other xanthine compounds are caffeine and theophylline. The toxicity from all of these compounds is similar.)
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Christmas is a very bad time for introducing a puppy/ dog into your household. Christmas tends to be a chaotic time of year with visitors coming and going, loud noises and flashing lights. Please don't get puppies as presents. Thinking of getting a dog or puppy takes a lot of time and a lot of thought. Remember dogs are living creatures and are for life NOT just for Christmas.
Jude Collins (Kennel Maid) - Starling Wood Animal Sanctuary
********************************************************* Help the Homeless at Christmas
Warm clothing, blankets and toiletries are badly needed. If you can help could you leave them in the box provided in the church foyer. Thank you.
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Youth Stuff
Calling the kiddies of Cuckooland for the Christmas nativity play. It will be performed at the church's Christingle service on Christmas Eve. Rehersals will be at 2 p.m. each Sunday leading up to the big day. Lots of parts available to play. Last year's play involving the three rapping kings and the hip-hop angels was surprisingly a success which we hope to repeat this year!!
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Dear Cecilia,
It has been many years since we last saw each other. Indeed, I expect you to be somewhat amazed and surprised by my letter, nevertheless I hope you enjoy it.
I discovered you had become an artist whilst browsing the net and admiring some paintings - you really do have talent, then again you always did.
We have been for the past few years running an animal centre on a remote island off the West Coast of Scotland. Although not totally accepted by the native population, we are tolerated, even though we are classed as 'white settlers' or 'incomers'. (How I have grown to dislike these names).
As always, my plans never go as expected, and controversy will always remain my middle name. So, let me tell you a tale of the otter. Our local SSPCA auxiliary had a baby otter handed into her. He was found at the southern of the island, his mother being a victim of a road traffic accident. (We loose a number of otters each year to traffic and other accidents).
He was a few months old, suckled a babies bottle like he had been doing it all his life - which although cute, is not really the correct way to treat a wild animal that eventually is to be released back into the wild.
We asked that he might spend his time until he was old enough to be released with us, in the security of the animal centre, rather than go off the island to a sanctuary. My opinion was he was born here and he should stay here. This, of course, was not good enough for the SSPCA auxiliary, who by now was taking this poor animal round the schools like some circus exhibit - preening herself like some important diplomat - or in my opinion, playing god! You know how that really gets up my nose - public displays for self gratification.
I, as you would know, was not best pleased and re-asked the question, the reply was neither yes nor no, just a 'Well I might let you rear him, or I might not, we'll see, because you know, we don't want him getting socialised'. Socialised! Yet here was she, dragging this poor baby otter round anywhere and everywhere she could, schools, playgroups and even brought it along to a car boot sale that was happening at the animal centre one Saturday, letting it run about the cafe floor! I was horrified. But said nothing as I though at that point the woman had seen sense and that she would allow us to rear the otter as it should be, not how she was doing.
Anyway to cut a long story short the baby otter was sent off the Island to the sanctuary after almost 2 weeks of being on public display and living in her house, where he became the plaything of her 6 yr old daughter, who took him inter her bedroom and used to set him on her bed. His final hour on the island being spent, again on display to the ferry passengers and wagon drivers, as she showed him to all and sundry at the ferry terminal, letting many hold or stroke him.
Therefore me, as you know being a great believer of karma, imagine a few weeks later my delight at stumbling across a not very old abandoned almost white fresh water otter on the shore nearby whilst on one of our walks. The otter was fairly dirty, being covered in oil, and was a terribly messy and timely job to get this thick oil off, but we did, with the help of mild detergent.
We named the otter Phil! He accepted fluids with no resistance whatsoever, and stayed put in his snug, secure straw filled covered box.
Rumours here, like anywhere else, are rife and the following day it was no surprise when a phone call was taken by me from the Edinburgh office of the SSPCA, saying that their local SSPCA officer had reported us as finding of an unusual otter. They then asked us to hand the otter over to them, as they had welfare concerns. I refused!
This call was followed by a visit by the local constabulary, who drove into the yard, in their Ford Fiesta panda car, complete with their own cardboard box and sticky tape, in order to take the otter away from us. Denying having the otter (as you would in these circumstances), even allowing them to have a look round, they found nothing, they went away - not happy - and convinced that the otter had now been moved.
The media pounced. We even got one of those posters outside the local newsagents which read, 'Concern for captive island otter'. The phone rang off the hook - especially as the otter was a strange unusual light colour - everyone wanted in on the act, claiming they must have this otter, for its own welfare. We dug our heels in, telling them we had it safe. The rumours continued when in a conversation I (accidentally) asked if there were any places special leads could be obtained that might fit?
"See!" they cried. "She is going to humanise it! We told you she would do so. The otter must be found!" At that Inverness CID became involved, with some of their most experienced officers pleading with us to give up our otter hostage - who by now was re-named 'Phil the fugitive'!
All in all it was an amusing two weeks, for that was how long the 'scam' lasted. Yes, for that's what it was, Phil the fugitive fresh water otter was, in fact a kettle! A fresh water 'otter!
I'm sure somewhere there must be a moral to this tale.
All the best, hear from you soon.
Divine.
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(Continued in Part 40.)
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