A week on the cut

Dear Bill.

Not a great deal to report I'm afraid from under the cratch cover on Nb Dulwich Dishwasher.

I have had an interesting week. On Monday I paid a visit to Lord and Lady Henley 'cocky' Cockmarsh a pair of retired trustees. They were sat outside their retirement home, enjoying the dappled shade under a tree. However, I was somewhat taken aback when Lady Cockmarsh turned to Lord Cockmarsh and  says. 'Oi, Cocky, I'm 83 now and I'm just full of aches and pains. How are you feeling?' I could see Cocky cogitating for a moment and then he says. 'To be honest darling I feel just like a newborn baby.' Lady Cockmarsh said 'Really cocky, just like a new born baby, hows that then?' Lord Cockmarsh says 'Well as I've no hair, no teeth, and I think I just wet my incontinence pants. I'm feeling just like a newborn baby.

On Tuesday, ¡ʎɐqǝ ɯoɹɟ uıɐƃɐ ƃuıɥʇʎuɐ ʎnq ɹǝʌǝu ןןıʍ ı ˙¡noʎ oʇ uǝʇsıן ɹǝʌǝ ı ǝɯıʇ ʇsɐן ǝɥʇ sı sıɥʇ pıɐs ʇɐɥʇ ןıɐɯǝ uɐ ǝɯ ʇuǝs qıɥɐsɯǝɯ ǝɥʇ ˙ǝuıן-uo ǝuo ɹǝpɹo oʇ ɹǝɥ pןoʇ ı puɐ ɹǝʇndɯoɔ ǝɥ ɹoɟ pɹɐoqʎǝʞ ʍǝu ɐ pǝpǝǝu ǝɥs ˙ƃuıddoɥs ǝuıן-uo uı pǝʇsǝɹǝʇuı ɹǝɥ ʇǝƃ oʇ pǝıɹʇ ı os ˙sʞɹoʍ ǝuo ɹǝɥʇıǝu puɐ ˙uɐɯoʍ ɐ ɥʇıʍ ,ƃuınƃɹɐ, oʇ sǝıɹoǝɥʇ oʍʇ s,ǝɹǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ pǝuɹɐǝן ǝʌɐɥ ı sɹɐǝʎ ǝɥʇ ɹǝʌo 'ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙dıɹʇ ƃuıddoɥs ǝɥʇ ƃuıɹnp ʇnoʞɐǝɹq oʇ sʇuǝɯnƃɹɐ ɟo ɹǝqɯnu ɐ pǝsnɐɔ sıɥʇ ˙ƃuıddoɥs ɟo ƃuıɥʇɐoן dǝǝp ɐ ǝʌɐɥ ı ʍouʞ noʎ sɐ ˙ƃuıddoɥs qıɥɐsɯǝɯ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ ʇno ʇuǝʍ ı

On Wednesday, I happened to come across Peregrine 'dicky' Bowe and Rick 'paddy' O'Shea walking along the towpath. Dicky said that they had been at a lose end and so they has spent some time reading head stones at a nearby cemetery. Suddenly Paddy shouted look here, crikey! There is a headstone, its a bloke buried on the towpath who was 152!' Dicky said 'What's his name?' Paddy replied 'He's Miles from London!'

On Thursday I called into Mr Khan's corner shop and homoeopathy store. He said he had started a new venture and now could provide a supply of various herbs. Khan also had a book of herbal remedies that was used by his grandmother. He translated one recipe for me by way of an example. 'Boil a water vole, with nettles then drink the juice first thing in the morning. Nothing worse will happen to you for the rest of the day.' He told me that he has managed to locate a nearby, a ready source of water voles. He is a very astute old cove.

Friday the Memsahib brought home a bottle of a new wine from Khan's corner shop and wine store. It is produced from a specially genetically modified grape. It will apparently reduce the number of trips older people have to make to the bathroom during the night. The new wine is being marketed as Château Pinot More.

Twas the Memsahibs birthday on Saturday. I asked her on Friday what she'd like for her birthday. 'I'd love to be eight again' she replied. So I got up early on Saturday and made her a bowl of Coco Pops and a couple of jammy toasties! This was followed by a trip to Alton Towers and made sure that she went on every ride. Then we went to a McDonald's where I ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a refreshing chocolate milkshake. Then it was off to the movies which included a three hour cartoon, a hot dog, popcorn, all the Coke she could drink and a lolly. What a fabulous adventure we had, when we got back she collapsed onto the bed exhausted. I asked 'Well dear, what was it like being eight again?' Her eyes opened and her expression changed to one of total realisation... she replied 'I meant my dress size'.

Sunday I had a walk along the towpath with Alvin 'buster' Spotte. When we came across what looked like an encampment of Bedouin Chuggers. I asked them how it was going only to be told  that the Cycling Angling Rambling Truss inner sanctum have created a new directorate. Its called the 'elsewhere directorate.' Therefore, all questions, comments, concerns, complaints, frustrations, irritations, aggravations, insinuations, allegations, accusations, contemplations, consternation, FOI requests and written input should be directed elsewhere.

Well I must run, toodle pip old boy.

Cap't Bob

"The events depicted in this series of letters are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental. No person should without the prior permission of the author assume the identity of any character. These letters are a story that could be based on actual events. In certain cases incidents, characters and timelines have been changed for dramatic purposes. Certain characters may be accidental composites, or entirely fictitious. I was helped in my creative endeavour by my friend's telepathic cat named Huxley. Huxley assumes all responsibility for any mistakes and errors."