By Renee Bernard and Danny Kemp, now featuring Vonda Norwood.
Hello, friends. (And yes, if the handwriting is substandard it is because I am dictating this one to my nurse who while a very sweet girl, seems to have the penmanship of a boxer.) I am in care after suffering nightmares of monumental proportions. You’ve guessed it, Spot has damaged me. What can an upright maven, living in 1872, do for this wayward child that hasn’t already been done?
I need to renew my energy if I’m to help him further and God knows; he needs help!
Listed below are his recent communications with me. I haven’t answered any. I just don’t know where to begin.
Read on if you dare, but have a plentiful supply of your favorite tipple nearby.
I warn you, beware the Welsh, as you know not what you have amongst your midst.
Aunt Alice, breathing deeply!
Dearest, dearest Auntie,
Wherefore art thou? I am in desperate need of you. I took your advice and booted Pill out-of-the-way, then knocked Lily to the ground with a left hook that our old ‘Enry would have been proud of. The sad, stooping lady with the crown, who does resemble the face on our currency, offered no resistance. In fact, she gave me a glistening Orb and an ornate Sceptre. Myrtle recognized both immediately!
They are Welsh, Auntie, part of treasure stolen from that country centuries ago. Long before even you were born…..Oh, that doesn’t sound so good, does it, but I’m afraid I cannot delete it, as that swine Kemp still has control of my functions…I mean on this iPad of course.
Myrtle became quite ferocious when I untied her and set her free. I have never seen such wild behaviour in a female before, perhaps she is a Female First…Oh, that’s funny, don’t you think?
Seriously though, Myrtle is wilder than WILD!
I’m liable to drift again, but I’ll try to stay focused. That’s apt actually, as now I’m piloting Lily’s old helicopter, and not entirely sure what I’m doing. Myrtle has hold of the stick and I’m fiddling around. It’s great fun!
“Oh those daring young men in those flying machines, they go humpity hump, they go humpity hump.”
Did you like that song, Auntie? I’ve been singing it ever since we went airborne. We are going up and then down a bit, Myrtle and I.
See, I drifted there, I meant to tell you what Myrtle did. Well, she grabbed the old lady’s mobile phone from that oversized handbag of hers, it had a crest on it, looked rather important, and rang her MOTHER! Yes, that’s right, Myrtle has a mum.
They spoke about a war, but it could have been a whore, not completely sure on that one.
Now here comes the crunch Auntie. Myrtle really is the reincarnated Queen of the Welsh, or so she says. Apparently, the Welsh are not only famous for leeks, daffodils, rugby and singing they are also good at cutting off people’s heads. They did a lot of it before the English invaded them.
We are setting off for a place called Harlech, on the Welsh coast where there was once a castle. Nowadays it’s a pub called the Harlech Castle, and mum of Myrtle owns it!
See what I mean, just like buses, you wait all your life for one castle to come along and then all of a sudden two appear.
Her name is Brenda, Myrtle’s mum that is, after some ancient Welsh Queen who used to order everyone’s head off. Seems to be a craze of those who live in castles. Do you think I should stop off somewhere and buy bandages, just in case I need them?
Anyway, toodle-pip, angels one-five, tally-ho and all that. (That’s flying talk by the way)
Speak soon dearest one, when we’re in Wales! Oh gosh, here we goooooooooooooo!
PS. Perhaps I’ll finally be able to plant my flag when I arrive.
PPS. We are being ‘buzzed’ by two grey colored jets with red, white and blue roundels on the fuselage and wings. The pilots are looking at us and have their thumbs pointing to the ground. I’m smiling back with mine pointing upwards. Myrtle is just smiling!
Auntie, Auntie, Auntie,
Spot is in deep trouble, unless of course you decide that maybe I’m cut out to be the King of Wales.
This helicopter has somehow transcribed all the conversation that Myrtle had with her mother word for word. Only her mother’s words I’m afraid, but it seems she chats enough to win an Olympic medal for talking! Poor Myrtle could not get a word in edgewise, or on its head for that matter.
Look I have copied them here for you……
He was at it again your father! Lifting weights and running all over the place… soaking his suit with the Welshman’s finest juices! What he gains in speed and energy, I, Brenda, who should be Queen of Wales, lose out on. I could use him all day… in and around me; but nooooooo, due to his love of sport, and that stupid game of rugby…..…Two jets you say?
Pilots haven’t a need to save energy for rugby have they?……. Useful then, hmm…….
Which makes them good men for what I have in mind!
And since your dear father, the man who gives your mother a whole lot of bother, is off to take England’s trophy, your poor mum, the widow of sport, whose frustration is absorbed by whoring for war, finds herself more than crazed to have her sanity saved by offering the good heads of a couple Englishman…………..Guide them to the Isle of the Mighty, to my Castle Harlech, it’s not much now I know, but it will be one day. They shall sacrifice themselves to me……….and I shall once and for all, show the world I am the rightful Queen of The Assembly of the Noble Heads!
First though, I will interrogate the good English pilots in my own inimitable way. Oh yes Myrtle………slowly……Until I have had my wicked assortment of goodies from them both……….Over and over again. Talk later, your mum’s got to run and make comfortable a room suitable for ‘offing’ the heads of good Englishmen. The axes need sharpening!
I will talk to Myrtle and try to get to the bottom of things Auntie.
Dearest lost one Auntie,
Myrtle will not be moved Auntie, she is rigid. She wants her mother to raise an army and invade England. They have spoken about it for eons. (I told you that dictionary would come in handy) The ‘it’ there is the war, or whore (is that Welsh for war, do you think) not ‘it’ as in it! I’ll move on I think.
We are about to land in the car park at the Castle Harlech pub and the two unsuspecting pilots of the jets, are already waiting there for us. Brenda has her ample arms around both, and is alternating her kisses between them. I have a tape recorder device attached to this iPad. I downloaded all the available software. Kemp should be pleased about that, but I doubt it.
He is one ungrateful swine you know, all this could make him famous! Or, despised the world over. I know what I would prefer.
Anyway, I shall record the happenings and report back ASAP. (Oh, I wonder if you use abbreviations in 1872. ASAP means; Appropriately As Short As A Poodle; I think)
I overheard this, as Myrtle met her mum!
It’s good that you called me, M. What was that buzzing on the line though? If I were a suspicious person, and not simply used to sheep wandering all over the place, I would suspect someone was listening in!
Whatever you do, keep that Spot of yours away from these useful men, I love the uniforms they are wearing! I wouldn’t want him to interfere with them before I do! He’s English as well, remember.
All a bit mysterious Auntie, don’t you think? What did she mean by saying that I might interfere with them? Strange people the Welsh, and none stranger than this Brenda. Oops, they are back. I have been here, inside this pub, all night surrounded by sheep and shepherds. I was singing that hymn……‘As shepherds watched their sheep by night,’ but none of them joined in. They gave me a funny stare, the sheep that is. The men fell asleep!
I will record Brenda’s conversation for you. Here goes:
I must say those English pilots were delectable, such gentlemen they were, but not all the all time if you catch my drift. After a bit of whiskey to loosen up, they sang their song and they sang it to me all night long…
“You take the front door and I’ll take the back door…And I’ll be invading before ye.”
Such magnificent competitors, pilots are, and the stamina they had. I can still feel their method in song, filling my senses into reality of what must be done. And that, my dear daughter, is raising money to pay the Welshman to wander from sport and join the army against England. Soon they will free Wales for me, and I shall rule as Queen! Hold, please…We can discuss who sits on the throne later. Is it important who’s on top?
Let me tell you a little story first.
Your grandmother popped in the other day, she’s such a whore for attention! Always lifting her skirt and showing everything. A patron of my beloved Harlech Castle Pub, and I don’t mean a sheep, paid her good money to lower her skirt and cover up!
Well, my dear daughter, your mum’s got an idea… I will collect your grandmother, and all of her over-90 in years lady pals… We’ll hit the tavern’s, bars and pubs all across England………..THAT’S RIGHT!!!
Your mum’s gonna use the elderly of our town to force those English gents into unsuspectedly supporting our ultimate cause! They’ll pay and pay big, or get an eyeful of what is surely scarier than Hell!!!
Spot is helpless to stop Brenda and the stripping nineties. I beg you, can you help?
Will Aunt Alice arrive in time? How far south will the Welsh elderly ladies have to pull down their tops to reveal their assets? Can the steadfast men of England combat the despicable naked Welsh? Will Spot and Myrtle die?…What, who said that……Kemp, get off this iPad.
Tune into Female First (where all previous episodes can be found) next week to find the answers.